Against the Moon
by Stoplight Delight
Summary: The odds were stacked against him: a child from a blended home with no friends, no social skills to speak of, and a terrible secret. Yet slowly Remus Lupin began to realize there was a place for him in the world, if he could find the courage to claim it.
1. A Tragedy of Errors

"_Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling  
>of Irish wolves against the moon." <em>

_~from __As You Like It_

**Chapter One: A Tragedy of Errors**

It was a quiet night in the city of Falmouth. A little after nine o'clock, the streets were all but deserted. On one particular avenue of townhouses built in the glory days of King George III, a common barn owl perched on the crossbar of a streetlamp. It used this vantage point to peer over the rooftops down to the calm ocean. The owl was the sole living thing to be seen in the narrow street: only the slivers of electric light filtering between the cotton curtains gave testament to the presence of other beings nearby.

The silence was disrupted by a sharp noise, almost like the report of a starter's pistol. It tore through the dusk, echoing off the houses and the uneven cobbled surface of the road. The owl ruffled its feathers briefly, but did not seem startled. It cocked its head to one side, eyeing with proprietary criticism the man who had just appeared next to a brown Morris Minor parked on the downhill curb. The man tucked a twisted willow wand into the folds of his well-tailored robes, and tugged once at the clasp of his cloak while he surveyed the street. He spied the owl, and tipped his pointed hat to it. The bird seemed to accept the gesture of acknowledgement, for it straightened its neck.

The man strode swiftly up the steps of the house to which the Minor belonged, and rapped hastily at the door. When no response was immediately forthcoming, he knocked again with greater urgency. At last the door opened, and a brown-haired woman in a blue housedress peered out.

She was almost twenty-five, but she still managed to look like a girl of eighteen. Her hair was coifed becomingly in the very latest style, and her frock and her stockings were immaculate. She wore a pair of coordinated blue pumps and silver earrings that glittered like strands of stars.

The worry on her face faded almost instantly into a smile of recognition. 'Ross!' she laughed, standing up on her toes to throw her arms about his neck. 'Why on earth are you so late?'

The man's mouth curled into a smile, but his eyes cast a furtive, searching glance at the street behind him. Seeing nothing, he took his wife about the waist and lifted her over the threshold and into the entryway. He closed the door, fastening each of the three Muggle locks with care, and then whipped out his wand to reinforce them with a warding charm.

The woman watched him with a curious expression on her face. She was never quite certain how she ought to react when he used magic so instinctively, but she did understand that there was an urgency in his actions that bordered on the paranoiac. She waited until the wand vanished back amid the folds of navy blue fabric. Then she said; 'You've done that every night for over a week now. What on earth is going on?'

'Nothing,' Ross said, brushing past her into the sitting room where an amicable fire was burning. 'I just don't trust your kind of locks.'

Her heels clicked against the carefully polished floor. 'You never had a problem with my lock before,' she said; 'and you installed those other two yourself last fortnight.'

He turned away from the hearth and gave her a very hard look. 'Leave it alone, Dorothy. Did you use the back door today?'

'Of course not. You told me I shouldn't. What you didn't bother to tell me was why.' She put out her arm to touch his sleeve. 'Please. Whatever it is, we'll face it together.'

He shrugged her off and tried once more to smile. 'I just want to be safe,' he said. His hand found her waist again and his fingers touched the place where her stomach protruded a little farther than it ought to; a little farther than it had on the day he had put in the extra locks. 'We have the children to think about,' he whispered, moving in for a kiss.

Dorothy backed away. 'Not unless you tell me the truth,' she said resolutely. She waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. 'No? Then I'm going upstairs. There's a plate in the oven for you.'

She turned and swept out of the room with that peculiar aristocratic grace that had first caught his eye. Sighing heavily, he drew a hand over his face. The worry lines that he had striven to hide from her settled into deep crevices between his brows and on either side of his mouth. They aged him instantly, heaping on ten years in a matter of moments. He was too young for this responsibility. Three innocent lives were in his hands, and he hadn't remembered that until it was too late.

He sank down in his chair by the fire, staring into the leaping orange flames. The doors were locked and warded. The windows were reinforced with an Unbreakable Charm. Nothing could get into the house without his knowledge and permission. Besides, he told himself as he reached to unlace his boots, they lived on a crowded street in the heart of a quiet city not only full of Muggles but also sporting a sizeable and active wizarding community. The risks of mounting an attack here far outweighed the gravity of the disagreement.

Heavy, uneven footsteps sounded on the first floor stairs; _THUMP-bump, THUMP-bump, THUMP-bump, THUMP. _As these morphed into a light and eager pattering, Ross sat up a little straighter in his seat and tried to force away all signs of anxiety.

A bundle of energy in a stripped blue nightshirt came careening into the room, brown curls bouncing in his eyes. 'Da!' he shouted, using the momentum of his flying feet to clamber into his father's lap. He threw his arms around the man's neck and squeezed him with every ounce of his strength.

Ross wrapped an arm around his son, hugging him almost desperately. The boy twisted around so that he could sit on his father's lap, and Ross brushed his lips against the crown of his head. His hair smelled like sunlight and the bleached Muggle soap that Dorothy always bought. The child looked up, brown eyes twinkling. 'Ten more minutes?' he asked.

Ross chuckled, amusement almost driving away the ghosts of worry. 'What does your mother say?'

'She said I should give you a hug-and-kiss goodnight,' the boy said with the grave solemnity he always reserved for delivering his mother's messages. Then he bounced a little and grinned. 'She's going to sleep in my bed tonight!'

For the child this was a special treat, usually reserved for sick days and Christmas night. For Ross, it meant a cold night alone, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he could put right his foolish misjudgement.

His face must have fallen, for the child looked suddenly concerned. 'You can sleep in my bed _tomorrow _night,' he offered generously. 'Only Mother asked first and it's a rather small bed.'

No one plied the art of compromise as deftly as a four-year-old. Ross smiled. 'I ought to have you sort out all of my quarrels,' he said.

The little boy grinned. 'N-kay,' he said, stretching his neck to plant a kiss on Ross's chin. 'Goodnight.'

'Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the Murtlaps bite,' Ross recited. The little boy giggled. There were Murtlaps aplenty in Falmouth, though they were found chiefly on the beaches.

The child offered his arms to his father once more, and they embraced. Then he hopped off of Ross's knee and padded out of the room far more sedately than he had entered. The _THUMP-bump_s sounded on the stairs again; he always put both feet on a step before reaching for the next. Dorothy said that it was sure proof that he would grow up firmly grounded.

Ross got out his wand and extinguished the fire. There was no point in sitting up alone. He glanced at the sofa and wondered whether he ought to bother with his bed. In the end he turned away. It was his bed, after all, and lonely or not he'd still sleep better there than on the couch – assuming he could sleep at all.

If he went upstairs now he would only excite the child while Dorothy would be working to settle him down for the night. So Ross moved into the kitchen. The faint smell of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding emanated from the bowels of the gas cooker. He did not eat his dinner, but tucked it into the icebox instead. He went to the back window and peered out into the little garden. There was no sign of anything amiss, but it was difficult to tell with the kitchen light behind him.

He went to the back door, disarming the warding spell and undoing the bolt. On the back stoop it was easier to see the little rosebushes, still and undisturbed. Dorothy's vegetable patch lay in its neat squares. The acanthus stalks were already almost four feet tall and blossoming fragrantly. The alleyway behind the house was quiet, and over the water the moon was rising, huge and yellow and full. Seeing it, Ross smiled rather smugly. They were safe tonight at least. The maniac he had so thoughtlessly offended would have more immediate problems tonight.

He went inside, resetting the warding charm as he went. In his moment of relief, he forgot to turn the deadbolt.

_~discidium~_

Ross lay awake, staring at the sliver of moonlight that fell between the curtains. It was no use. The relief of his anxiety was not enough; there was the quarrel with Dorothy. They seldom fought, and he could not think of a time when they had gone to bed angry with one another. He was too young to surrender to the jaded notion that all married couples spent the occasional night apart. He got out of bed and crossed the hall.

Dorothy was lying on her sided, curled around the body of her sleeping son. As Ross entered she raised her head. She too had been unable to sleep.

'What is it?' she asked, whispering so as not to wake the child.

Ross shuffled up to the side of the bed as the little boy had often done. 'I had a bad dream,' he said, in a passable imitation of their son.

Dorothy sat up properly, easing her arm from under the drowsy little head beside her. 'What kind of dream?' she asked, playing along.

'I dreamt I kept a secret from my wife, and it hurt her.'

There was a moment of silence when he was afraid that she would lie back down, but then she held out her hand. He took it and helped her to balance as she climbed over their sleeping son. She led him into the corridor and drew the nursery door closed.

'Are you ready to tell me now?' she asked.

He nodded. 'Two weeks ago, I went to the Leaky Cauldron after work.'

'For your secretary's birthday,' Dorothy said, nodding. 'I knew that; you told me.'

'What I didn't tell you is that I got into a fight.'

Her brow furrowed a little, and the glow of the nightlight cast a curious shadow on her face. 'A fight in a pub? A _brawl_?'

Ross shook his head. 'It didn't get that far. He charged at me but – well, a couple of Hit Wizards were there with our party and they grabbed him right away. Before that happened, though, I said some things… that I probably shouldn't have said.'

'What kind of things?' asked Dorothy.

'I called him names. I said… everything I said was true, but I still shouldn't have said it. Perdita Flaig from the Being Division was there; she hasn't looked me in the eye since.'

Dorothy stared at him, uncomprehending. 'So you're trying to lock her out in case she suddenly gets the urge to try looking you in the eye?'

'No.' Ross cast about miserably. He and Perdita had been at school together – quite good friends, too. Her stinging disapproval filled him with shame, and for that reason alone he would have longed to take back the hateful words. 'No, I've been locking the doors because the… the…' Even now that he had learned his lesson it was impossible to get the noun to come out smoothly, casually, as if the more natural phrasing was not foremost in his mind. '…the _man _I insulted. While Graft and Diggle were throwing him out he threatened to come after me.'

'Over some insults tossed about in a pub altercation?' Dorothy smiled. 'Ross, that's ridiculous. You can't really believe him.'

'He's… not a well man, Dorothy. He's unstable. But I'm starting to think that if he meant to come after me he would have done it by now. Anyway, we're safe tonight.'

She looked puzzled again. 'How do you know that?'

Ross smirked. 'He's got a prior commitment. He'll be too busy to bother with us.'

Dorothy did not seem quite so convinced. 'Well, I think you should tell somebody about it. Those Hit Wizard friends of yours, Graft and…'

'Diggle.'

'Diggle. You ought to let them know you're keeping an eye out. They heard him threaten you, didn't they?' Ross nodded. 'Well, tomorrow I want you to go see them as soon as you get in to work, and tell them you're worried. If this man really is as "unstable" as you seem to think, the police ought to know about it. The wizard police, I mean.'

'I will,' he promised.

Dorothy smiled and pulled him down into a kiss. 'Good,' she murmured.

He slid one hand under the hem of her frothy Muggle nightgown and settled it on her waist. His thumb grazed the tiny mass of their unborn child and he drew Dorothy nearer to him. She made no attempt to stay him.

They moved into their bedroom, settling already into one another's familiar contours. Ross closed the door with his left hand, reaching behind him to latch it. Their little boy slept like a rock, but there was the occasional nightmare that brought him from bed. They could do with a few seconds' warning before he burst in on them.

Dorothy put a hand on the crest of his hip and drew him towards the bed. Her other fingers found the neckline of his robes. Ross hefted them over his head and let them fall unceremoniously to the ground. Then he leaned in towards his wife and drank deep of the draught of reconciliation.

~_discidium_~

The little boy awoke to find his bed empty. His mother was gone. The smell of rosewater still lingered on the pillow, and he could feel the indentation on the mattress where she had lain, but she was not there. He sat up, perplexed. It was still night-time; the darkness beyond his window testified to that. She wouldn't be up fixingbreakfast. Perhaps she had gone to sleep in the big bed. That was just as well. Da had looked awfully sad when he'd heard she wanted to stay with the child.

Satisfied, he settled back down into the warmth of his blankets. He groped for his bear, who usually slept next to his pillow. His hand closed on a rumpled corner of the bed-sheet.

He was across the room in under ten seconds. If he stood on his very tip-toes he could press the switch that turned on the electric light overhead. The incandescent glow blinded him briefly, but he scrubbed away the sleep from his eyes and surveyed the room. His toys were put away neatly in the toy chest. His books were lined up on the shelf, sorted by the colour of the spines. His bed was somewhat tousled, but there was no sign of his bear. He got down on all fours to peer under the bed. There was nothing there but his little shoes.

Then he remembered. He had been playing on the front lawn that afternoon, under Mother's careful supervision. He had left his bear – Edward Bear, Mother always called him laughingly – under the ash tree by the path.

Strictly speaking he wasn't allowed on the front lawn without his mother. Her grave warning that he would regret it if he disobeyed her resonated in his mind. Well then, she would just have to get up and come with him. Or else let him crawl into bed between her and Da. Either solution would suit him just fine.

He crossed the hallway, but his parents' door was closed. Frowning, he reached up to jiggle the door-handle. Still the door did not open. It was locked.

He thought about knocking, but he did not want to wake his father. His father had an important job in London, and he needed his sleep. The little boy yawned expansively. _He_ needed his sleep too, but he could hardly be expected to go back to bed without his mother _or _his bear. If he got Mother he would wake up Da, so it had to be the bear.

He descended the stairs carefully; _THUMP-bump, THUMP-bump_. He hurried to the front door. He would be down to the ash tree and back before anybody missed him. He reached for the door-handle and stopped. He had forgotten the new locks.

Frustrated, he sat down in the middle of the entryway. He knew how to wiggle the knob lock so that it opened, but the other two – the deadbolt and the chain – were too high for him to reach. The back door had a deadbolt now, too. There had been a great frenzy of locksmithing two weeks ago.

He was defeated. If only he had left his bear in the garden, he might have gone out the back way.

A grin spread across his face. He _could_ go out that way, and he could climb over the little white gate and get onto the front lawn. Happily he padded down the hall to the other end of the house. Once again his mother's warning resonated in his ears, but _regret_ was such a vague concept to a four-year-old that the caveat seemed much less important than his present mission.

He checked the deadbolt and almost laughed out loud with delight. It wasn't locked! The knob that worked it was going up-and-down like a nose. When the door was locked, it went side-to-side like a mouth, smiling because nobody could get in. Gleefully he gripped the door knob and wiggled until it clicked loose in his hand. He turned it and tugged.

The door did not move.

He tugged harder. It was stuck somehow; that was all. He pulled and pulled with all his might, but it still would not yield.

In the sitting room his mother's cuckoo clock rang out three times. The little boy counted with the clock, husbanding his strength and focus for one final mammoth effort.

He thought of his bear, out there under the ash tree. He thought of the way the door usually felt when he turned the knob and it swung open. He thought about thrusting his whole weight upon it. He turned the knob and pulled. Nothing happened. He tried again

Then suddenly there was a crackling in the air and a quick whiff of magic, and the boy sprang backwards as the door opened. He landed on his backside against the cellar door. He popped to his feet and stepped out into the cool summer night, meticulously drawing the door behind him so that it clicked closed.

His bare toes gripped the edge of the stoop as he peered out into the garden. It looked different by moonlight. The roses were black, and the vegetable garden looked like a sea of twisted roots. The acanthus stalks were rustling ominously in the wind. He hoped there were no Murtlaps hiding in the flowers.

Mustering his courage, he turned his mind back to his errand. Down the pebble path, up over the gate, grab his bear and run back before he was missed. There were streetlights in front of the house; it wouldn't be so dark out on the lawn. Carefully he put out his left foot, lowering it into the pebbles with a soft shushing sound. His right foot followed. He took two firm, sure steps forward, then another and another.

The acanthus stalks rustled again.

The boy held his breath. He could hear something in the darkness, and it didn't sound like a Murtlap. It was a low, rumbling sound like the engine of the Morris Minor when his mother turned the key. His heart started to hammer against his chest as the flower-stalks danced in the moonlight. His analytical young mind worked through the list of simple explanations, and that was when he realized that there was no wind.

There _was_ something hiding in the acanthus bed. He scanned the length of the fence frantically, trying to figure out what it was. Stories of dragons and Erumpents filled his imagination with a blur of frightening images. He took a tiny step backward. The rumbling noise grew deeper. There was a low, ominous snarl.

Terrified, he tried to run. The pebbles beneath his heels slipped, and he fell to his hands and knees. Pain shot up from his palms, but he scrambled to his feet. Something was coming out of the flowers now, something huge and dark with a great shaggy head and bony shoulders that rolled as it walked. All this he took in with one swift glance before he ran for the door. He seized the knob, but his hands were slippery with blood and he could not make it turn. There was a bone-chilling howl as the great monster sprung.

And afterward, for a long time, there was nothing but pain.


	2. In Lamb's Clothing

**Chapter Two: In Lamb's Clothing**

On the first of September in the year 1971, the sun hung high and bright. The city of London bustled on at its usual pace below, and the clock tower of Big Ben showed it to be nearly eleven o'clock. King's Cross Station employees were complaining about the bizarre onrush of strangely dressed people who seemed to inundate every year at this time, and on Platform 9 and ¾, children were preparing to go back to school. Some were bidding their caretakers goodbye, some were greeting their friends, and all were milling about, anxious for the new year to begin. The Hogwarts Express waited on its track, steaming energetically. Amid the bustle of cheerful farewells, one family stood tearful and silent.

A little boy, rather pale and thin but otherwise quite handsome, clung to a slight, aging woman. She was pale, with a stoop of defeat to her shoulders. Her mournful brown eyes gripped her son as surely as he gripped her hand. She wore an old frock of crimson habotai that had once adorned a shop window in Bond Street. Beside her was a tall, grave man in dark work robes. His brown hair was identical to the child's, and his alert grey eyes were ponderous as he watched his wife and son twined together as if to separate one from the other would prove fatal to both. He held the handle of a luggage trolley bearing a large trunk.

'Come, let's find you a compartment,' he said to the boy. 'It's nearly time.'

'Oh, Ross, don't make him go yet. You find the compartment first.' The woman placed a protective hand on her son's shoulder. She did not want to turn him loose into this world: a strange world that had brought him pains he never should have suffered.

'Why don't we all go?' Mr Lupin suggested. 'Then we can see him off together. Would you like that, Remus?'

The boy, eleven years and six months old, shook his head.

'Why not, dear?' Mrs Lupin asked.

'I'm frightened, Mother,' the boy said earnestly.

Both parents frowned. Their child lived with more than his share of pain and horror, and it was unlike him to be afraid of so simple a thing as a train ride.

'But Remus, I thought that you wanted to go to Hogwarts,' Father said, trying to sound perplexed.

'I do,' the boy mumbled. 'But what if the other children don't like me? What if they find out what I am and _hate_ me?'

'No, love, no,' said Mother, kneeling beside him and looking up into his eyes. 'Professor Dumbledore has taken care of that. It is going to be a secret, and only Professor Dumbledore will know – and Madam Pomfrey. You remember Madam Pomfrey, don't you?'

He nodded. The kindly matron had been present during their interview with the new Headmaster in the spring. She had smiled at him, and taken his hand, and offered him a chocolate truffle.

'Remus, if you don't want to go, you needn't, but it is the only way you can be a proper wizard,' said Father. 'I can only teach you so much: at Hogwarts you can take learn things I know nothing about.'

'But –'

'Go and find a compartment, Ross,' Mother instructed gently. She did not want her son to go: she did not care what her husband said about the merits of the alien school. It was a part of her husband's life that she could never share and would never really understand. Yet she knew that her child had no better hope for a ordinary life, and she was determined to ease this strange rite of passage as much as she could.

She turned to Remus. 'It's only 'til the Christmas holidays,' she said, trying to be cheerful. 'And Hogwarts is a lovely place – they'll show you how to use your wand, and teach you all sorts of wonderful tricks.'

'Yes, Mother, thank you,' he said quietly. 'But what if … what if the others … well …'

'Darling, no-one will know unless you tell them. I promise. And if you don't like it, send an owl home and we'll be there to get you before you can say _and back again_.' She glanced at the clock. 'Gracious, dear! It's four minutes to. Run now: there's your father. Give us a hug, Remus!' He coiled his arms around her neck and she kissed him. 'Remember to say your prayers every night.'

'Yes, Mother, I will.'

'And brush your teeth.'

'Yes, Mother.'

'That's my good boy. And Remus, darling, have a wonderful term.' She kissed him again.

'Yes, Mother, you too.' He embraced her gravely, and ran, limping only a little, across the platform to where his father was waiting.

'Here, I've even found an empty one,' he said. He helped his son up into the train and led him to the compartment at the very end of the last car. Remus surveyed the empty seats and fought to put on a brave face.

'Well,' Father said; 'this is it. I know you'll have a grand time at Hogwarts: I did.'

'But—' Remus thought better of the protest, and tried to smile. 'Yes, Father. I love you.'

'I love you, too,' the man said with only the faintest hesitation. 'Remember, all it'll take is an owl, and I'll come get you at once.'

He held out his arms and Remus clung to him, willing the embrace to last forever. But it ended of course, and the man kissed the crown of his head, and then he was left alone.

_~discidium~_

Conductors were walking the length of the train, slamming the doors firmly. Remus sat down and his father return to Mother's side as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station. Remus stared after them until they disappeared from view, and then sat back with a tiny sigh.

The fears that he had expressed were not the half of his worries. He wasn't an ordinary wizard child, and that had nothing at all to do with his Muggle mother. Any hopes of a normal life had long ago been swept away in a single arbitrary instant.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf. Once a month, he transformed from a skinny, quiet little boy into a great, slavering, bloodthirsty beast. He was a part-human, a half-breed creature doomed to a life of misery and exile if ever his secret was made public. One stupid mistake made when he was hardly more than a baby had destroyed his whole life. If only he had listened to his mother! Not that she ever blamed him, of course, or even ever pointed out that he had disobeyed her, but he did remember that much. He had left his bed and then the house in search of his bear. He remembered falling on the pebbles, and trying to open the door, and the long claws raking his back, cutting deep into the flesh. And then… he shuddered, unable to think about _that_. Whenever he did wanted to cry, and he knew he must not cry now.

Everything had been perfect until that night. That night when he had thrown everything away: his health, his freedom, his whole future – all of it gone like the darkness after moonrise.

His parents had been happy, going about their perfectly ordinary lives in limbo between two worlds, operating their household that blended the magic and the Muggle so well, raising their little boy, and planning for the new baby.

But then Remus had gone and got himself bitten, and all that had changed. After being rushed to St. Mungo's he was curtly treated and rapidly discharged. Then the Lupins had gone back to Cornwall, to try to pretend that none of it had ever happened. That had succeeded only for a month, for when the full moon rolled around again it became obvious that the problem was impossible to ignore. It would never get better, it would never go away.

So they were left to cobble together what semblance of a normal life they could, and to try to hide their guilty secret from the world. Their world revolved around the monthly transformations, and the Lupins spent the rest of each lunar cycle frantically searching for answers. They had sought out every supposed antidotes or cures - most expensive, all ineffectual and many dangerous. There had been trips to the Continent, to France and Romania and Germany, before money ran short. And one day, at last, they were exhausted by these fruitless efforts. Then they entrenched themselves in the townhouse in Falmouth and tried to face the daily struggle to accept the unacceptable.

For Remus all this meant long and lonely days with no one but Mother for company. Friends were out of the question: he could not fraternize with Muggle children because they must never find out that he was a wizard-boy, and he could not go near wizard children because whenever they found out what he was they would hurt him. He hadn't even been able to go to school: his father worked in curriculum aids for wizards educating their children at home, after all. Mother had taught him, devoting her efforts to teaching Remus how to read and write and cipher and study and turn out tidy, coherent composition papers, all the while preparing him for nothing. For nothing, because it had seemed impossible that he would be admitted to Hogwarts – or any other school in the wizarding world. Remus was a bright child, and had displayed magical tendencies almost since babyhood; but no responsible or respectable member of wizarding society would admit a werewolf to school. Hogwarts and the opportunity to become a proper wizard like his father had vanished along with any other hopes Remus had had for a future on that one, dreadful night.

Yet here he was, on the school train, on his way to the first of seven years of education at the finest school in the world. The letter had come the previous summer, just days after Remus's sixth anniversary: a letter for Mother and Father from the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself. Albus Dumbledore was aware, he wrote, of the unfortunate accident that had befallen their son, but did not see why they should wish to withdraw him from the enrolment lists (as Father had indeed written to suggest some months earlier). He said that it would be quite possible, with appropriate precautions, for him to attend school.

They had all three gone for a brief interview last autumn. Remus was then introduced to Madam Pomfrey, the school's matron and healer, and placed in the care of a sixth-year boy named Edgar, a Prefect. Edgar had shown him around the grounds and school, and explained good-naturedly what life at Hogwarts was like (Remus recalled the words "ruddy brilliant"). His parents had spent nearly three hours closeted with the Headmaster, and had emerged at last with the wonderful news: Remus was officially on the list, and would attend the next year.

He had never quite believed it until he received his Hogwarts letter that summer, and even now he was wary, half expecting the cup of joy to be dashed from his lips. He wondered if he would ever feel that it was really happening until he had his NEWTs and was a real wizard. He knew the importance of that: his parents had explained it carefully. Mother had made it her business to understand, to learn everything about the affliction that she hadn't even believed in until Remus had been bitten. She could face the truth as his father could not, and she had not kept anything from him. She had explained how most of wizarding society would react to him, and how difficult it would be to overcome their prejudice and contempt. Not that she needed to tell him; he had met enough bigots even among those who professed to be supportive of those suffering the disease. And Father. Remus still remembered the early days, before Father had come to grips with what had happened.

Remus sighed again, reaching under the sleeve of his robe to feel the scar that ran along his left arm. It was broad: three fingers wide, and still puckered and white. He would not wear short sleeves, he would not wear short trousers, and he would not go barefoot in public. He was covered in countless other scars, everywhere that the wolf could reach with its snapping jaws. For cursed wounds, even self-inflicted ones, never vanished. His parents made nothing of them, but Remus was ashamed of the marks. He could not help but feeling that once someone saw those scars they would know at once what had made them. There was nothing else to explain that. No accident, no torture, no other curse, he felt certain, could leave marks like those. No, he decided grimly, he would never make friends. He would always be alone, forced to the outside. He had lived that reality for seven lonely years. He would live it for seven more.

Suddenly, the compartment door slid open and dragged him out of the pit of self-pity into which he had been sliding. A red-haired girl with the most astonishingly green eyes that Remus had ever seen peered in.

'Are you a first-year?' she asked.

Remus nodded, rendered mute by a crippling attack of social anxiety.

'Is there anyone else sitting in here?'

He shook his head.

'Good,' the girl said firmly, entering the small room. 'C'mon, Sev.'

A thin, sallow boy with rounded shoulders came in after her. He gave Remus a nervous, appraising glance before sitting down. Like the other boy, he was already wearing his school robes. The girl on the other hand had on a green paisley dress without a waist, white knee socks and black shoes with round toes and buckles.

'Much better,' the girl said. 'Who wants to spend the whole ride with an idiot like that?'

Sev scowled. 'Not me,' he said. 'There's nothing wrong with Slytherin!'

'I hope I _am_ in Slytherin with you,' the girl said. 'It would be grand to be in the same House. Do they have classes together? At Tunie's school, they have Maths and History and everything with two Houses, and French and Cookery and Art with just their House. Petunia's in Zachary House. It's named after a school founder, too, 'cept he was a banker whose grandfather was a blacksmith in Hale, not a wizard.'

She bounced happily against the cushioned seat. 'Oh, I'm so _excited_!' she cried. 'Is there really a castle?"

'Mm-hmm!' Sev said, smiling animatedly. 'And a lake, and a forest.'

'And Slytherin's the best House,' the girl confirmed. 'Oh, I _hope_ we're together!'

'We've got to be,' the boy said, now sounding confident.

The girl turned to Remus. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm being awfully rude. I'm Lily. Who are you?"

'Remus,' he croaked. The boy called Sev smirked a little. Remus swallowed hard and managed a more coherent, 'Pleased to meet you.'

'And you,' said Lily. 'This is Severus.'

'Hi,' Severus said quietly.

'Hi,' whispered Remus.

'What House do you want to be in?' Lily queried.

'I don't know,' murmured Remus. 'My father was in Gryffindor.'

'Not _another_ one!' Severus said, quite loudly.

Lily frowned. 'People aren't always in the same Houses as their parents, are they?' she asked.

'Father says not,' Remus said. 'But it doesn't matter to me which House I'm in. I'm just glad that I get to go to Hogwarts at all.' He closed his mouth sharply. For him, this was quite a lengthy speech.

'See, Severus? He's not like those other two,' Lily said. 'But were you surprised, then, to get your letter?' she asked Remus. 'I mean, aren't your parents a witch and a wizard?'

'My father's a wizard,' Remus said.

'What about your mum?' said Lily.

'She's a Muggle.'

'Both my parents are Muggles,' said Lily. 'I didn't even know I was a witch 'til Sev told me.' She smiled at the other boy, but he said nothing.

'What about your parents?" Remus asked, exerting a valiant effort to draw him back into the discussion.

'What about them?' Severus said sharply. The tone of his voice was startling. 'They're wizards, of course.'

Lily looked at him in surprise. 'But your father—'

'My parents were wizards!" Severus asserted firmly. 'My mother was a Gobstones champion. She was in Slytherin!'

Lily frowned a little, and studied his face. 'I like Gobstones,' she finally said, turning slowly back towards Remus. 'Do you play?'

'Me?' said Remus. 'Oh, no, no. I…'

He was running out of things to say. He doesn't have much experience with making casual conversation, especially not with other children. Luckily, Lily didn't seem to mind. She shifted on the seat and began happily interrogating her friend about Hogwarts.

_~discidium~_

The train rattled north. Around one o'clock, the compartment door opened and a plump witch pushing a trolley full of every sort of confection imaginable smiled happily at the three children.

'Something to eat, dears?' she asked.

Remus had a whole bag of Knuts specifically for this purpose, and he dug into the pocket of his robe for his money-pouch.

'Oh, yes, please!' Lily said. 'I'd like a Mars bar, and—'

She stopped, staring at the cart with her jaw slightly slack.

'They don't have Muggle sweets,' Sev said. There was an unpleasant inflection on the word _Muggle_ that made Remus a little uncomfortable.

'Oh!" Lily said. "Well, what sort of sweets do wizards eat?'

Severus looked suddenly shamefaced. 'I had some Fizzing Whizzbies once,' he mumbled. 'They're nice.'

'Try the Chocolate Frogs,' Remus suggested softly. He was something of an authority on the topic of treats; Mother insisted upon them as a reward following difficult hospitalizations, and there had been many of those.

'What do you want, Sev?' Lily asked.

'Nothing,' Severus said softly. He took a squishy waxed-paper package out of his pocket and put it in his lap.

Remus and Lily each bought a sampling of the goodies on the cart. Lily counted her money carefully, puzzling over the unfamiliar coins. When the witch was gone the two children began to tuck in.

'Mind the frogs, they jump,' Remus warned, emboldened a little by the fact that his recommendation had been accepted. Lily squealed in delight as the enchanted chocolate sprung from its box.

'What's this?' Lily asked, lifting the brightly coloured card up and inspecting it. Then she yelped as the image of white-bearded Merlin grinned at her. 'It moved!' she said.

'All wizarding pictures move,' Severus muttered. His mood had swung back towards unpleasant, but Lily didn't seem to notice. She was busy reading the back of the trading card. The boy unwrapped his packet. A thick, fishy smell filled the compartment, and Remus eyed Sev's sandwich. It looked as though someone had opened a tin of tuna fish and slopped the contents onto a clumsily sliced piece of brown bread, capping it with another thick, uneven hunk. It wasn't a very appetizing dinner, and it was probably warm from riding in the boy's pocket, too.

"Would you like one?" Remus asked, holding out a Chocolate Frog.

Sev glanced at it covetously, but shook his head. "No, thanks.' He took a tentative nibble of his sandwich.

'Aw, c'mon, Sev, they're lovely!' Lily said happily.

'Do try it,' Remus urged. 'Please?'

Hesitantly, Severus reached out and took it. He let out a sudden laugh when the Frog hopped out. He bit into it, and his eyes closed with pleasure.

'What's your card?" Lily asked eagerly.

'Albus Dumbledore,' Sev said. He glanced at the back and then passed it to Lily while Remus opened his packet of Every Flavour Beans.

~_discidium_~

When the candy was gone, the three children settled back to watch the landscape rushing past. Presently, Severus stood up.

'We should let you get changed, Lily,' he said with an air of clumsy gallantry. 'We'll be there in a couple of hours, I think.'

Lily's grin broadened. 'I can't wait!'

Severus stepped out into the corridor, and Remus followed him without needing to be told. While the other boy stood like a sentinel by the door Remus wandered up the car, pretending for a minute or two that he was brave.

There was a muffled chanting noise coming from the compartment at the very front of the coach, and Remus felt his curiosity piqued. He approached the door with caution, and peered under the blind pulled three-quarters of the way down the window.

A crowd of half a dozen boys were perched on the seats, laughing and cheering and shouting horrible things like 'Fight! Fight! Hit him! Go for the kidneys!' Shocked and puzzled and made rather incautious by curiosity, Remus slid open the door.

He was obliged to leap back out of harm's way as two boys tumbled out into the corridor. They were both dark-haired and wiry boys, one tall and one not, and they didn't even seem to notice that they had rolled into the hall as they continued their mad grappling. Their fists flew furiously. There was a crack and a roar of rage as broken eyeglasses flew from the smaller boy's face.

The audience crowded to peer through the door, repeating their baiting cries. The bigger boy was on top of the little one now, and he reared up, raising his fist to strike.

Without fully comprehending what he was doing, Remus seized the poised wrist, hauling against it with all his might so that the punch could not land.

'Jumping Jarveys!' the bigger boy cried, whirling around and landing his left fist just beneath the ribs of his unheralded assailant. Remus curled around the blow, grunting softly as it struck home with less force than it otherwise might have done. 'Keep your hands to yourself!'

'Y-you can't get on top of him like that,' Remus stammered, appalled by his own temerity. 'He's littler than you are.'

'Don't let that stop you,' the other boy goaded, scrambling to his feet and putting up his fists like a prize-fighter. His spectacles were cracked and hanging limply from one ear. 'I can still take you!'

'I'd like to see you try,' the other boy sneered. He looked down at Remus, who was still clinging to his wrist as if he had the strength to restrain him. With a pursed frown of mild annoyance he said; 'Look, would you let go? You're bothering me.'

Remus obeyed immediately, shying away from the hint of disapproval. He backed against the wall of the next compartment. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sev, watching the altercation with wide, anxious eyes.

The smaller boy tried to get his spectacles back onto his nose, but his efforts were useless. He took them off and squinted furiously at his opponent. 'You lousy Slytherin son of a harpy!' he snarled. 'You broke my glasses!'

'You had it coming, smarmy Griffindor git!' the other boy snapped.

The door of the last compartment slid open and Lily came out into the corridor. 'I say, what's that racket?' When her eyes fell upon the two boys standing combat ready while they glowered at one another, she frowned. 'What's this?' she said coldly, strolling up and regarding them with disdain. 'A couple of hours ago you were best buddies, picking on people and showing off.'

'That was before he broke my glasses!'

'Which happened _after_ you called me an inbred elitist prat!'

'After _you_ started spouting off your family motto!'

'It's just a motto!' the taller boy yowled. 'It's just something you say after you give your name! It doesn't mean anything!'

'Actually it does,' snapped the other boy. 'It's French, or don't you know anything about your precious Norman ancestors?'

'They're not my precious Norman ancestors! They're just a load of dead people who live on my wall!'

'Well,' Lily said primly, though the last exclamation had turned her rather pale; '_I'm _not going to stand here and listen to this.' She looked scornfully at the gaggle of boys still ogling around the compartment door. 'C'mon, Sev. Let's leave them alone to finish each other off. Remus, are you coming?'

The tall boy whipped around so quickly that Remus took a defensive step backward. 'Don't go!' he said almost viciously. 'We haven't been properly introduced.' He thrust out his hand and Remus dared not refuse it. 'I am Sirius Black,' he said, very grandly. 'First-line male heir of the noble and most ancient house of Black, _toujours pur_!' He looked over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue at the other boy.

'I'm James Potter!' The boy with the spectacles elbowed his rival aside and pumped vigorously on Remus's arm. 'Heir to one of the largest private fortunes in Britain. You know, the fortune of the venerable house of Potter, _ne pas mauvais!_'

Sirius Black let out a howl of rage, and reached out as if to strangle James Potter. Acting out of some instinct that had nothing to do with self-preservation, Remus thrust himself between them. For a moment he thought that the bigger boy would strike him again. Though he did not, the wrath in his thunderous grey eyes did not abate at all. '_Slytherin families are NOT evil!_' he growled over Remus's head.

'Course not,' said Potter, smirking as he stood there, just out of reach. ''Cept for… oh, let me see. _The ones that are_!'

'_Ne pas mauvais_…' Black said through gritted teeth. 'That's not your family motto, you undersized four-eyed berk!'

Now it was Potter who tried to lunge. Impaired without his glasses, he misjudged his trajectory and failed to navigate around the interloper. He slammed into Remus's shoulder and trod heavily on his left foot. Remus had a high tolerance for pain and he didn't even flinch, but Black let out a wordless ululation of fury and smacked Potter full across the face with the back of his hand.

'You leave him alone!' he bellowed. 'He's littler than you!'

The ludicrous hypocrisy of that statement hung heavy in the air for a moment, before the boys in the doorway began to laugh. Black, realizing he had lost his credibility, flushed a lurid shade of purple. Potter dabbed at his bloodied lip with the back of his hand, straightened his spine into a victorious swagger and sauntered into his compartment.

The older boys were laughing and clapping him on the back.

'_Ne pas mauvais_,' one of them chuckled. '_Not evil. _Good one, Potter.'

'Guess you showed him,' said another.

'Lousy Blacks think they own us all,' a third sneered. 'D'you know Trixie Black used to torture firsties?'

The door slid shut and someone pulled down the blind, leaving Remus alone in the corridor with Sirius Black. He watched the bigger boy's face contort into an excruciating snarl of rage and humiliation. Just when he was about to flee down the corridor to the safety of the last compartment, Black raised both fists and brought them down against the wall of the train.

'Stinking self-righteous Gryffindor!' he exclaimed ineffectually.

'I— I think he's in first year,' Remus ventured.

Black glared at him. 'So? So am I.'

'So isn't it a— a little early to be fighting about what House he's in?'

He waited, breathless, for the waves of fury to come crashing down at him. Sirius Black looked murderous. Then a broad smile cracked his face and he let out a single, baying laugh.

'All right, fair point,' he said. 'I'll fight about that tomorrow.' He wiped his hand on the front of his robes and held it out again. 'We never did finish our introduction,' he said. 'What's your name?'

'Remus,' he whispered.

Black nodded. 'Well, all right then.' He glanced over his shoulder at the hostile door. 'Looks like I'm out a compartment.'

'You could come and sit with us,' Remus offered, pointing towards the back of the train.

'You mean with Snivellus Snape and that nasty self-righteous girl?' said Black. 'No thanks. I'd rather sit up front with Drommie.'

Without further ado – or any indication of who Drommie might be – he sidled away and opened the door that led to the next car.

Trembling a little now that the excitement was over, Remus made his way back to the rear compartment. As he slid open the door, Lily Evans looked up. 'So you decided to join us after all?' she asked, but she did not smile. 'You don't know those two boys, do you?'

Remus shook his head, hoping for some sign that he was still accepted. None was forthcoming. He slipped past Lily and Sev and sat down in the corner again. Resolutely he stared out the window as night gathered on the moors outside. He had done it again, and this time he hadn't even the secret to blame. All on his own he had alienated four of his classmates already, and they weren't even at school. Lily and Sev didn't like him because he hadn't followed them when they walked away from the fight. James Potter didn't like him because he'd interfered with his fight. And Sirius Black…

He had laughed, Remus remembered. But then he had walked away because Remus was fraternizing with Lily and Sev, and Black didn't like either of them. Lily and Sev, who were sitting together whispering and giggling behind their hands as they carried on their conversation so that he could not hear.

Remus tried to swallow the bitter lump in his throat but it would not stay down. He refused to blink his eyes, because if he did he knew the tears would spill out. All of his doubts came coursing back through the floodgate opened by his botched attempts to connect with the other pupils.

What was he doing here? This wasn't his world, not really. Someone was sure to find out and soon everybody would know. No one would talk to him. No one would look at him except to sneer their disgust. The Defence Against the Dark Arts students would want to try out their lessons on him – the textbook had a whole chapter on killing werewolves. He would have to be sent home, or else he would be abandoned by everyone and forced to spend the year in solitude, which might happen anyway if he couldn't work out how to make a friend. He didn't belong here; he knew he should be at home. But the Hogwarts Express rattled ever northward. It was too late to turn back now.


	3. Sorted

_Note: This has cropped up a couple of times in reviews, so I'm adding this note. I have not found any canonical evidence that James Potter's mother was a Black. Although a Dorea Black, married to a Charlus Potter, appears on the Black Family Tree, there is no indication whatsoever that she is James Potter's mother. If she were, it really seems like something that Sirius would have mentioned to Harry in The Order of the Phoenix when he describes his relation to Molly and Arthur, doesn't it? Given Sirius's eagerness to forge a deep and lasting relationship with his godson, and Harry's well-established longing for a family, I mean._

**C****hapter Three: Sorted**

At long last the train ground to a halt. Remus didn't move, sitting still and staring at his pallid reflection while the other two gathered their belongings and left the compartment. When they were gone he dug out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes and tried to blow his nose. Away to the front of the train he could hear doors opening and feet rushing about. There was laughter and cheering and the banging of trunks.

After taking another minute to gather his courage, Remus left the compartment. The station was a sea of children in black robes.

'Firs' years this way!' A voice rose over the din. An enormous man with wild black hair towered over the crowd. 'Firs' years this way!'

There was a great deal of jostling as the students filed into the little coracles that would bear them across the lake to the castle. Remus wound up with three students he didn't know, which was just as well. In the boat ahead, he could see Lily and Severus from the train. The two boys who had been fighting were in separate boats behind him.

The locations of his various hostile acquaintances were forgotten, however, as Hogwarts rose above the lake, turrets and spires aglow with lights. It swooped majestically towards the starlit sky, a monument to foresight and achievement in many hundreds of years old. Remus stared, wonder overcoming self-doubt and even fear, at least for a moment. It was the most incredible thing he had ever seen, graceful, enormous and magnificent. Ahead, his sharp ears heard Lily murmuring excitedly: 'Are _all_ wizard schools like this, Sev?'

'Of course not!' her friend whispered. 'Hogwarts is the best one in the world.'

Remus was inclined to agree, as he disembarked and made his way up the great stone steps and into the Entrance Hall. He had little time to look around, though, for the other first years were congregating. There were so many of them: a hundred at least. Remus felt very small and insignificant as he was jostled to the edge of the throng.

A very elderly-looking wizard in indifferently grey robes appeared before them.

'Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' he droned in a voice that hardly reached Remus. 'You will enter the Great Hall shortly and take your seats. First, however, you must be Sorted. Each of you will be placed in one of the four Houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. While you are here, your House will be like your family. You will sleep in your House dormitories. You will dine at your House table. You will spend free time in your House common room. You will obey your House prefects. You will be awarded or deprived of points on behalf of your House for exemplary or inappropriate behaviour, respectively. At the conclusion of the school year the House with the most points wins the House Cup. Follow me, please.'

He was not a very inspiring leader, but the crowd of children followed him through the great doors and into the Hall. Four long tables – each belonging to a House – traversed the length of the room. These were lined with students clad in uniform robes. Across the front of the room was a raised platform on which sat a table of adults. The first years were lead to this, and the wizard stepped up beside a stool on which was set a shabby, patched old hat.

'This,' he said, his voice so slow and somnolent that several students had to stifle broad yawns; 'is the Sorting Hat. It—'

To the alarm of the first years and the delight of the other students, the Hat interrupted. It burst into song – a rollicking tune that Remus, who was feeling quite overcome by the sheer multitude of people around him, could not afterwards remember.

When the last notes faded away, the students burst into tumultuous applause.

'A little less noise, please,' mumbled the aged professor. 'Now.' He unfurled a long roll of parchment and picked up the Hat. 'As I call your name, you will come forward and sit upon the stool. I will place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it will determine what House you are best suited to. Andrews, Aeolus…'

An olive-skinned boy stepped up and perched on the stool. 'GRYFFINDOR!' the Hat cried after a moment.

The boy hopped down, but stopped, watching anxiously.

'Andrews, Athena…'

A girl almost identical to the boy came forward, her long braid bobbing. 'GRYFFINDOR!' the Hat bellowed. Grinning, the twins took their seats at the appropriate table.

'Anglaize, Judith…'

A small, peaky girl stepped forward. 'SLYTHERIN!' One table burst into raucous cheers.

The next student's name was unintelligible. The professor appeared to have fallen asleep on his feet, Sorting Hat in hand. A startled silence settled over the Great Hall.

Remus eyed the head table, where Professor Dumbledore was watching the elderly professor very intently. When the old man let out a soft, wheezing noise very like a snore, Dumbledore shot a pointed look at a young, severe-looking witch with square spectacles and glossy robes of tartan plaid. Nodding primly, she got to her feet and hastened around behind the Headmaster to pluck the Hat and the scroll from the hands of the drowsing officiator. A very small professor with an extremely pointy hat hurried forward to take the old man by the hand. Without seeming to awaken, the man let himself be led back to the staff table, where he sat down and promptly slumped forward onto the table.

The young witch cleared her throat, consulted the list, and announced in a strong and steady voice that echoed to the enchanted ceiling above, 'Appleby, Elsie!'

A meek-looking child came forward, looking rather embarrassed to have missed her own name. The witch lowered the Hat and it shouted, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

So it went on. One by one the students were Sorted into their Houses. Remus rather lost track in the muddle of names and faces, and the tumultuous cheering that arose from each of the tables was beginning to make his head ache. He was unused to crowds, and the Hogwarts student body was an exceedingly boisterous group.

Then he heard a familiar name.

'Black, Sirius!'

He winked at Remus as he mounted the stool. The Hat was lowered, and almost at once announced 'GRYFFINDOR!"

Black grinned enormously until a sharp, scandalized noise cut through the cheers of the Gryffindors. At the Slytherin table, a willowy creature with gleaming golden hair was sitting bolt upright, eyes wide with consternation. As Black looked at her the colour drained from his face. His eyes shifted to the heavy-lidded girl seated next to her, whose face registered only mild surprise, and then to the Gryffindor table. The witch plucked the Hat from off his head, and nudged him squarely in the small of the back. Only then did he dismount the stool, and as she shepherded him off the dais he shot a horrified, almost pleading look at the Hat. He stumbled to the Gryffindor table and sat numbly down.

As the Sorting went on Remus tried to catch the other boy's gaze, but he was staring at something that no one else could see. Abruptly Remus recognized the hunted look in his eyes. He was frightened.

'Evans, Lily!' called the teacher.

'GRYFFINDOR!' the Hat cried pointedly from its perch on the ruddy hair of the girl from the train. She bit her lip, evidently surprised and a little disappointed. Remus remembered the hope she had expressed of being Sorted into Slytherin. Sirius slid over to make room for her in an automated way that made Remus think he didn't recognize her. She certainly recognized him, however; she crossed her arms indignantly and turned her head away.

Remus felt a mounting dread as the list rattled on. Logan, Thea, was assigned to Ravenclaw. They were well into the L's now…

'Lupin, Remus!'

His stomach in a knot, Remus stepped forward. Could the Hat really read his mind? There had been something in the song to that effect. Would it know? Would it _say_?

'Hello!' said a voice inside his head: the Hat was speaking. 'Hello. What have we here? A fine mind, my boy, a very fine mind… What's this? A guilty secret! So you are, are you? I've never had one of your kind before… you don't say? Since you were four years old? Well, well, well… And you came to school in spite of that? Ambition… very dedicated and hard-working… and a very fine mind. A _very _fine mind. If it weren't for your little secret, I'd put you in Ravenclaw in a moment…'

Remus felt a lump forming in his throat. _If it weren't for the secret_. The Hat was going to tell. He would be sent home, sent home even before the first class.

'Don't be stupid, boy! Your secret is safe with me!' the Hat snapped. 'I said I'd put you in Ravenclaw but for the secret, and I mean that, but you're putting words into my brim. Do you have any idea how much courage you've displayed by coming to school? GRYFFINDOR!'

It took Remus a moment to realize the Hat had said the last word aloud. Only when the Gryffindor table erupted in cheering did he dare to slip off of the stool. It was over. Knees trembling a little from sheer relief, he went to sit among his new Housemates.

'MacFusty, Betta!'

A tall, confident girl with hair in chestnut waves stepped up and perched smilingly on the stool. The Hat did not hesitate. 'GRYFFINDOR!'

Remus let his mind wander until the Hat started on the letter P.

'Patil, Thais!'

'RAVENCLAW!'

'Pettigrew, Peter!'

A boy who looked almost as nervous as Remus had felt approached the Hat. 'GRYFFINDOR!"

'Potter, James!'

Remus craned his neck to see James Potter strolling confidently to the stool. Down went the Hat, and… 'GRYFFINDOR!'

'Poznione, Nikolas!'

'See? I knew I'd be—'

'RAVENCLAW!'

'—Gryffindor,' James said to no one in particular as he swung a leg over the bench. Then his eyes met those of Sirius and he scowled.

'Rees, Juno!'

'RAVENCLAW!'

'Reynolds, Kylie!'

'Hufflepuff!'

'Rosier, Evan!'

'SLYTHERIN!' A boy with small eyes hopped down.

'Smythe, Rowena!'

'Watch! She'll be a Ravenclaw: with a name like that…' James shrugged expressively.

'RAVENCLAW!'

'Knew it.'

'Snape, Severus!'

The sallow-faced, round-shouldered boy approached the stool. Remus could see that he was gnawing on his lip and his angular, spider-like hands were shaking at his sides.

'SLYTHERIN!' shouted the Hat, almost before it touched the lank black locks. With a look of desperate relief Severus ran for his House table, shooting only one longing glance at Lily, who was seated amongst the Gryffindors. The Slytherins welcomed him warmly, including one rather supercilious-looking Prefect who put an approving hand on his shoulder as he sat.

There were only a few pupils left after that, and at last the Sorting of the first-years concluded. 'Please remain seated!' said Professor Dumbledore as he rose. 'Welcome to Hogwarts!' he said. 'Congratulations: you are the largest first year class we have seen this century!'

Almost everyone cheered. Remus didn't dare to raise his voice among so many people, but he applauded quietly.

'And so another wonderful year begins!' Dumbledore continued. 'Now that we've welcomed our first years, I'd like to remind everyone that the forest on the grounds is off limits for all students unless under the direct supervision of a teacher. You are reminded that the forest is inhabited by many dangerous creatures; we ask that all students take their own safety into account and stay away.'

Remus felt his stomach churn uneasily. After all, he was a dangerous creature, and most wizards would consider him much worse than anything they might find on the Hogwarts grounds.

'And now,' Dumbledore went on; 'I have the very great privilege of introducing three new staff members this term. Firstly, Professor Huckleberry has retired to Scotland in order to pursue his research into various botanical restoratives. Many of our older students will remember his successor from past years at our school. May I introduce Professor Sprout, our new Herbology teacher!'

The Hufflepuff table erupted into cheers and calls of 'Jolly old 'Mona!' from the sixth and seventh years.

'Our caretaker Mr Oddsworth is unfortunately on medical leave. I am sure you all wish him the very best. His stand-in, Mr Filch, is a welcome addition to our staff.'

A grim looking young man with long, lank hair glared from the doorway at the ranks of nervously clapping students.

'And please welcome Professor Alfstin, who has consented to return from retirement from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to take up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.'

A thin, white-haired man with uncommonly luxuriant and bristling eyebrows jerked his head at the applauding pupils.

'I am sure you will all make them all very welcome, and will do your best to ensure that their stay at Hogwarts is lengthy, prosperous and pleasant,' Dumbledore continued. 'Lastly I would like to introduce our new Head Boy and Girl: Edgar Bones and Thalia Smythe.'

Gryffindors and Ravenclaws shouted loudly as a slender, auburn-haired girl bearing an uncanny resemblance, even for a sister, to Rowena Smythe in first year, and a tall boy who Remus recognized at once as the prefect who had shown him around the school a year ago, stood up and bowed.

The Headmaster raised his hand as the applause died away. 'Now I have for you the three words I'm sure you've been longing to hear: enjoy the feast!'

On cue, food suddenly appeared on the tables to the amazement and delight of the new students. Remus ate slowly and with relish, taking in the wonders of the Great Hall: the enchanted ceiling, the floating candles, and, of course, the teachers.

In addition to the two new instructors, the enormous man who had taken the first-years across the lake was seated at the staff table. Not far from him was the tiny wizard, chatting amicably with the very old one who had awakened at the appearance of the feast. An enormously fat, balding wizard with protruding eyes and a greying, walrus-like moustache was speaking to a witch clad all in black. Her hoary hair fell straight and shining to her waist, and her long fingers sported large rings set with onyx and ebony. She did not seem very pleased with whatever it was he was saying to her Remus had only a very brief moment to hope _she_ was not one of his teachers, for Sirius bent behind Elsie Appleby.

'Do you like him?' he whispered. 'That Potter kid?' His voice was more subdued than before: it was almost defensive.

'I don't know,' Remus replied. 'I don't really know him.'

'What's that got to do with anything? He's obviously a prat,' Sirius said savagely. 'I thought he was all right, too,' he muttered, mostly to himself.

Remus was spared the difficulty of groping for a reply to these contradictory sentiments by a tall girl with ruddy brown curls. She sported a prefect's badge and a brilliant smile, and she came striding down the table towards the first years. 'Broke your glasses, have you?' she asked James. Her own were horn-rimmed with dark emerald stones set in the corners. 'Let's see then!'

With an odd look on his face, as though he did not like the idea of handing his vision to a strange girl, James obeyed. She produced her wand, tapped them and gave them back, good as new.

'Thanks!' said James, returning them to his face.

'Don't mention it! I'm Dorcas Meadowes, by the by: Gryffindor Prefect. If Eddie won't listen, come to me! Or Aloysius Carlyle, over there, or Miranda McLeod, or Sophocles Dumont, or Jean MacFusty. They'll all help, but I'm the one who's got you lot as my special project!' she announced merrily to the whole class, and then sailed back to her own seat.

When the feast ended, the Gryffindor students followed Dorcas Meadowes to the Gryffindor Tower. At least, that was where she said they were going. They wound up in front of a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress.

'Password?' the picture said. Several of the Muggle-born students gasped.

'Capricorn,' said Dorcas. 'Remember that,' she told the students as the frame moved aside.

They were sent up to their dormitories at once. The first year boys were divided arbitrarily into three rooms by Dorcas, who went around the group counting them off in the order they stood. Five each went up to the first and second room, and the third room had four, Remus among them. He hastened up the stairs as quickly as he could, scarcely noticing when the nervous-looking boy named Peter trotted after him. It was an enormous relief to be in a small, manageable room away from the crowd. Remus took a few deep breaths and smoothed the front of his robes. He felt much safer here, even if he wasn't alone.

Suddenly Sirius Black burst in. He grinned at Remus in a way that suggested that whatever happened it might not be all bad. Remus managed a wavering half-smile in return.

'I get the corner!' Sirius announced, ambling over to the far wall and flopping down on the four-poster standing there. Remus timidly sat down on the bed next to him, reaching out to feel the heavy velvet draperies. Peter sat down on the one in the opposite corner, as far from the loud new resident as possible.

'I don't believe this!' cried an exasperated voice. Remus turned towards the door and saw James Potter, staring disdainfully at the corner bed. 'I'm not sharing a room with a Black!'

'What've you got against Blacks?' Sirius demanded

'Well, let's see. You're a load of prats drunk on your own pure blood!' James retorted.

The boy named Peter gasped and covered his ears.

'Well, the Potters are blood-traitors with— aw, hell, I just plain don't _like_ you, all right?'

'Look, you snake-born, muscle-headed, snip-nosed creep, this isn't your House!' James retorted.

'The Hat put me here!' rejoined Sirius. 'And if you're holding my parent's placement and my family against me, Potter, then you're just as bad as the Blacks and the Malfoys and all the rest of them!' There was a curiously strained quality to his voice, as if he were trying very hard not to cry.

James stared. 'Right. You've had Gryffindors before, eh?' James asked.

'Sure!' Sirius snarled. 'Well, my great-great-great-grandfather's third sister's daughter for one… and the Potters have had Slytherins!'

'Have not!'

'Have so!'

'Have not!'

'Have so!'

'HAVE NOT!'

'HAVE _SO_!'

'Who, then?'

'Lucianus Potter! He married my great-great-great-aunt Clytemnestra's daughter!'

'You moron!' cried James. 'He wasn't a Potter by blood, he was a Kindleysides; my gran's gran's cousin adopted him when the rest his family died in a flash flood in 1832!'

Sirius fell silent, struggling to think up a clever retort. He had just opened his mouth when with a four loud pops a trunk appeared at the foot of each bed. Remus got up to check the labels.

'It seems the room assignments are set now,' he said quietly. 'Couldn't we all just go to bed?'

Both Potter and Black stared at him and then glared at each other. A moment later they were both rummaging around for their nightclothes, each taking great pains to avoid the other's line of sight. Remus dug out his nightshirt and then got onto the bed, tugging all of the curtains closed before he undressed. He pulled down his sleeves so that they covered his arms completely, and covered the scars on his feet with a pair of woolly slippers. Only then did he dare to emerge to put away his school robes.

Sirius Black was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing only his underpants as he tried to unfold a very precisely compacted article of clothing. He looked up and smirked. 'Shy?' he asked, eyes twinkling.

Remus felt his ears flushing crimson. He hugged his bundle of clothing to his stomach and stared down at the floor.

'Aw, shut up and leave him alone,' Potter said, closing his trunk and hopping onto it to close the curtains at the foot of his bed. 'I wouldn't want to undress in front of you either.'

'Oh, yeah? So then why did you?'

James shrugged. '_I'm_ not shy.'

'Not exactly a master logician, either,' Sirius remarked.

'Why don't you just keep your nose out of other people's business?' his rival demanded. 'Let him get changed in the bed if he wants to: it's his bed. You can't treat us like your little minions, you know. If you wanted a bunch of fawning slaves you picked the wrong House.'

'_I _didn`t pick it!' Sirius exclaimed, and it seemed as if the quarrel was going to take another direction entirely. But with a broad gesture at the boy caught in the middle, Sirius returned to the subject at hand. 'And you needn't fly off the handle; I was only teasing. One minute you're stepping all over him, and the next minute you're springing to his defence for no good reason? Make up your mind.'

'Hey, I'm sorry about that, by the way,' James said to Remus, his voice losing its combative edge for almost half a minute. 'Treading on your foot on the train, I mean. I couldn't see where I was going because _someone_—'He cast a very pointed look at Sirius Black. '—broke my glasses.'

'It's all right,' Remus mumbled, not taking his eyes off of his slippers. 'Really.'

A triumphant snort came from the corner, drawing his focus away from James. Sirius finally had the garment unfurled. He yanked it over his head and pushed the cuffs up over his elbows. It was a very fine cambric nightshirt with pearl buttons at the neck. It seemed that the Potters were not the only family with a fortune to boast of.

'Stop gawking and get to bed,' Sirius said irately, tossing his head in Remus's general direction. 'It was your idea in the first place.'

The offhand scorn in his voice was more than Remus could bear. He tossed his clothes on top of his open trunk and scrambled back into the sanctuary of his bed. He checked each pair of curtains, making certain that they were pulled as snugly closed as was possible. He pressed his spine against the headboard and drew his knees up to his chest, rocking a little. He wanted to go home.

Off to his left Black was speaking. He sounded almost bewildered. 'Hey, I didn't mean to spook him like that…'

'You're a dog,' James Potter said disdainfully. 'I told you to leave him alone.'

'Please stop fighting,' a third voice implored; it was the boy named Peter. 'Please?'

After that a hostile silence fell. Someone snuffed the candles and Remus listened as one by one the other boys fell asleep, their breathing growing deep and low and even. Only when a faint snoring came from the direction of Sirius Black's bed did he dare to crawl under the covers. He lay awake for a long time before his exhaustion got the better of him. As he slipped into the murky place between sleep and waking, he realized unhappily that he had forgot to say his prayers.


	4. Lessons

**Chapter Four: Lessons**

Remus awoke the next morning to find the dormitory empty. Terrified that he had overslept, he dressed hurriedly and snatched up his satchel. As he came racing down the stairs into the Gryffindor common room, he realized that he had made yet another foolish blunder.

Half of the first years were milling around, most of them still in their pyjamas. There was a spattering of upper-year students, but most of them seemed to be still abed. The clock on the mantelpiece showed it to be another twenty minutes before breakfast was even slated to be served.

'Is the Tower on fire?' James Potter asked, looking up from a glossy magazine with brightly clad Quidditch players flying to and fro across the cover.

'I thought…' Remus let his voice trail off helplessly.

'Never mind. Come and sit down.' James gestured at an overstuffed armchair nearby.

Remus perched on the very edge of the cushion, lowering his bag to the ground and putting his left hand protectively over it. When he said nothing, James turned languidly back to his magazine. Remus wondered if he dared to initiate conversation. After all, the other boy had stood up for him last night.

'I thought I was late,' he said timorously, finally articulating his thoughts. His voice sounded very loud, despite the half-dozen dialogues being carried on nearby. 'Why is everyone up already?'

'It's the first year advantage,' Potter said, still studying the periodical in his lap. 'Bigger students are up late snogging or sneaking around or writing four rolls of parchment on the definition of a catalytic mineral and its purpose pursuant to potions-brewing, so they sleep late too. This is the only time of day the firsties can get the good seats down here. Besides, it doesn't hurt to have the first pickings at breakfast, either.'

Remus had absolutely no idea how to reply to that explanation. 'Oh,' he said flatly, because had to say_ something_.

'I've been meaning to ask; what's your name, anyway?' He licked a finger before turning the page.

'Remus.'

'And are you the only Remus in England?' asked Potter.

'I… I don't know. I don't think so. Maybe?' Remus stammered, hopelessly confused by the question.

James rolled his eyes. 'I mean what's your _last_ name, of course.'

'Oh.' Why hadn't he just said that? 'Lupin.'

The other boy whistled softly. 'Lucky you,' he said. 'Get teased about that a lot when you were little, did you?' He made a growling noise deep in his throat. 'Boy raised by wolves, right?'

'No!' Remus yelped. 'I mean, yes. Yes, you're right.'

'Huh. My parents never went in for Latin names, thank goodness. Hey, look at this,' he said, turning the magazine around so that Remus could see a picture of a very angular young witch with a long nose grinning out in full colour. 'New Keeper for the Harpies certainly looks the part, doesn't she?'

Remus nodded frenetically. He didn't know the first thing about Quidditch, but he was anxious to please. 'Are they quite a good team?' he asked.

'They're quite a _scary_ team,' James said, flipping forward several pages. 'I'm a U. man myself.'

Afraid to show his ignorance, Remus said nothing. It was enough just to sit here, he told himself, and watch the other boy read. At least he wasn't being driven off.

'Hey, are you ready to go?' Sirius Black came ambling down the stairs, his book bag slung artfully over his shoulder. His hair was damp and he smelled of soap. He was looking right at Remus. 'You're sitting with me at breakfast, aren't you? Let's go!'

Remus swallowed hard. Once again it seemed he was caught in the middle. He was starting to feel rather afraid of Sirius, and he didn't want to refuse him. But on the other hand he didn't want to insult James. He knew that it ought to be a small decision; who to sit with at breakfast. All around him the other students were making similar arrangements, breaking into small groups and drifting out of the portrait-hole together. But he didn't know what to do. There was no obvious answer, and it seemed crucial that he make the correct choice.

'Come on, Remus, let's _go_.'

It was the way that Sirius said his name that settled the matter. There was no hint of mockery; no cutting remark about boys raised by wolves. He just let it roll casually off of his tongue. Remus bobbed his head rapidly and picked up his bag. As he followed the taller boy out of the common room, he glanced back over his shoulder. James Potter was still contentedly poring over his magazine as if he hadn't even realized that Remus was gone.

_~discidium~_

The Gryffindor first years had Herbology first thing that morning. After breakfast they all they assembled outside of Greenhouse One to await the teacher's arrival. Remus had followed Sirius out of the Great Hall. They had said very little over breakfast; at first they were occupied with eating, and then Remus couldn't quite keep up his end of the conversation, which had run towards some recent scandal involving an aide to the Minister for Magic. Now Sirius seemed to have no more use for him; he was looking around the grounds with the avid eye of a conquering cartographer.

Some distance away Remus saw James Potter, deep in conversation with Aeolus Andrews. His third dormitory-mate was standing off to one side looking somewhat forlorn. Remus slipped cautiously away from Sirius and move towards Peter. He tried to work up the courage to wish him a good morning, but he didn't get the chance. A moment later Professor Sprout appeared in a flurry of pea-green robes, and the lesson began.

History of Magic was next, but Remus was late. Somehow he managed to get separated from the rest of the class in the winding corridors, and it was seven minutes after the lesson had begun when he finally found the right room and slipped into a vacant desk at the back. He waited anxiously for the teacher to reprimand him, but Professor Binns – the elderly wizard who had drifted off three students into the Sorting the night before – didn't seem to notice. He kept right on droning through his lecture without even a pause.

~_discidium_~

'Little side trip on the way to class?' James Potter asked, jogging to catch up with Remus in the corridor. 'I guess now we know whose lessons it's safe to cut. He didn't even see you!'

'We couldn't cut lessons,' Remus said anxiously.

A perplexed voice to his right startled him. 'It's a joke,' Sirius Black said, coming up from behind. 'That's about the fifth time you've done that. Don't you understand what a joke is?'

Before Remus could answer, James tugged on his sleeve. 'You're sitting with me at lunch, right?' he asked. 'We never did finish our conversation this morning.'

'You know, I can't wait to explore the grounds,' Sirius said, as if the other boy had not spoken. 'I hear they planted a Whomping Willow this year; a great big one! And of course there's the Forest.'

'It's off-limits to students,' Remus said quietly.

'Which team do you support? You didn't say.' James, too, seemed determined to ignore the other dialogue.

'I don't really—'

'Aw, that's just the sort of thing adults always say,' Sirius went on. 'If there were any real danger it would be roped off or something wouldn't it?'

'But the Headmaster said…'

'Do you play?' asked James.

'But that's just my point,' Sirius continued; 'he _would_ say that, wouldn't he? I mean, that's what rules are for: to keep kids in line so that we can't have any fun.'

Remus thought of the one household rule he had broken long ago, and his stomach grew tight. 'I don't think that's what rules are for,' he said softly.

'I've got a Shooting Star at home,' James was saying; 'but of course first years aren't allowed broomsticks. The fix is in, if you ask me. They just don't want us outflying the upper years. Bet you I could make circles around the whole Slytherin team.'

'Sure they are!' Sirius laughed. 'How else do you explain the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery? It's obviously the result of adult paranoia.'

'You must be very good,' said Remus, turning to his left. Then to his right he said, 'But unqualified wizards can be dangerous.' He was frantically trying to keep up with the two conversations, but as he found it quite difficult to manage even one, he was fighting a losing battle.

'Not the clever ones,' Sirius began again. 'I think—'

He was interrupted by an unpleasant female voice as the three dormitory-mates entered the Great Hall.

'Look who it is,' cooed an older girl, sailing across the room from the Slytherin table. 'The little blood-traitor himself.'

Remus looked at the other two boys, wondering whom she was addressing. It did not take much guessing; Sirius had gone white, and suddenly Remus recognized the girl as the one who had seemed so startled by his Sorting into Gryffindor.

'Hiyah, Cissy,' Sirius said, tossing his head in what he clearly thought was a nonchalant way. 'Enjoying our first day back, are we? Caught up on all the clucking yet?'

The girl wrinkled her nose in patrician distaste. 'I took it upon myself to write to Auntie, you know, telling her of your disgrace. I expect she'll be most displeased. Poor Auntie, her eldest son winding up just another Gryffindor nobody. And she set _such_ store by you, too.'

'You watch what you say about Gryffindor,' James said dangerously, wand in hand. 'Just because you're a girl doesn't mean I won't hex you.'

'And who are you?' she asked disdainfully. 'One of ickle Sirius's Mudblood friends?'

James flushed pink at the vile word. 'I'll have you know I'm as pure-blooded as you,' he said. 'And you can write and tell _Auntie_ that, too!'

'I'm sure it's not my affair if Sirius chooses to disgrace the family,' the girl drawled, studying her nails. 'I'll just leave you to it, then, shall I? I suggest you enjoy it while you're still able to.'

So saying, she turned on her heel and strode regally back to her place among the Slytherins.

'Who's that?' James asked, turning to Sirius. 'Your girlfriend?'

'She's my cousin, you knuckleheaded twerp,' Sirius growled. 'Why would my girlfriend call my mother "Auntie"?'

'Well you are Mr _Toujours Pur_, after all,' James baited. 'How do I know you haven't got some kind of consanguineous arranged marriage in the works?'

Sirius glowered at him, but said nothing. He stomped over to the Gryffindor table and deposited himself wrathfully on the bench.

Remus was not sure what he ought to do, but James grabbed hold of his elbow and steered him over to sit next to Sirius. James took up the place on Remus's other side and began to fill his plate. The meal was not a pleasant one; neither boy seemed willing to talk to the other, and Remus sat uncomfortably, trying to make himself as small as possible between them.

~discidium~

After dinner they had Potions with Slytherin – a double-block class. James and Sirius were silent but livid as they descended to the dungeons. Remus felt rather like a prisoner being frogmarched by soldiers of two opposing factions at once. The classroom door was locked when the trio arrived, and they joined the crowd of students waiting to be let in. Sirius began to look restless, and Remus was just starting to fear that he would pick another fight with James merely to relieve the tedium, when the dungeon door opened with a pop.

'Well, well! Everybody come and find a table!' a buoyant voice said from within. There were about four minutes of chaos as fifty-some students pushed and jostled one another in their haste to get into the room. A big Slytherin boy brushed heavily against Remus's shoulder as he passed. He stumbled, but Sirius Black grabbed his arms and steadied him.

'Easy there,' he said with a small smile. 'You don't want to get trampled.'

'Thank you,' Remus whispered.

Sirius grinned. 'C'mon, let's go before the good spots are taken.'

They managed to get a table together. James Potter was on the other side of the room, looking studiously away from them. At the head of the class stood the fat, balding wizard with the large moustache.

'First years!' he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together as he surveyed the sea of faces. 'First years! Such untapped potential, such untried talent. Well, come in, children, come in! Everyone find a table! Hurry up now! No time to waste!'

There was a little more shuffling, but in the end everyone had a table and a partner. 'Well, then!' the teacher said merrily. 'Welcome to Hogwarts and the art of Potions. I'm Professor Slughorn: those of you from my own house surely know already that I'm Head of Slytherin! But don't let that put you Gryffindors off: I want to get to know each and every one of you, so don't be shy! We'll begin with a register!'

He plucked a large roll of parchment out of the air and unfurled it. As he went through the names he paused more than once to remark upon a student who caught his eye.

'Athena and Aeolus Andrews!' he read.

'Present!' the twins chorused.

'Are you… forgive me… by any chance related to Poseidon Andrews, the current Minister for Magic?' Slughorn asked with a sycophantic smile.

They both nodded, Aeolus looking a little uneasy at the revelation. An impressed murmur coursed through the room.

A little further down the list, he came to Sirius. 'And why aren't you in my house, my boy?' he demanded, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. 'Never had a Black in any other house than Slytherin, have I? Unheard-of.'

Sirius set his jaw defiantly. 'Take it up with the Sorting Hat if you don't like it,' he said. '_Sir_,' he added, almost as an afterthought.

Slughorn shrugged and turned back to the register. 'Zara Carr—not Captain Carr's great-granddaughter?'

'Er…no, sir. No, I don't think so.'

'Captain Divinder Carr of Her Magesty's Magical Navy?'

'N-no.'

'Oh. Pity.' Slughorn sighed a little. 'Quintilla Crouch. Related to Bartemius Crouch of the Wizengamot Administration Services?'

'My father's first cousin,' Quintilla replied, smiling.

'Ah, excellent! Excellent!' This seemed to make up for his error about Zara. Slughorn continued, smiling broadly. He did not pause again until he got to Remus, who had been praying that his name would pass without remark.

'Here,' he mumbled, keeping his eyes on his table.

Slughorn looked at him piercingly. 'Your father… Ross, wasn't it?'

Remus nodded miserably. Everyone was looking at him, and he wished the ground might open up and swallow him.

'Works at the Ministry, doesn't he? Something or other to do with primary education?'

'Curriculum aids, yes, Professor.'

'Pity. Had such potential. I expected great things from him, I really did. Much better than a dead-end job in a stuffy little office somewhere. If he'd played his cards right he could've been head of the department by now. Pity.' Slughorn shook his head. 'Betta MacFusty! My dear! A MacFusty of the Hebredies, of course!'

'That's right,' she said, laughing.

'My, my! Finest dragon breeders and guardians in the world, the MacFusties! Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear! You must be sure to tell me all about your family's work! Tryphaena and Tryphosa MacGreggor, the living images of your mother, of course! And Idwall McKay?'

'Present!'

'Io McKinnon? Sister to Eldritch in third year, naturally?'

'Naturally.'

'An excellent Keeper. My own house team could learn a thing or two from him. Milana Morenzo?'

'Present!'

'Peter Pettigrew?'

'Present!'

'James Potter?'

'Present!'

'Son of Roland Potter, Esquire? Heir to one of the greatest private fortunes in Britain? Am I right?'

'More or less,' James said, grinning.

'A pleasure, my boy, a pleasure. We must expect great things from you, mustn't we?'

'I suppose we must, sir!' James said. Next to Remus, Sirius was scowling almost enviously.

'Of course! Senellus Snape?'

'S-severus.'

'What? Oh, yes, of course. Eulaile Spode?'

'Present!'

'Stephanie Utumno?'

'Present!'

'Vivian Viridian? Another one who ought to be in my house but was stolen away by Gryffindor! What do you mean by it, my dear?'

'I…I…' A thin, black-haired girl stared miserably at the countertop.

'Katrina Weatherby?'

'Present.'

'And Charlotte White! Well, that's everyone! Shall we get down to business? We're going to make a simple solution of Invisible Ink today, so turn to page three of your texts and follow along…'

~_discidium_~

James was in an excellent mood as the class filed out at the end of the lesson. He jabbered happily in Remus's general direction as they walked back to the Gryffindor Tower, apparently unaware of Sirius's presence. The common room was crowded with students bent over homework assignments or deep in conversation with their friends. Someone called out to James, diverting his attention from his soliloquy. Sirius elbowed Remus in the ribs.

'Let's get out of here,' he muttered, jerking his head towards the portrait hole. 'There's almost two hours before supper. Let's go exploring.'

'We have to work on the herbal catalogue for Professor Sprout,' Remus reminded him.

'Aw, that'll take ten minutes, tops. We could probably dash it off Monday morning before class, and here we've got the whole weekend to work on it. Besides, we can find our way to tomorrow's lessons. You don't want to be late again, do you?'

Remus hung his head. 'You noticed that too,' he mumbled.

'Everybody noticed, apart from old Binns,' Sirius said. 'Buck up; it doesn't matter. I'm sure it'll happen to most of us one time or another. They ought to issue first years with maps.'

He moved towards the portrait hole, and Remus followed him. They started down the corridor, and Sirius went on. 'You know what to do when you're lost, right?' he asked. Remus said nothing. It was obvious that he had no idea what to do when he was lost. 'Ask the portraits, of course!' Sirius said brightly. 'They know the castle better than the prefects. Of course you might come across one or two who are a little unpleasant, but just show them who's boss.'

Remus nodded politely to show that he was listening, but he did not really think he would have the audacity to show anyone that he was boss. Nevertheless he followed as Sirius ambled through the corridors. Together they found their way to all of their classrooms, the library, and the Owlery, where Sirius introduced Remus to his bird.

'He's a beauty, isn't he?' he asked as an enormous sooty owl wheeled down to settle on his forearm. 'Which one is yours?'

'I don't have one,' Remus admitted. 'Father said the school has owls everyone may use.'

'That's true, I guess,' said Sirius as he scratched the ruffled feathers around his owl's neck; 'but everyone who's anyone keeps their own.'

'I guess I'm no one, then,' murmured Remus.

Sirius laughed as if he had said something amusing. 'You're all right by me, d'you know that?'

He didn't seem to remember the way he had behaved the night before, and Remus didn't like to remind him. If Sirius wanted to forget it, he was more than happy to do the same – especially if it meant gaining the other boy's approval.

'D'you want to hold him?' Sirius offered generously, nodding at the bird.

'Yes, please,' Remus replied, a tiny smile touching his lips.

'Put out your arm just like mine,' Sirius instructed. 'No, don't lock your elbow. Crook it up at shoulder height and hold it steady.' Carefully he lowered his own arm until it was level with Remus's. 'Come on, Hermes,' he said to the owl. 'Hop down.'

The bird regarded him sceptically. Sirius frowned. '_Down_, Hermes,' he repeated with more force.

This time the owl put out one foot and took hold of Remus's forearm. He lifted the other and ruffled his wings a little as he settled onto his new perch. His talons pricked through the sleeve of Remus's robe, but the boy hardly felt it. He was staring in awe at the pale, intelligent eyes before him.

'How wonderful,' he breathed, afraid to move lest he should startle the creature. He had never had much congress with owls, unless one counted the bird that had brought his Hogwarts letter. At home there was no one to send him any post, nor anyone to whom he could write.

Hermes apparently decided that he had had quite enough for one day. He spread his wings and vaulted up to a perch near one of the windows. Remus gasped as he took flight, and Sirius chuckled.

'That's more consideration than I got from him the first time,' he said. 'It's why I chose him; didn't want one of those silly smaller breeds that fairly worship you. He hasn't got much say in where he goes or what he does, but at least he knows his own mind.' He stared up at the bird with a distant, thoughtful look in his eyes, then turned back to earth and shrugged. 'We better get moving if we don't want to be late for supper.'

~discidium~

Supper that evening was almost pleasant. James found a seat across and just to the left of Remus, who of course sat with Sirius. No hostile words were exchanged, and Sirius even made a perfectly polite request that James past him the pot of mustard. When they returned to the dormitory there was no quarrelling. Neither Potter nor Black seemed inclined to focus on their Herbology assignment, but at least they let Remus get on with his without trying to engage him in duelling conversations. Peter Pettigrew tried to talk to James about his Quidditch magazine, but James did not seem especially interested in speaking to him.

When Remus retreated behind his curtains to change into his nightshirt, Sirius made no disparaging remarks. The four boys settled into bed under a comfortable truce, and Remus found himself able to fall asleep almost once.

~_discidium_~

The next morning at breakfast all four boys sat together at the Gryffindor table. Sirius and Remus sat next to each other with James across the table. Peter slid in next to bespectacled boy without hesitation or invitation. Remus was rather envious of the other boy's ability to see where he wanted to be and to take the necessary steps to get there.

The post came in near the close of the meal; all four boys had letters from home. Remus tore his open eagerly, his eyes feasting on Mother's delicate hand. She and Father had spent the day in London after seeing him onto the train, and they were now back at home. It was raining. The house was very quiet without him. She hoped that he would write if he ever had any worries or difficulties. She reassured him that no one would ever find out anything he didn't tell them.

Peter was reading more slowly, his lips moving as he sounded out the words. Next to him James had unwrapped a brightly coloured card, three sheets of parchment covered in neat handwriting, and an enormous box full of sweetmeats. He proceeded to pass the latter around, much to Peter Pettigrew's delight. When Remus's gaze reached Sirius, however, he found his new friend staring blankly at his own letter, somewhere between rage and tears.

'Hey, mate, what is it?' James asked, when Sirius did not accept anything from his box of treats.

'Mum,' Sirius muttered. 'She… well, she and Dad aren't… aw, just mind your own business, Potter! If I hadn't wound up in this stupid House I wouldn't even have this bloody letter!'

'You just watch what you say about Gryffindor!' James snapped. 'It's the best House there is, and you're stuck here now, so you'd might as well get used to it!'

So ended the fragile peace.

~_discidium_~

Their first class that day was Charms, followed by Transfiguration. The dreaded Defence Against the Dark Arts was scheduled to fill the afternoon.

Professor Flitwick, the little Charms teacher, was a great deal of fun. He, too, began by taking a register, which was helping Remus immensely in the learning of his housemates' names. After a thoroughly pleasant class of theoretical notes, the Gryffindors filed into Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher and the Head of House for Gryffindor, was the young, stern-looking witch who had stepped up to take over the Sorting. Although Remus was still in awe of her self-assurance, he found her class to be rather difficult and frustrating. She had them trying to turn matches into needles, which proved to be all but impossible. Peter was almost in tears through most of it, and even Remus, who knew his own faculties too well to be discouraged by an initial failure, had to concentrate with all his might to stay focused on the ultimate goal rather than the current disappointment.

James managed a straight pin, which he promptly used to attach Charlotte White's braid (she was sitting in front of him) to his desk. When she tried to stand up and uttered a cry of pain, James removed the projectile, and hastily swapped it across the aisle for Remus's match.

The ultimate result was that Charlotte had no evidence in her case, James escaped blameless, and Professor McGonagall praised Remus's efforts, showing the pin to the class while he stared down at his hands and wished desperately that no one would notice him. The students who achieved the next nearest thing were Lily Evans and Rowena Smythe, each of whom managed to make very shiny, pointy matches. The rest of the class (Remus included, contrary to Professor McGonagall's assumption) had effected no change whatsoever.

'Why the long face, Remus?' James asked at dinner. 'I kept out of trouble, and McGonagall thinks you're a prodigy. Maybe it wasn't perfectly honest, but there's no reason to go about looking _that_ glum!'

Remus glanced up from the potato he had been absentmindedly demolishing with his fork. 'Oh, no, of course not,' he said numbly. 'But it's Defence Against the Dark Arts next.'

'So?' James asked. 'Alfstin's ancient. Used to train Hit Wizards, but he's been out on retirement for almost twenty years. Dunno why he's here.' He shrugged. 'It can't be that bad!'

As it turned out, James Potter was almost right. It wasn't as dreadful as Remus imagined, but it was still less than pleasant. They arrived early to find the door open. Professor Alfstin was seated at the desk. He frowned slightly as they entered.

'Good afternoon, Professor Alfstin!' Sirius said, so politely that Remus turned anxiously at him, looking for sarcasm and seeing none.

'Sit,' Alfstin said dismissively, turning back to the roll of parchment he was reading.

They took three desks near the front of the class. Peter, trying to get a seat nearby, wound up in the front row.

'Buck up, old sport!' Sirius whispered to Remus, who sat with his head bowed, feeling ill and pale. 'He's not about to chop your head off.'

When the bell rang, class began.

'The Dark Arts,' said Professor Alfstin in a soft and dangerous voice that made Remus's skin crawl. 'Most students come with the notion that this class will teach them how to ward off confrontation. I assure you—' he brought his yardstick down upon Peter Pettigrew's desk with a loud reverberating crack. The boy cringed in fright. '—it will not. Fear must be faced. Foes must be vanquished. Evil must be destroyed, and the world is full of evil.'

He surveyed the class with glowering eyes, setting down the yardstick and toying with his wand. 'But, to fight evil you must first understand it. Who can name one of the six fundamental characteristics of a simple hex?'

Severus Snape raised his hand. When Alfstin acknowledged him he began to rattle off the answer. 'Rapid onset of action, limited duration of effect, narrow spectrum of damage, fully reversible—'

'I said _one _characteristic,' Alfstin interrupted coldly. 'Is it too much to ask for you wretched children to learn how to count?' He flicked his wand at the board, where _rapid onset of action _appeared scrawled in green chalk. He eyed the class. 'Someone else?'

'Limited duration of effect and narrow spectrum of damage, obviously,' James muttered, rolling his eyes.

Sirius raised his hand crisply. 'Narrow spectrum of damage, Professor,' he said. It earned him a dirty look from James, but a curt nod from the professor.

'Narrow spectrum of damage,' Alfstin said with relish, his lip curling unpleasantly. 'That is comforting enough if you are on the receiving end of a hex, but it behoves you all to remember that hexes are not effective in high-risk combat situations. If you turned a knee-reversing hex on a werewolf, for example, you would not even slow the beast down.'

Remus felt his stomach shrivel under his ribs. The image Alfstin's words conjured sprung before him in lurid detail. He tried not to imagine the wolf stumbling, rising up, lunging forward to tear into the offending wizard…

Alfstin was still speaking. 'When you are in immediate danger, do not trouble with hexes: aim to kill. That is what the curses you will learn in seventh year are for. A hex is little more than an annoyance… in the name of Merlin, boy, cease those ridiculous contortions!'

His limbs went cold as Remus realized that the teacher was singling him out. He tried to tear the look of nauseated dismay from his face, but he knew that he only succeeded in grimacing horribly. He longed to duck his head under the desk, but he could not move.

'You'll have to get used to the idea sometime,' Alfstin snapped; 'it might as well be now. There are dangers in the world that you can scarcely imagine, and I promise that feral part-humans aren't the half of it. Now try to grow a backbone and stop interrupting my lesson. Five points from Gryffindor.'

He turned away and started polling the students on the other side of the room for the four remaining properties of a hex. Remus frantically tried to control his expression. He had to learn how to hide his thoughts. It was the second time in as many days that he had reacted incautiously to an offhand comment. He spent the remainder of the lecture staring down at his parchment and struggling to quell the fire of mortification creeping up and down his neck.

~_discidium~_

On Friday evenings the first-year Gryffindors left the Tower at eleven forty-five, bound for Astronomy. The lesson was held at the top of the tallest tower, where the teacher was waiting for them. It was the unpleasant-looking witch with the long hoary hair. She introduced herself as Professor Arachne.

The lesson was miserable: tedious, difficult, and bitterly cold. Overhead the pendulous waxing moon shone brightly, an ominous and silent threat. Although he was meant to be seeking out the Big Dipper, Remus could not help but stare at it over rim of his telescope. It was calling his name, and within him the shadow of the wolf stirred discontentedly.

At last the clock struck one and the Gryffindors were allowed to return, bleary-eyed and shivering, to their beds. Remus did so despairingly. If this was how it was going to be at Hogwarts, he felt he might as well go home.


	5. Monthly Precautions

**Chapter Five: Monthly Precautions**

On Saturday morning, Remus awoke long before his classmates with the familiar aches coursing the length of his limbs. The full moon rose tonight, and he was hundreds of miles from home – far from his mother with her gentle voice and her hot tea and her fragrant-smelling bath salts. He had to settle for a steaming shower in the little water closet off of the dormitory, and a mug of drinking chocolate in the noisy Great Hall. He tried his best to hide his malaise from his Housemates but that was far easier said than done.

'You okay?' Sirius asked as Remus passed through the Gryffindor common room on his way back to bed. 'You look peaky.'

'I'm fine,' Remus lied. 'I'm just a little tired: didn't sleep much last night.'

The same fib placated James, who was just getting up as Remus climbed back into bed. He huddled beneath the blankets, dozing fitfully for as long as he could.

At noon, seized with a distressingly urgent craving for something cold and coppery, he returned to the Hall. The various baked and broiled dishes made him faintly nauseous, so he picked apart a sandwich, flicking the tomatoes aside before biting greedily into the thick slice of roast beef. It tasted like ash in his mouth, however, and he could not finish it. He tried a sliver of chicken and two bites of steak-and-kidney pie, but they were equally unappetizing. He contented himself with half a cup of pumpkin juice, which tasted far more cloying than it should have. Then despite the persistent gnawing in his stomach he was obliged to leave the room full of unpleasant smells behind.

Reluctant to return to Gryffindor Tower where he risked running afoul of more awkward questions, he made his way down to the hospital wing at once. Madam Pomfrey was there when he arrived. She looked up from the towels she had been folding and greeted him with a smile. So relieved was he to see a sympathetic adult that he fairly ran to her.

'Now then, Remus,' she said pleasantly; 'come, and we'll see to everything. You don't look well at all, poor dear.'

She reached out to feel his forehead, which he knew would be warm despite the fact that he felt horribly chilled. Fevers were common before and after the transformation, although he'd been promised that some werewolves grew out of them eventually. He was already dressed in the oldest of his play robes, so he did not have to change before lying down on the little white bed in a small, private room off of the main ward. Madam Pomfrey talked to Remus as she dosed him with feverfew and a sharp-tasting potion.

'Now, your parents told me how you usually transform. You will be all right on your own, won't you dear?' she asked kindly.

'I have to be,' he muttered miserably, feeling frozen, frightened and on the verge of tears. 'I want to go home!' he said, suddenly losing his resolve.

'Now, Remus, do you mean that?' she said, her voice grave.

Images flashed through his mind: the pain, the violence, the noise, and the terrible morning after… 'Yes!' he affirmed. 'Yes, I do!'

'Don't you like school, dear?' Madam Pomfrey inquired.

'I'm not sure,' he admitted unhappily.

'Well, you're meeting new people and making new friends, aren't you?' she asked.

'Sort of. Not really.' He thought of James, competing for his attention just to bother his rival, and then remembered Sirius in the Owlery, saying that he was all right by him. 'Maybe,' he amended softly.

'Well, it's only been two days: you need to give it time. And you've as much right to a proper education as anyone else. Aren't you enjoying your classes?' she asked

'Some of them,' Remus whispered.

'You see? Now don't you think you ought to give Hogwarts a chance? You could be very happy here; I know it.' She smiled gently and offered him a handkerchief, which he used to blot at his eyes. She plumped up the pillow beneath his head and drew the blankets over him. These small kindnesses comforted Remus, and the knots in his abdomen loosened a little.

'Professor Dumbledore has come up with a very clever arrangement, of course,' Madam Pomfrey was saying now. 'When everyone is at supper you and I shall go out and get you settled in your hiding place. I'll come back after the moon is set to look after you. You'll have all of tomorrow to rest, and we'll see how you're faring on Monday: you won't have to go back to lessons unless you feel up to them. Would that be all right, dear?'

Remus bobbed his head submissively.

'Good boy. Try to get some sleep, now; I'll wake you when it's time.'

~_discidium~_

Remus could not stifle a tiny groan of dread when Madam Pomfrey roused him. His head was thrumming and he was tortured by a burning thirst. The matron seemed to have anticipated his need, however; she had a glass of cool water and a neatly sliced orange waiting. Remus took the water gladly, but the smell of the fruit turned his stomach and he wished, again, for something fibrous and metallic.

Madam Pomfrey chattered soothingly as she helped him on with his shoes. She bundled him into his cloak, fastening it for him when his fingers fumbled. She seemed to know exactly what he needed and how to provide it, and her capable manner was comforting. She behaved as though preparing a werewolf for the full moon was routine fare.

They were just making their way out of the hospital wing when Professor Dumbledore appeared at the door. He smiled at Madam Pomfrey and held his hand out to Remus. Glancing at the matron, who nodded, Remus took hold of the Headmaster's long fingers.

'I'm glad I didn't miss you,' Dumbledore said warmly. There was no hint of fear or revulsion on his face, and his blue eyes were kind. 'I'd quite like to show you our precautions myself, to see what you think of them. Is that acceptable to you?'

'Y-yes, sir,' Remus said, delighted despite his mounting misery. The Headmaster himself was showing an interest in him, and for a minute he felt the sense of personal importance that would have brought to any first year.

Then Dumbledore bade Madam Pomfrey goodnight and led the way out of the hospital wing. Remus was startled when they left the castle and stepped out onto the grounds.

'Where are we going, sir?' he asked nervously as the sturdy walls of Hogwarts receded behind them.

'Isn't the lake lovely today?' Dumbledore said as if he had not heard. There was a long silence, for Remus thought rude to remark that the Headmaster had not answered his question.

'What if someone see us, sir?' Remus pressed at length, glancing back over his shoulder at the countless windows of Hogwarts. 'If they see us, they'll wonder where you're taking me. Someone is sure to guess what's going on.'

'Remus, your unfortunate condition is not nearly as self-evident as you and your father seem to think it,' the wizard said gently, pausing briefly in his stride to offer the boy a long look of sympathy. 'If you do not tell anyone, it is most unlikely that it will ever come to light.'

'That's what Mother always says, sir,' Remus admitted. 'But she doesn't understand, not really. She thought werewolves weren't even real.'

'I have no doubt that that was the case years ago, but I am equally certain that it is no longer true. I rather think she understands full well, and she certainly knows now that werewolves are real,' Dumbledore told him. 'Indeed, in some matters she seems to take a more sensible approach to the whole thing than your father does.'

'But she thinks everyone thinks like Muggles do,' Remus protested. 'It would never occur to a Muggle that I might be a werewolf: even if they noticed everything they wouldn't think it possible. But what do wizards think when I'm ill once a month, every month, just when the moon is full, when I'm bruised and battered and bitten and ripped all bloody and raw, when I've got scars that won't go away, when I'm tired and I'm sickly and I'm, I'm, I'm…'

Suddenly he realized that the fear was taking hold of him and he was railing like a fool. He had not strung so many words together since leaving home. His face grew hot and he stammered into ashamed silence.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. 'I realize that it must seem that way to you, but you must try to look at it from the perspective of your fellow students. You will be absent from lessons for two or three days at irregular intervals. The injuries you sustain will be mended by Madam Pomfrey long before you return to class. There is no reason at all why anyone should divine the link between your absences and the full moon.'

'But sir—'

'My boy, be reasonable. What is obvious to you is not necessarily obvious to others. And I may tell you,' he added, his eyes twinkling; 'that many wizards might find the notion that a werewolf would be admitted to Hogwarts every bit as preposterous as Muggles would find the notion that werewolves exist at all.'

Remus hung his head. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he said humbly. 'I didn't mean to argue, sir. You've been very good to let me come to Hogwarts and I am truly very grateful, Headmaster. Truly.'

'I wasn't suggesting ingratitude on your part, Remus. And you needn't say I've been very good to do this.' Dumbledore turned to put his hand on the boy's pale cheek. 'You cannot let your unfortunate condition define you. If you do, you will surrender your humanity – and that would be a tragic thing. You must learn to accept that you have as much right to attend Hogwarts as any other student. It has merely taken a few more precautions to allow you to do so. And here is the first of them.'

The Headmaster halted about ten feet from a large willow tree. It was almost twenty feet high, and its bole looked too large for Remus to encircle with his arms. It's branching tendrils of leaves swayed dormant in the wind. The ground around it was suitably mossy, and thick roots spread aggressively in the fertile turf.

'Impressive, isn't it?' Dumbledore asked. 'Hard to believe that three short months ago it was adorning a private estate in Essex.'

'A tree, sir?' Remus asked. 'One of the precautions?'

'Not just any tree,' said Dumbledore, winking impishly. 'Professor Sprout had quite a time transplanting it. You see, Remus, this is a Whomping Willow. Watch.'

He took three steps forward and Remus watched, wide-eyed, as the tree sprang to life. The hitherto motionless branches began to thrash like horsewhips, targeting the intruder. With agility not quite consistent with his age, Dumbeldore leapt back out of harm's way. The tree relaxed again, once more inert.

'No one can get past those branches,' he said happily. Then he flicked his wand, and a bolt shot from the tip. It struck a knot at the base of the tree. 'Unless they know the proper trick. Come along, Remus. We don't want to be seen.'

It seemed to Remus that this contradicted the Headmaster's earlier assertion that they did not have to worry about discovery. Still, he followed Dumbledore to a gap between the roots at the very base of the tree. 'Once the Willow comes back to life,' the wizard said; 'no one will be able to access this tunnel. You'll be amply protected from uninvited visitors.'

Remus stared at the Willow. 'You're going to leave me to transform _here_? Under a tree?' His tone betrayed his thoughts: that was worse than no protection! The wolf had no compunctions about tearing into its own haunches; a flailing tree would not stop it for long.

'Gracious, no!' said Dumbledore. 'Come quickly.' He lowered himself into the hole and vanished.

Remus wanted desperately to protest. He wanted nothing more than to run home to transform in his nice, safe cellar, but he was enough trouble to everyone without heaping on irritating protestations. Nervously, he slipped into the hole after Professor Dumbledore. He found himself suddenly face-to-face with the Headmaster, whose wand was now emitting a gentle glow.

'Mind your head: it isn't very roomy I'm afraid,' the aged wizard said. Then he took Remus's wrist in a firm, reassuring grasp, and started along the tunnel.

It was a low, damp and earthy passageway that smelled of lichen and fresh excavation. Remus was obliged to stoop his shoulders to keep his hair from catching in the web of roots already encroaching downward from the roof of the tunnel. Ahead of him, Professor Dumbledore was bent almost double with his wand hand skimming near the ground. Remus was suddenly thankful that he had never suffered from a fear of enclosed spaces.

The passage seemed to go on forever, until abruptly they turned. Dumbledore let go, and Remus found to his horror that the Headmaster had left him alone in the darkness. Before panic could overtake him, however, a hand descended to help him up through a trap door and into a dimly lit chamber.

Remus looked around. It was furnished as a sitting room with several old armchairs, two spindly tables, and a sideboard. The windows were boarded up, however, and there were no dishes in the cabinet. Remus frowned in bewilderment.

'Where are we, sir?'

'Hogsmeade village,' Dumbledore said. 'We are standing in an empty house on the outskirts. I had it built this summer: it, and the passage from the Hogwarts grounds.'

'But sir, won't people…' Remus stopped. The infinite variety of horrific scenarios, all involving discovery, began to play themselves out in his mind.

'Be curious?' Dumbledore asked. 'Pry into the matter? You see, we've put about a rumour that we're relocating some of the nastier ghosts from the castle. The protective charms on this building reflect the very best talents at my disposal. No one can get in, and no one can get out — except by the passageway we just used.' He surveyed their surroundings with a nod of satisfaction. 'Once the trap door is closed, you will be perfectly secure here.

'Are you sure?' Remus asked. He wasn't sure if he could bear to transform here. The room was so large and open. There was no heavy, reinforced door. And even if they were boarded up, there were still windows. 'I… the wolf… it won't be able to get out?'

'I assure you, my boy,' said Dumbledore; 'a Hungarian Horntail would be unable to get out. You will be as secure here as anyone could reasonably ask. Would you like to see the rest of the house?'

'The rest of it, sir?' Remus asked.

'Yes. There is a kitchen of sorts, and upstairs are two bedrooms and a working water closet.' Dumbledore stroked his beard pensively. 'There seems to be a general consensus among scholars of the subject that having a larger and more interesting area to explore results in fewer injuries.'

Remus felt himself lose the last traces of colour from his face. A fist seemed to close on his stomach, and he began to tremble violently.

'Are you all right, Remus?' the Headmaster was asking. Remus could not answer. His back was slick with cold sweat as his mind was flooded with intractable intruding sensations: the pain, the terror, the loss of all control, of all dignity…

'Remus!' Dumbledore's strong arms caught the child before he could fall. He guided him into one of the armchairs and felt his forehead.

A single fat tear rolled down Remus's cheek, leaving a cold trail down his face. 'You can't stop it,' he whispered despairingly. 'You can't control it. My parents… we've tried everything. There's nothing that works.'

The aged wizard eyed the boy thoughtfully. 'You're afraid,' he said at last, so quietly that it was almost as though he were speaking to himself. 'You're frightened of what you become.'

Remus shivered as he tried to square his slight shoulders. He had to be brave. It didn't matter how nervous and afraid he was, or how far away from home he was, or how little time he had left to be human. The wolf was coming, and he had to be brave.

'It's not important,' he said, though his lower lip trembled. 'It's not. Only… only nothing will help, that's all.'

'Nevertheless,' Dumbledore said; 'we can try.' After a moment he smiled and reached to rub Remus's arm. 'Madam Pomfrey will be back to collect you just as soon as it's safe for her. Why don't you go upstairs and undress; then you can lie down for a while.'

'I… I think I like it better down here,' Remus murmured, clutching the arm of the chair as if it could anchor him in the human world. 'I've never used stairs before.'

He meant that the wolf had never used stairs before, but Dumbledore seemed to understand. He nodded solemnly and squeezed the boy's shoulder. 'I must get back to the castle,' he said. 'The rest of the school will wonder why I'm late for supper. Good night, Remus, and good luck.'

He could not bring himself to thank the Headmaster for this sentiment. But when Dumbledore vanished into the passage, taking his wandlight with him, Remus instantly wished that he had said something, anything, to prolong the visit a few minutes more.

Left alone in the growing dark he undressed, carefully folding his robes and laying them aside. Then he sat down on the edge of the chair again, trembling a little in anticipatory terror. Any moment now, the moon would rise, and the nightmare would begin. There was nothing more to do but wait.

~_discidium_~

Waking up after the transformation was always the most dreadful part of the whole ordeal. There was blood in his mouth. His back was sore from the stone floor; the blankets must have slipped… but it _wasn't_ a stone floor, Remus remembered with a terrifying jolt that sent tendrils of pain through his body. This was not the familiar cellar lined in soft old bedclothes that had been home to dozens of transformations. His mother was not just on the other side of the hatch, waiting to come running down to him. His father was not there to see to his wounds and carry him up to bed. Mother would not bathe his face this time, nor be waiting when he was ready with a mug of chocolate and a tablet of aspirin to supplement the potions he took for the pain. Tomorrow there would be no one to sit by his bed and read to him of beautiful places where suffering and sorrow were left behind and grief and affliction forgotten. No, home was far away and he was all alone in an empty old house, lying naked and cold in the dark.

Remus was shivering in the early morning chill. Somehow he managed to roll onto his side, but he could not see his robes. His left arm was throbbing, and he could taste the shreds of skin between his teeth. He used his right arm to hug himself as if by doing so he could impart some measure of warmth into his painfully trembling body. His eyes were growing used to the grey gloom of dawn that filtered through the fortified windows, and he realized that his cloak was lying only a few feet away. It might as well have been ten miles for all the hope he had of reaching it. Wretchedly, he wondered how long it would take Madam Pomfrey to come for him. He could not keep his eyes open anymore, and merciful unconsciousness was not long in coming.

~_discidium_~

The creak of a floorboard pierced the nervous silence like a gunshot. Remus awoke with a start of terror. He heard footsteps. A light came into the room, and a vague sense of shame crept into his viscera. He did not want to be seen like this, exposed and ravaged in a puddle of blood. Mother was the only one who could bear to look at him like this. Even his father always turned away as swiftly as he could, unable to wholly hide the horror in his eyes.

'Well now, Remus, we'd best get you to bed.' The voice was brisk and calm. Madam Pomfrey knelt beside him. The glow from her wand hurt his eyes, but Remus felt her lowering a blanket gently over him. It seemed to radiate warmth, and he wished that he could clutch it to himself. He lacked the strength, but the matron seemed to understand what he wanted. She knelt down beside him and tucked a corner under his right shoulder, arranging the blanket snugly over his hips to restore to him some small measure of modesty.

'Where does it hurt, dear?' she asked gently. Already she was working with her wand to stem the flow of blood from his left arm. The glow against his eyelids changed as she did so, growing warmer and pulsating as if in time to his heart.

'Eh… ev'r…' he tried. His mouth would not obey him and he shuddered weakly, unable to speak.

'There, there. Never mind,' she said soothingly. '_Nox._'

The light went out, and Remus hissed in fright, terrified that this had all been a dream, and that he would wake up alone and waiting again. And this time, he knew, the person who came for him would not be so understanding.

'Hush, love, it's all right. I'm here.' He felt the matron's hand on his bloodied hair. She murmured something else, and he slipped away into the insensible world of enchanted sleep.

~_discidium_~

When Remus next came to, lethargic and disoriented, he found himself safe in a warm bed. He moaned softly, trying to call out to his mother. A warm hand settled on his brow.

'How do you feel, dear?' Madam Pomfrey's voice asked.

Remus opened his eyes and forced them to focus. The room was dimly lit – out of deference to him, he supposed. The matron's eyes were kind, but he could not help the pang of disappointment when he remembered where he was. He tried to turn his face away so that she would not see it, but the muscles of his neck tightened painfully as he did so.

Madam Pomfrey lifted his head with a practiced arm and held a phial to his lips. He obediently swallowed, and felt the bittersweet concoction sliding down his throat. The pain was allayed by a significant degree almost at once. Whatever the potion was, it worked faster and more effectively than anything he had ever had at home. 'What time is it?' he asked hoarsely, his powers of speech restored.

'Nearly suppertime. Do you feel like eating?' Madam Pomfrey asked.

The taste of blood still lingered between his teeth, and it made his mouth water. 'No… no thank you,' he said. 'So then it's been…'

'Only about ten hours. You've slept quite well, though you stirred once or twice.' She arranged the pillows more comfortably beneath him. 'I've got you all patched up and clean. You'll feel better when you have some rest.'

'I… I'm sorry…' he stammered tearfully. 'I'm… such a bother…'

'Oh, hush, child. You're no bother.' She tutted dismissively as she tucked the blankets more securely around him. 'Now, you lie back and go to sleep. I promise you'll feel much better when you – why, I nearly forgot: there's a letter for you!'

From the pocket of her apron she produced an envelope and gave it to him. He turned it over, and saw his name neatly printed on the front. He broke the seal of glue, drew out the paper within and studied it. In the familiar flowing script that he recognized as his mother's, he read:

_Our Very Dear Remus,_

_We missed you tonight, love. The __house __is dreadfully quiet without you: __really, __it is quite eerie.  
><em>_  
>How are you, Remus darling? Madam Pomfrey <em>_has promised to write and tell us how __everything went. It's certainly reassuring_ _to know that Professor Dumbledore has looked after everything so carefully._

_Don't forget that we love you, and we missed you, a__nd we hope you're happy at school. __Please write if you have time, dear, and  
><em>_tell us how you are.  
><em>_  
><em>_All our love, Remus;  
>Mother and Father<em>

Remus noticed that his father had not signed the letter, although it was Sunday and he would have been at home when it was sent. Perhaps Mother had been in a hurry to catch the post and had not thought to ask him. He felt a hot ache of gratitude for his mother, who had not only taken the trouble to write but had used the word _missed_, as if the full moon were a time she did not dread. Remus knew that he ought to write her back as quickly as possible, for she was certainly sick with worry. But his mind was foggy with fatigue and he could not think of a single cheerful thing to put into his reply.

So he let Madam Pomfrey set the letter on the little table next to his bed, and he lay very still as she smoothed the bedclothes and brushed his hair out of his eyes. She left a little brass bell on the table, instructing him to ring if he needed her. Then she retreated into the main ward, leaving the door slightly ajar, and Remus was soon fast asleep again.

~_discidium_~

He woke up three times during the night, but did not ring for the matron. Instead Remus lay on his back watching the shadows on the wall until he was able to slip away once more. In the morning he ate a little and composed a careful note to his mother, telling her that the transformation had gone as well as could be expected. He told her how kind Madam Pomfrey had been, and that Dumbledore himself had taken the time to walk him down to his hiding place. He did not mention his lessons or the boys in his dormitory.

Madam Pomfrey promise to post the letter and instructed Remus to go back to sleep, but he begged for permission to go to join his class. He was afraid that if once he fell behind he might never catch up, for he had no one to take homework for him. More importantly, he was certain his absence would raise too many suspicions if he left it creep on into the school week. The matron was reluctant to release him, but in the end she yielded.

The rest of the school was still at breakfast, and Remus reached the Gryffindor Tower without running into anyone he knew. Alone in the dormitory, he had the luxury of dressing out in the open. His book bag was too heavy for him to lift this morning, much less haul around the castle. So he took out his quill, his inkwell and a small sheaf of parchment and left the satchel behind.

He was the first student to arrive at the Charms classroom. Remus was pitifully grateful to find the door unlocked, for already his knees were trembling and he desperately needed sit down. He took a desk in the third row quite near the door, and waited for everyone else to turn up.

When Sirius came into the room, he saw Remus at once. 'Hey! Where were you?' he asked, slinging his leg over the chair of the second row desk and folding his arms on top of the backrest. 'Prefect Meadowes didn't know, Eddie Bones wouldn't answer, and McGonagall said it was none of my business!' His tone implied that Sirius Black did not like having his business dictated by another, Head of House or no.

Remus was spared from trying to answer when James came up behind him and gripped both of his shoulders bracingly.

'Are you okay?' he asked, leaning over one shoulder to study Remus's face. 'You're awfully white.'

'I'm fine,' Remus said, anxious to change the subject. 'Have you two made up yet?' He prayed that they had; he knew he did not have the stamina to keep up with two opposing strings of conversation today.

'More or less,' said James with a long look at Sirius. 'You missed quite the squabble last night, though. Where were you?'

'Now, now, children; places please!' Professor Flitwick came into the room, smiling cheerfully and flicking his wand at the blackboard. 'I hope you all enjoyed your first weekend at Hogwarts, but now it's time to get back to work.

James slid into the seat to Remus's left, staring down the girl who had been about to take it. Sirius flopped around in his chair and propped his head up against the palm of his hand as the lesson began.

~_discidium_~

Remus was regretting his decision to leave his books behind when he arrived in Transfiguration: Professor McGonagall's first words to the class were; 'Turn to Chapter Two.'

He sat helplessly with his hands folded in his lap, waiting to be reprimanded as she began to patrol the rows of desks. As she passed him, however, the professor flicked her wand at his empty table, and a battered old library copy of the textbook appeared before him. He opened his mouth to thank her, but she shook her head almost imperceptibly and moved on.

Remus realized with a sinking feeling that she was aware of his situation. Dumbledore must have told her. She was his Head of House after all. It was sensible, but Remus could not help feeling a little betrayed. He wished selfishly that the Headmaster had consulted him before divulging his secret. And he wondered how many other people knew.


	6. Sirius Black

**Chapter Six: Sirius Black**

While the rest of the school was at dinner, Remus sat on the stairs in the Entrance Hall. His whole body ached and his head was heavy with fatigue. He thought longingly of the soft four-poster bed in the dormitory, but he did not dare to miss Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'Hiyah.' Sirius Black's voice was quiet and solicitous as he came down to sit on the step next to Remus. He held out a plate heaped high with sandwiches, an assortment of vegetables, three lavishly buttered rolls and a large treacle tart. 'A little something to munch?' he offered.

Remus was not very hungry, but he took a sandwich and nibbled at the corner. 'Thank you,' he mumbled as he swallowed.

'We're not going to go off on each other, you know. Potter and me.' Sirius stretched his long legs so that his feet hung over the edge of the fourth step down. 'I know you don't like it when we do. I thought that fat kid was going to burst into tears when we were at it the other night. What do you make of him?'

'I think he's just shy,' Remus said quietly. 'He needs a little understanding, that's all.'

'Not him. _Potter. _I mean, he's kind of likeable in a really annoying way, but he can also be _incredibly _rude. And I wish he'd lay off me; it's hard enough as it is.'

Remus turned to study the other boy's face. The empowered expression he ordinarily wore was gone, and in its place was a look of drained disquiet. Remus wondered what was gnawing at him.

Sirius felt his gaze and shifted his head. He grinned enormously, and the moment of defencelessness was past. 'You going to eat that or what?' he asked. Remus obediently took another bite. Sirius seemed satisfied. 'That's better. I went to a good deal of trouble to assemble this little feast, you know.' He picked up one of the rolls and tore into it with enthusiasm. 'You want to get a jump on the rest of the class and head to Defence now?' he asked, his mouth still full. 'We could probably get the same seats we did on Friday.'

'I'm going to sit in the back this time,' Remus said.

Sirius favoured him with a look of incredulity. 'Because he took five points from you for pulling faces? He's probably forgotten all about it by now.'

'I'm going to sit in the back,' Remus repeated resolutely, studying his sandwich so that he did not have to meet the other boy's eyes.

'Have it your way.' Sirius shrugged. 'I just thought I could do with a good report from Alfstin, that's all. He's a friend of my parents.' This at least explained why he had seemed so eager to please on Friday. Remus found the resolution to that mystery oddly satisfying.

The doors to the Great Hall were thrown open and students began pouring out. Sirius leapt nimbly to his feet. 'Better get going; those back seats fill up fast,' he said, depositing the largely untouched plate of food next to the banister. At Remus's horrified look he grinned. 'Don't worry: the house elves will get it.'

'Someone might trip over it,' Remus protested, struggling to his feet.

'Then they should watch where they're going,' said Sirius, strolling nonchalantly away.

Defence Against the Dark Arts continued in the same vein as before, but at least this time there were no offhand references to encounters with werewolves. Remus, sitting in the back corner with Sirius at his right, scarcely noticed, for he was struggling with a fresh difficulty. He was finding it almost impossible to stay awake. His limbs were heavy, his throat ached, and there was a gritty feeling behind his eyelids. Once or twice he thought Professor Alfstin shot him an evil look, but he was too preoccupied to care; it took quite a lot of focus to keep his head off the desktop.

When at last the lesson ended Remus made the long, painful pilgrimage back to the Gryffindor Tower. It was all he could do to haul himself up the stairs to his dormitory. He kicked off his shoes and tumbled into bed without troubling to undress.

~_discidium_~

He woke up the next morning to harsh shouting voices. For a brief and awful moment, he thought he was at home and the old battle had finally resumed as he always feared it would. Then he recognized the voices and realized abruptly that despite yesterday's assurances to the contrary his dormitory-mates were fighting again_. _It was the usual fare: James insulting Sirius's Slytherin family, and Sirius by turns deriding James and _his _relations, and making half-panicked protestations about the final say of the Sorting Hat. Peter was hidden under his bedclothes, whimpering quietly to himself.

Remus stood up, clutching the bedpost against the lingering stiffness in his spine, and stared at the combatants. He was still half asleep as he tried to make sense of the quarrel.

'—ground he walks on like some snivelling _snake_!'

'Why should I be, you bigoted sod? I'm not my mother!'

'Bad robes are cut from the same cloth!'

'You stinking, spoiled, _rotten_ little—'

'Please!' Remus cried suddenly. 'Please, stop it!'

They turned to him, surprised right out of the argument.

'Stop it. Please don't shout.' He hung his head and blinked furiously, inundated against his will by memories of the nightmarish early days. Angry voices in the morning, all his fault.

'Yeah, well, tell your Slytherin friend—'

'I — AM — NOT — IN — SLYTHERIN!' Sirius roared. 'Though _Merlin_ knows it would have been easier…' He beat his pillow furiously with a fist. 'Just shut up, Potter, and leave me be! Stop talking about things you don't understand and _leave me be_! I _hate _you! _I hate you!_'

'That's all you Blacks can do, isn't it? Hate,' James said nastily.

Sirius stared at him, his jaw working soundlessly. He struggled for a moment, trying to speak. Then he sprang off his bed and fled the dormitory, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was still wearing his nightshirt.

'Good riddance, the scaly sod,' James muttered, getting back between his sheets and planting his head on the pillow. Peter Pettigrew peered nervously from under his counterpane.

Before Remus knew what he was doing he was down the stairs and out the portrait hole, with no idea of where Sirius had gone. Yesterday's advice played faintly in his memory and he turned to the picture behind him. 'Which way did he go?' he asked. 'The boy in the white nightshirt.'

'That way, dear,' said the Fat Lady drowsily, pointing down the corridor. 'Mind you don't slip; you've got no shoes on.'

Careless of his feet, Remus raced in the direction she had indicated. When he came to a branching of the hallway he begged direction of a thin young man with a very tall hat painted next to an elegant racehorse.

In this way he found himself wandering up stairs and down corridors, left then right then right again, until he had no idea where he was. The hallways were all but deserted at this time of the morning, but each successive portrait had seen his fugitive classmate. On and on he walked, and the ache in his back grew worse. The transformation was always hardest on his spine, and it was too soon afterwards for this kind of exertion. He was beginning to think he could go no farther, when he came upon a door behind he could hear the sound of soft weeping.

Remus opened it, revealing a broom cupboard on the floor of which Sirius was sitting, crying into the lap of his nightshirt. He looked up in tearful indignation at the trespasser.

'It's all right,' Remus said, getting inside the closet himself and drawing the door closed. 'It's all right,' he repeated softly, kneeling down next to a rather mouldy mop. 'I won't tell anyone.'

'T-that Potter. I ha-ha-_really_ dislike him.' Sirius sniffed defiantly.

Remus dug into the pocket of his robes and found, as he had hoped to, one of his handkerchiefs. Mother had made two dozen over the summer, hemming them by hand and marking them with _R.J. Lupin_ in chain-stitched script on a corner. Remus was pleased that he hadn't needed it yesterday: it was still fresh and crisp. He offered it to Sirius, who blew his nose loudly and dabbed his eyes. In his other hand he was clutching a crumpled bit of parchment, on which Remus could see, in spidery hand, the words _from Your Mystified Mother._

'I suppose you're exactly like Potter?' Sirius growled, eyeing the lovingly applied monogram on the hankie. 'Pampered golden boy, Mummy's little pet, anything and everything you ever wanted. Never a care in the world, not a worry, no problems. Perfect life.' Sirius scrubbed fervently at his nostrils.

'No!' Remus said fiercely, setting off a fresh twinge in his side. 'No.'

Sirius looked up, surprised out of his sullenness by the emphatic response. 'How's that?' he said.

'My life isn't perfect,' Remus said. 'I have got problems. Enormous ones.'

'Really? What, then?' The other boy looked intrigued and doubtful all at once.

Remus flushed crimson and looked away. 'I… I can't talk about it…'

'We can only solve your problems if you'll talk about them,' Sirius said reasonably.

'We can't solve them,' said Remus, very quietly. 'We… my parents have tried. But they can't. Some problems can't be solved.

'Don't I know it,' Sirius said grimly. 'Here I am, stuck in the wrong House. That bloody all-knowing Hat! If only it had just sorted me into Slytherin, everything would be so much easier!'

'I'm glad you're in Gryffindor,' Remus said, forcing himself to look the other boy squarely in the eye. 'I… I don't… make friends easily, so when I met you on the train and you seemed… nice… I'm glad I know _somebody_ at school. There are so many strangers here,' he added very softly.

Sirius let out a hollow laugh. 'Wish _that_ were true, mate. Feels like I know half the school. And everyone knows me. Oh, don't they just know me: the Slytherin that wound up in Gryffindor. I hate 'em. You ever had that problem? No matter how hard you try you just can't seem to be friends with the people you're supposed to, and without meaning to you wind up mates with the undesirables instead. That ever happened to you?'

Remus shook his head. 'I can't seem to be friends with anybody at all,' he said hollowly.

'Well, you strike me as pretty friendly,' Sirius said generously, indicating the handkerchief. 'I mean, apart from the way you grabbed me on the train.' He grinned rather wetly. 'D'you know, not many kids would have the guts to do that to me,' he said. 'I shall have to teach you a lesson. Mind you, I won't have much luck inspiring you with the proper terror and respect now you've caught me blubbing in a closet.'

'Everybody cries sometimes,' Remus said. 'You needn't be ashamed.'

'Yeah?' Sirius snorted. 'Where did _you_ grow up?'

'Cornwall.'

The bigger boy stared, momentarily derailed. Then he chuckled. 'You're very literal,' he said.

Remus said nothing. He _was_ very literal. He had to be. It was very important: his father had explained. _Always take questions at face value. Even if it isn't what they _meant_, it is what they _said_. Answer promptly, politely, never sullenly. Then they are less likely to press the matter. _After months of such coaching it suddenly seemed to be his only defence.

It struck him abruptly how very alone he was without his parents to shut down dangerous lines of inquiry. He had always relied upon them to come up with clever excuses and explanations, and to protect him when the truth did come out as it sometimes, awfully, did. If anything happened – if anyone here found out – he would not have Mother's caring arms to hide in, or Father to draw his wand or use his strong voice to force the attackers to back down.

'You all right?' Sirius asked.

'Uh?' Remus looked up, startled.

'You're shivering.'

'Oh. It's nothing. Nothing. Only… I'm not wearing my shoes, just my stockings,' he said rapidly, torn between pride in his rapid fabrication of such a plausible excuse and horror at the ease of the deception.

'It is cold in here at that,' Sirius said, though despite his bare feet he seemed perfectly comfortable. 'But don't say stockings: it makes you sound like a fussy old witch. You're never going to make friends that way.'

'But what ever should I call them? It's what they are,' Remus said, a little alarmed. It was what his mother called them, anyhow, in her gentle lilting voice.

'Socks,' Sirius said emphatically. 'Always say socks.'

'Socks,' Remus tried. He smiled a little

'Right.' The bigger boy nodded approvingly. 'Now, as we have nothing better to do, we might as well find out a little about each other, mightn't we? You start. Remus Lupin. Hmm. Middle name?'

'John.'

Sirius raised his eyebrows. 'Named for somebody, are you?'

'Mother's grandda,' Remus said. 'John Cox.'

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'So you got off easy then. Favourite colour?'

'_What_?'

'Humour me.' He grinned persuasively. 'Favourite colour.'

'I… well, blue, I suppose…' Remus stammered.

'Come on, be more forceful! Favourite colour!' said Sirius.

'B-blue.'

Sirius shrugged. 'We'll work on it. Father in Gryffindor, you said on the train. And mother?'

'No,' said Remus.

One dark eyebrow arced upward, obviously nonplussed. 'What, haven't you got one?'

'No — I mean, yes, of course I have,' said Remus. 'But she didn't come to Hogwarts.'

'Ah! Foreign, is she?' Sirius said sagely.

'Yes. No. Well, from Ireland.'

'Got eccentric grandparents, have you?'

It seemed a strange question to ask. Remus shook his head. 'They're dead now, but no, Mother said they were quite usual.'

'You mean she's a… a Squib?' Sirius asked, voice dropping to a sympathetic whisper.

'No,' Remus said softly. He was beginning to feel rather cornered, though he wasn't sure why.

'Then _what_? Why on earth wouldn't she come to Hogwarts, then?' Sirius demanded.

'She's a Muggle, of course.'

The words wrought an immediate effect, and Remus felt his stomach shrivel. He had seen that expression many times before, though never in quite this context. Sirius's eyes grew very wide, his jaw went slack, and a look of reflexive disgust began to mingle with his astonishment.

'Your dad was in Gryffindor,' he said slowly. 'And he married a _Muggle_?'

'Yes…' said Remus. 'Why shouldn't he?'

'Well, it's… that is… well… well, for starters, how on _earth_ did they meet?' He frowned. 'Your dad's not one of those Ministry nutters with nothing better to do but muck about in Muggle liaisons and external affairs, is he?'

'No, he's with the Primary Education Desk,' Remus said. 'And he met Mother while she was reading Philosophy at Oxford. He was working at the wizarding library there at the time.'

'_Weird_,' Sirius said. The revulsion was gone now, and he simply looked bewildered. 'But, I mean, does she know about magic? Does she know you're a wizard?'

'Of course she does,' Remus said, taken aback by the question. Was this an unusual arrangement? Aside from the fact that he was a werewolf, he had always thought that his family was quite normal.

'But wasn't she angry and scared when she found out?' his friend asked.

Remus shook his head. 'She didn't find out, Father told her the year before they married. He couldn't very well not tell her, could he?'

Sirius shrugged. 'It's weird, that's all. A wizard and a Muggle. Lots of people marry Muggle-borns these days, but I'll bet you're the only half-blood in our year. The only proper half-blood, I mean, with one completely non-magical parent.'

'Maybe…' Remus didn't like thatidea at all. It was dangerous to stand out; it was too hard to hide a secret if everyone was watching you.

'What's it _like_? Doesn't your house-elf mind taking orders from a Muggle?' There was a look of avid curiosity on Sirius's face now.

'We haven't got a house-elf,' Remus said.

'You _don't_?' Sirius seemed to be having trouble grasping this concept, too. 'But… but does your father do all the housework, then? I mean, your mum can't use magic.'

'She does it without magic, of course,' Remus said, thinking of his mother turning to smile at him as she dusted the sitting room mantle. 'It works just as well — better, she says, though I've caught Father doing up the kitchen with his wand sometimes when she isn't looking, and she's never noticed the difference.'

'She does her _own housework_? Without magic? Sweeping and scrubbing and scouring like a… like a _Muggle_?' He glanced hangdoggedly away from Remus. 'Sweet Salazar, when Mum finds out…'

Remus sat, frozen in confusion. Then Sirius looked up, burning with questions again.

'So do you have a contraption, then?" he asked eagerly.

'A what?'

'A Muggle contraption!' Sirius cried. He looked almost manic now, eyes wide and eager. He leaned forward hungrily. 'With the rubber wheels and the noisy banging whirring things and the chairs inside that Muggles ride about in!'

'Eh?' Remus was completely lost.

'A… a… you know, a contraption. A clockwork coach, a noise-maker, a wretched cacophonous travesty, a… a… a… a motor!' Sirius clicked his fingers triumphantly as he seized upon the word he wanted. 'That's it, a motor! Do you have a motor?'

'Oh, a motor.' Remus almost grinned. The other epithets made more sense now, 'Yes, Mother likes to have it. And they aren't so noisy, really.'

Sirius looked like a child presented with its first ice lolly. 'Ooh! What kind? Does it go quite fast?'

'No, just the normal speed,' said Remus.

'But what sort of motor is it?' Sirius pressed.

'It's brown.'

The other boy rolled his eyes. 'No, what make? What sort?'

'I don't know,' said Remus. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize the squat little motorcar with its rounded roof. 'It's brown. With four seats.'

'Aw, you're no good!' Sirius said disgustedly. 'You don't know a thing about contraptions, do you? If I had a Muggle for a mum I'd find out everything I could! How does it work?'

Remus shrugged helplessly. 'Mother keeps it full of petrol, and it runs,' he said.

'What, all the time?' Sirius looked awed.

'No, only when she drives it. She puts in the key and it runs, that's all.' Remus had always taken the motorcar rather for granted. He did not really understand what was so interesting about it; it was merely Mother's way of getting up to the shops and back.

'Hmm…' Sirius furrowed his brow and seemed briefly lost in contemplation. Then, evidently determining that this was not a fruitful line of inquiry, he shrugged. 'Your turn,' he said.

'For what?' said Remus

'To ask questions, of course.' He gestured encouragingly. 'Go on. Just like I did. Sirius Black.'

'Ah… are you named for anyone?' Remus managed.

Sirius nodded. 'Brightest star in Canis Major,' he said. 'It's an old family naming convention.'

'I… no, I don't remember the rest.' Remus looked down at his lap.

Sirius was less than sympathetic. 'Come on,' he said. 'You knew yesterday's Transfiguration readings by heart halfway through the class. Do you expect me to believe that you can't remember my questions?'

Remus gave him what he hoped was a piteously imploring look.

'All right, all right, I'll help,' Sirius relented. 'My favourite colour's orange just at present. My parents were both in Slytherin, which you already know, and so were all the blood aunts and uncles, which Slughorn may have mentioned. I have a brother, Regulus. He's Mum's real pet. And I'll bet you anything that he'll wind up in Slytherin too, and I'll be the only Black in the history of the known universe to get shunted into Gryffindor.' He grunted morosely and began to scratch his ear. 'You have brothers or sisters?'

'No,' Remus said. His voice trembled a little as he spoke. 'My mother was going to have a baby once, when I was little, but…' Bone-deep guilt assailed him.

'Aw, you're better off without!' Sirius assured him ruefully. 'They're a right pain, siblings. Reggie's murder. Almost two years younger'n me. Everybody was surprised: didn't think Mum could have any more babies. She's ancient.'

Remus was a little horrified at this disrespectful way of speaking. He knew that his own mother was getting older: her hair was greying and she had a sad, tired look that she hadn't always possessed. But he could not imagine ever saying such things about her, not when she had grown old and worn-out looking after him.

'Then there's the cousins,' Sirius said, ticking them off on his fingers. 'Bella, Drommie, and Cissy. _Charming_ girls. Slytherin to a one. Bella's done school, thank my lucky stars. Drommie's in seventh year, Cissy's in fourth. You met her the other day. They're my uncle Cygnus's precious little swans.' He paused to stick out his tongue at what was obviously a family turn of phrase. 'There's my Uncle Alphard, too. And Grandfather Pollux and Grandpa Arcturus. They're cousins.'

Remus frowned in confusion. 'Your grandfathers are cousins?' he asked.

'Not first cousins!' Sirius snapped anxiously. Then he shifted a little, clearly uncomfortable. 'Well, actually, yeah, they're first cousins. But that makes Mum and Dad second cousins once removed, okay? You tell _anyone_, and I'll murder you in your sleep!'

He looked like he meant it, too. Remus nodded fervently. 'I won't,' he vowed. 'I won't.'

'Good! 'Cause Potter'd never let me live it down. Already thinks I'm inbred. Anyway, there's also Aunt Lucretia. She's married to Nate Prewett, poor sod.' He grinned. 'But Uncle Alphard is absolutely _brilliant_! He used to play Quidditch, and he promised that he's going to buy me a racing broom this summer! I'm quite good at Quidditch, but I can only play when I go to visit him: he lives in the country, you see. When I'm done school I'm going to move up there too, I think. Uncle Alphard says it's okay. Dunno if I'd want to stay at the London house right through even if he didn't want me. It'll be mine when Gramps and Dad both kick it, of course, but I think a newly-qualified wizard should strike out on his own for a while: try some freedom. What do you think?'

'I'm sure I don't know,' Remus said hesitantly.

'Definitely try some freedom,' Sirius said firmly. 'What do you want to do when you leave school?'

'I…' Remus stared. The odds seemed so high that he would 'leave school' abruptly, in disgrace and ignominy after the discovery of his secret, that he had never given any thought to actually finishing seventh year. Nor did he now. 'I haven't any idea,' he said.

'I want to be an Auror,' Sirius said emphatically. 'You know, fight Dark wizards, make the world a safer place, have fun at the same time. The perfect job.'

'It sounds like it,' Remus allowed politely.

'Bella doesn't work,' Sirius rambled on. 'I think she's crazy — and if she's not, she will be soon, spending all of her time learning to be a fine lady from my mum and hers. Drommie won't say what she wants to do next year. Whenever Mum asks she just say sweetly that she's weighing her options. Whenever _I_ ask her ears turn pink and she can't stop giggling. Girls never do really have much by way of life plans.' He smirked. 'But I do. I'm going to ace Defence, and I'm going to wow them with my Potions prowess, and I'll confound them with my skill in Charms, and I'll flabbergast in Transfiguration, and I'll shine in Herbology, and next thing you know I'll be the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.'

'That's very ambitious,' murmured Remus, whose grand aspiration in life was to have no one, ever again, discover what he was.

Sirius moaned despairingly. 'I _know_, mate!' he said, clawing at the roots of his hair. 'So tell me why, why, why, oh, why, oh, _why_ am I in Gryffindor?'

'P-perhaps you're brave?' Remus ventured.

Sirius's grey eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Slytherins can be brave,' he said testily.

'Well, yes,' said Remus; 'but perhaps you're braver than you are ambitious?'

Sirius scowled. 'Or _perhaps_ that bloody Hat made a cockup of my Sorting! I think I ought to get a second chance. Where d'you reckon they keep the thing all year?'

'I'm sure I don't know,' Remus said.

'No, 'course not,' Sirius said. 'Who could expect you to, a half-blood firstie? No, I'll ask 'Dromeda. She's bound to know.'

Remus tried to remember which one 'Dromeda was, but he could not. He couldn't even imagine having so many relations. All he had was one maiden aunt: his father's older sister Leto. He remembered her vaguely from his early childhood: a portly lady had always brought him sweets. And he remembered the day that she had broken all ties with her brother's family. She had listened as Father explained, as levelly as he could. Then she had commanded Remus, who had been five at the time, to take off his robes. He remembered her eyeing his body and grabbing his arm, twisting it roughly so that she could better see the horrible scar, the mark of the beast, the curse mark that would never, ever go away.

Then suddenly his Auntie Lee, who had always been so caring and so gentle, had hurled him away from her with such force that Remus had fallen to the floor in a bruised heap. She had called him 'werewolf' and spat upon him before leaving her brother`s house forever. It had been his first truly memorable encounter with the hatred that wizardkind harboured for his sort, and he had had no comfort from his father on that day. He still remembered weeping quietly in Mother's gentle arms; very quietly, so that Father wouldn't hear.

'Oi, you sure you're okay, mate?' Sirius asked, tearing through the veil of recollection and setting Remus free of it.

'Yes, fine,' he lied. 'We should go and get some breakfast. It's easier to be cheerful on a full stomach.'

Sirius grinned broadly. 'I like the way you think,' he said stoutly, getting to his feet with a grunt.

He offered Remus a hand up, which the other boy accepted gladly, and then opened the door. They stepped out into the corridor, and were greeted with a mild, 'Good morning.'

Both boys spun around to see the Headmaster standing behind them. His bright blue eyes were glittering, and there was a smile peeking out from behind his thick white beard.

'Good morning, sir,' Remus said reflexively. 'How are you this morning?'

'Splendid, Remus, splendid,' the wizard said. 'And yourself?'

'I'm fine, sir, thank you. Much better now.' He remembered abruptly that Sirius was standing next to him. 'Oh! This is—'

'Sirius Black, if I am not mistaken,' the Headmaster said pleasantly.

'Yes, sir, the one and only,' Sirius said brightly. Then a shadow crossed his face. 'I suppose you've had a letter about me?'

'One or two, yes,' Dumbledore said with a curious lilt to his voice.

'I don't suppose that maybe… well… maybe the Hat made a mistake?' Sirius asked, suddenly quite grave.

'I'm afraid not,' the wizard said soberly. 'The Sorting Hat, unlike you and I, does not make mistakes. Although its verdict may prove inconvenient for a time, I am certain you will be glad of it in the end. It may comfort you to know that we have had quite a number of unexpected placements this year.'

'Like Zora winding up in Ravenclaw instead of Hufflepuff,' Sirius said, nodding. 'And the Viridian girl.'

'A number of surprising placement, yes, at least one of whom has already been to see me with many of the same questions. Indeed, I was surprised that you had not yet made your way up to my office in search of answers yourself. I was given to understand that you are rather on the wilful side.' He smiled mischievously.

'Well, maybe I was making sure there was a problem first, sir," Sirius said. 'And there _is_!'

Dumbledore nodded understandingly. 'I appreciate that, Master Black, but I assure you that someday you will be glad of the Hat's decision.'

'And if I'm not?'

'Then I am a doddering old fool unworthy of the sacred trust placed in me,' the Headmaster said. His tone, though still cheery, indicated very clearly that the conversation was over. He changed the subject with an amused observation: 'It looks like the pair of you left the dormitory rather earlier than expected.'

His twinkling eyes moved over Remus, with his rumpled robes and stocking feet, and then to Sirius, who had nothing on over his nightclothes at all. The two boys exchanged a sheepish glance.

'Well, sir…' Sirius said. 'We've still got an hour before lessons.'

'So you do,' Dumbledore agreed. 'I'm pleased that you're making yourselves at home. That _is_ how I want you to think of Hogwarts.' He was looking at Remus now. 'As a second home. Somewhere you can be safe and happy.'

Remus looked sidelong at the other boy, but Sirius was eyeing the Headmaster with an expression of impressed delight. 'Thank you, sir,' the young werewolf murmured.

'I hope everything is well?' Dumbledore pressed. 'More to the point, I hope that you would tell me if it were not?'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said. 'Ev-everything's fine.'

'I'm pleased to hear it,' said the Headmaster. 'I see you were enjoying a little visit to one of our many broom cupboards. Personally, I dote upon them. Such interesting places—small, but amazingly functional. I daresay a broom cupboard is one of the most useful rooms a wizard can have handy.'

'I daresay,' Remus agreed.

Sirius whistled softly. 'Dumbledore _knows_ you?' he whispered, clearly impressed.

Remus nodded. 'We… I…'

'We've had the pleasure of meeting,' Dumbledore said. 'Why don't you run along and get dressed before breakfast, Master Black? Give Gryffindor time. You may change your mind, after all.'

'Yeah,' Sirius said, stomping off. 'I'm _sure_.'

Dumbledore put a hand on Remus's shoulder. The boy looked up in surprise. The Headmaster was smiling warmly. '_Is_ everything all right, Remus? I confess I've been a little anxious about you since our talk the other day.'

'No, sir— I mean, yes, sir, I'm… I'm just fine. I'm happy, so happy to be here.' At least, he was trying very hard to be happy.

Dumbledore's eyes glittered like sapphires. 'You have overcome a great deal in order to be here. I expect you must have a rather unique appreciation of the school.'

'Yes, sir. I appreciate it very much.'

'Good. So do I.' Dumbledore said happily and produced a paper bag from within his robes. 'Toffee? They're uncommonly scrumptious.'

Remus took the sweet hesitantly, unsure of what to think. He held it between thumb and forefinger. 'I oughtn't,' he said. 'Not before breakfast.'

'You're going to be a little late for breakfast today,' said Dumbledore. 'You and I are going to take a walk.'

'Where?' Remus asked softly.

'Hither and yon, whither we fancy,' Dumbledore said airily, starting down the corridor with his hand still on Remus's shoulder. 'It will melt if you hold it like that,' he said, nodding at the toffee. Remus popped it into his mouth, flushing a little. The Headmaster smiled. 'Now, would you like to tell me what's troubling you?'

Remus hesitated.

'Go on,' prompted Dumbledore. 'Do not be afraid. Your place at Hogwarts is secured against certain monthly precautions, not against absolute satisfaction. What is on your mind this morning?'

Remus swallowed hard. 'You told,' he said, unable to keep a note of accusation from creeping into his voice. 'You told Professor McGonagall what I am.'

Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully. 'I see. Would you like to tell me what happened?'

Remus told him about the book, and the way she had looked at him. 'She knows,' he said again. 'You told her.'

'And it's a good thing I did,' Dumbledore said. 'That knowledge allowed her to make allowance for you when you were unprepared for her lesson. Would you rather she had scolded you in front of the other students? Taken points from Gryffindor? Set you a detention?'

'No, sir,' Remus said, suddenly ashamed of his impudence. 'But Headmaster, who else have you told?'

Dumbledore smiled. 'No one. Professor McGonagall is your Head of House; she had to be told. The other professors do not need to know. Even the ones who worked on your hiding place do not know its purpose. Professor Flitwick I think may have an inkling, but there is no reason for him to settle upon you as the likely cause – and in any case I promise that you can count on him to be open-minded and discrete.'

Remus pressed his lips together. 'Sir, I didn't mean to…'

Dumbledore held up a hand to still his tongue. 'I know you didn't,' he said kindly. They walked a few paces in silence. 'How are you settling into your dormitory? I'm glad to see that you're finding friends. Is everything taking shape as you had hoped?'

The words came out in a tumbling rush. 'It's Sirius Black, sir. He doesn't seem very happy. He and James Potter — they're both in my dormitory, sir, and they're always fighting,' Remus said timidly. 'They call each other the most terrible names.'

'Ah.' Dumbledore seemed to consider this carefully before he spoke. 'You see, Remus, what Sirius needs is a chance to think things through for himself. Once he has got over the initial shock — and you must try to understand what a very great shock this has been for him — he will begin to replace borrowed opinions with his own. Then, I have no doubt he will begin to come around. Do not worry about Sirius Black.'

They were back at the Gryffindor Tower now, and Dumbledore sent Remus up to his dormitory to get dressed. Only when he was sitting down in the Great Hall halfway through his breakfast did Remus come to wonder how the Headmaster had known they were in the broom cupboard.


	7. The Conciliatory Power of the Broomstick

**Chapter Seven: The Conciliatory Power of the Broomstick**

By the end of his second week at Hogwarts, Remus had quite given up trying to keep track of the fluctuating status of the interpersonal relationships in the dormitory. James and Sirius would just make up, and then along would come another letter from London to throw Sirius back into glowering anti-Gryffindor gloom. Just what these letters contained Remus could only guess, but he did notice that they came in three different hands. There was the spidery one, which seemed to belong to his mother and was most often used, and then a bold, precise script, and finally an elegant freehand calligraphy that Remus actually quite envied. It was the last that seemed to anger Sirius the most, so it was just as well that it was also the most infrequent.

It did not really help matters that James was constantly receiving care parcels from home. He shared them with lordly generosity, but it was painfully obvious that Sirius was jealous. All he ever got himself were the letters, and whatever it was they contained it was obviously unpleasant. Despite Dumbledore's encouraging words, Remus was beginning to despair of the two boys ever reaching any sort of lasting peace. He passed his days anxiously, dreading the inevitable moment when James – who still seemed intent on competing for his attention – discovered that Remus had made his choice. Sirius Black was his friend and there was nothing he could do to change that, but he knew James Potter would not be pleased.

On the third Friday of the month, the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered out of doors for their introductory flying lesson. Master Avian, a thin, shrivelled old wizard with an easy smile, was waiting when they arrived. Four rows of broomsticks had been laid out, and the students were instructed to find one to stand by. This took some time, and in the shuffle Phillip Avery and his miscellaneous cronies fell to picking at Sirius.

'Going to fall on your face, blood-traitor Black?' Avery asked in a smarmy, nasal voice. 'Going to get an ickle owie? Going to cry to Mummy?'

'Imaginative, aren't you?' Sirius said lazily. 'I suppose they're putting dragon claw in your bedtime bottle now, are they?'

'You ought to have more respect, Sirius,' Quintilla Crouch chided. 'After all, at least Avery managed to get himself into the right house, and so avoided disgracing _his_ whole family.' She sighed melodramatically. 'You dreadful, wicked, selfish boy! You didn't think about your poor cousins, did you? They can hardly hold up their heads around the common room, not without people asking if they're related to _you_.'

'If you've been gossiping with fourth years you've probably already heard that I've got no compunctions about hexing girls,' James said conversationally, taking up a station at the broom next to Sirius. His hand was in his pocket, and Remus knew that he was holding his wand.

'You wouldn't dare, Potter,' Quintilla hissed, jerking her head at the instructor, who was trying to organize the stragglers without much success.

'Oh, wouldn't I?' James asked with a toothy smile. 'What makes you think that?'

'If you do, Snape will hex _you_. Right, Snape?' Avery jeered, grinning unpleasantly at the round-shouldered boy. 'Been talking all month long about all the hexes you know. Boasting, you were. Let's see what you can do.'

James threw back his head and laughed. '_Snivellus_?' he snorted. 'That's the best you can do? He's not even a proper wizard. If he's been telling you all about his nice Slytherin pedigree he's lying, you know. As Prefect Malfoy. Ask anybody. There's no wizarding family called Snape.'

'Y-you shut up, Potter!' Severus yelped. There were bright spots of crimson on his pale cheeks and he kept glancing anxiously at the sneering faces of the other Slytherins. 'Don't you dare call me a liar.'

'Except you _are_ a liar, aren't you?' James said coolly. 'That's your dirty little secret: you're not one of the Slytherin elite and you never will be. Your pedigree just isn't good enough for them.'

'You'll regret crossing me!' Snape protested feebly, as if he could think of nothing more ominous to say.

James certainly was not impressed. 'Is that so?' he jeered. 'Going to pull a pistol on me, then, are you?'

Snape's sallow face flushed a dreadful shade of red. '_Cephoris!_' he cried. A streak of sparks shot from his wand-tip.

'_PROTEGO_!' James roared, and the hex flew harmlessly away.

The surrounding students had backed away to form a ring around the combatants. Severus shouted something unintelligible, and James ducked hurriedly, coming up with his wand spitting bolts of blue light. Severus shouted, '_Andus Mericus!_' and again James shielded himself. A third curse was hollered. This time Snape was on the defensive. The strength of his shielding charm sent James flying backwards. He landed hard on his tailbone, his wand flying out of his hand with the force of the impact. Severus rushed forward, clearly overcome, and kicked him in the ribs with such force that James exhaled with an odd popping sound and lay very still for a moment before beginning to gasp and make queer retching noises.

Sirius roared in rage. '_Bad form_!' he shrieked, hurling himself bodily onto Snape. They went down, Sirius's fists flying madly. The Slytherin tried to fight back, but he was no match for the bigger boy, and he was soon rolling from side to side, hands thrown up to shield his face as best he could.

'Stop it! Stop it!' Lily Evans was shouting. Several of the Slytherins were laughing. Peter clapped his hands over his mouth.

Remus knelt next to James and tried to help him sit up.

'What is the meaning of this?' a deep, stern voice demanded. 'Stop this at once! _Immobilus_!'

Sirius and Snape were suddenly frozen in place. Master Avian seized the former by the shoulder and pulled him off the latter. '_Finite_,' he said tersely. Severus lay on the grass, his hands over his face. From beneath them blood was pouring, probably from his nose.

'Professor, he was trying to hex Potter, and he kicked him when he fell!' Sirius roared. 'Stinking, sneaking Slytherin!'

'That's quite enough! On your feet…' Master Avian looked around questioningly.

'Snape,' Avery supplied nastily, smirking at his classmate's misfortune. 'That's Snape.'

'On your feet, Snape. And you, Potter. All three of you will go indoors at once! You can each report straight to your Heads of House and let them sort out your punishments. Never, in all my years, have I witnessed such a display — and during a lesson as well! Disgraceful! March, now!' He let go of Sirius and gave him a wrathful little shove to start him walking.

The three perpetrators moved off, and the lesson resumed. When the first-years were finally allowed to trudge back to the castle, their robes in various states of disarray and their bodies bruised and sore from falls, Remus was certain that he hated flying more than anything he'd yet tried.

'Detention?' Peter Pettigrew said anxiously, looking from one dark head to the other.

'That's what she said,' Sirius told him, shrugging. 'Tonight at eight, in the trophy room.'

'You were… pretty good today, Black,' James said grudgingly. 'You throw a nice punch.'

Sirius looked at him in surprise. 'Thanks,' he said sharply. 'I… uh… where'd you learn that blocking spell?'

James curled his lip. 'Thought you moved in rich pure-blood circles. My dad's a show dueller, isn't he? Competed for England, and everything.'

'Really?' Remus asked in awe.

'Yeah,' James said, almost unpretentiously. 'So, I mean, you pick up a trick or two.'

'I'll say,' Sirius chuckled. 'The look on Snivellus's face when his hex went wrong! Excellent, just excellent! You've got potential, Potter, I'll give you that.'

'Don't call me Potter,' James told him. 'And don't ask if you can call me Jim or Jimmy, 'cause the answer's _no_! I don't go in for nicknames.'

Sirius whistled softly. 'Right, then,' he mumbled, a little defensive. 'Whatever you say. We'll do it your way.'

'Good,' said James pertly. ''Cause that's the way I like it.'

'You should probably get going, if you don't want to be late for detention,' Remus said softly. 'It's a quarter to.'

Sirius frowned. 'Where'd McGonagall say the trophy room is, again?'

_~discidium~_

Remus never did find out what was discussed while the two first years scrubbed the dust off of plaques and prize cups, but they returned at ten that night laughing and joking. The next morning they were still friendly with one another, and the four dormitory-mates descended to breakfast with an air of almost jubilant happiness: both Remus and Peter were relieved beyond telling that they were no longer living in a war zone, and James and Sirius were in a grand mood.

'I can't wait!' Sirius said. 'I'm a dab hand with a broomstick, y'know.'

'Yeah, sure!' James teased. 'I'll have you know that no one can outfly _me_!'

'Hah! Shows what you know!' Sirius cried. 'Six Sickles says I can beat you in a sprint to the Astronomy Tower!'

'Oi, that's not fair!' said James. 'We'll be using school brooms. All of 'em are cheap, half of 'em are derelict and half are practically new! I could get a real dud, and you could wind up with one that's right off the shelf! We ought to stake a Galleon at least.'

'Two Galleons!' Sirius said. 'If you're not afraid to face me.'

'Ten!' James said.

Remus's eyes went wide. 'That's a lot of money,' he murmured. All of his school books, secondhand but only gently used, had cost thirteen.

'Bah, peanuts!' James scoffed. 'Hey, that's the stuff!' He eyed the spread of breakfast foods.

Sirius swung first one leg, then the other over the bench, and sat down, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. James began to drizzle syrup over a stack of waffles Remus reached for a soft, sweet peach.

'Ten Galleons it is,' Sirius said. 'Soon as Avian lets us off the ground, we make straight for the Astronomy Tower. First one to touch down on the battlements wins.'

'Agreed,' James said.

A murmuring began to run through the room as post owls came in the large windows and swooped down towards the students. One pulled up just short of Remus, dropping a letter that almost landed in the honey pot. Recognizing his mother's handwriting, Remus tucked the envelope deep inside his robes. He had decided some days ago that it wasn't wise to open these epistles near his friends: his mother wasn't very careful with her language.

James laughed out loud as a large barn owl gave him a package wrapped in brown paper. Sirius, who usually began to turn green with envy at this point in the proceedings, clapped his hands eagerly. 'What's this, Pott— _James_?' he asked.

'I dunno, do I?' James said, ripping the paper off in a most unceremonious manner. 'Looks like fudge! Vanilla, treacle and chocolate!'

'Give it here!' Sirius said, forgetting about his waffles as he reached for the sweets.

'Mum makes the _best_ fudge,' James eulogized. 'Try some, Remus. You, too,' he said, nodding at Peter Pettigrew.

Remus took a small dark square and nibbled it. It was very good, smooth and flavourful, but it was also very rich. Remus took another small bite, and then set it aside to return to his peach.

'Oi, Black! Here comes one for you!' James cried. Both Remus and Peter stiffened. Letters for Sirius were never good news for the group dynamic.

Indeed, his lips narrowed as he took in the handwriting of the address, and opened the envelope. His cheeks began to lose their colour as he read, and when he was finished, he tore the missive into tiny squares.

'Harpy,' he muttered. Then he turned to James and forced a grin. 'No reason to let _her_ spoil our morning, though,' he said. 'We should plan how we're going to get back at Snivellus for kicking you.'

It was a major milestone.

~_discidium~_

When classes broke up for the day, James and Sirius reported to the grounds for their remedial flying lesson. At Sirius's suggestion, Remus came out onto the ground to watch. He was a little nervous about doing so, but he was relieved to see when he stepped out into the sun that he were not the only ones who had come out to watch. Peter Pettigrew was following him, and Lily Evans was already seated on the grass and talking to her sallow friend.

'It's a lot of fun, Sev,' she was saying. 'I mean, it's tricky, and I couldn't go very high, but it _is_ fun.'

Severus muttered something unintelligible, stopping mid-sentence as the other boys came into view.

'All right?' James asked, eying the girl amicably.

'Fine,' she said coolly. 'Hi, Remus.'

'Hello,' he said politely. 'How do you do?'

'Fine,' Lily said. 'Just fine.'

'Ah. Everyone's here on time: good,' Master Avian said, striding towards the group of firsties with three brooms under his arms. He set them on the ground in a row. 'Now, I hope you've resolved your differences, and I expect you all to behave. Line up.'

The three boys who had disrupted the last lesson moved to stand next to the brooms. Avian repeated the lecture that he had given the other students, and Severus seemed to listen attentively. Sirius and James, on the other hand, were exchanging meaningful looks that no one but Remus seemed to notice. Then James grinned and nodded furtively, then drew out his wand and pointed in the general direction of the scrawny Slytherin. His mouth moved as he murmured an incantation. Then, quick as lightning, he stowed his wand under his robes and fixed innocent and him attentive eyes on the flying instructor.

'Now,' Avian said; 'Hold out your hand and call the broom.'

All three boys obeyed, and chorused, 'Come!' Sirius and James did so with great conviction, and their brooms shot up into their waiting fingers. Severus's command garnered no response.

'C-come!' he repeated. 'Come, come!'

'Go on, mount up,' Avian said to the two Gryffindors. To Severus he said; 'Try it again, Mr Snape.'

While James and Sirius mounted smoothly, gripping the handles with such nonchalant ease that looked as if they had been born on broomsticks, Severus tried, again, to call his broom. Finally, it shot off the ground and into his hand with such force that he almost lost it. Lily got to her feet.

'Well done, Sev!' she cheered.

'Mount up, go on,' the teacher said.

Then something very strange happened. The broomstick began to buck. It jerked up and down, nodding like a wild horse. Snape's eyes widened, and he tried to hold it still. It jerked against his hands, and he struggled to maintain his grip.

'Get on. Show it who's boss!' Avian urged. 'Come now, hurry up. They can be a bit difficult sometimes. You just need to put your foot down.'

Severus tried desperately to climb onto the broom. It was no use. It rocked back and forth, jerking his arms with it and beating against his raised calf. Lily clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to keep from giggling.

'Oh, Sev, you look so _silly_!" she said.

The exclamation was neither cruel nor mocking; she was merely overcome with childlike amusement. Nonetheless bright scarlet blossoms appeared on each of Sev's wan cheeks and he bit his lower lip as he tried again, fruitlessly, to mount the bucking broomstick. His grip was now so tight on the handle that his fingertips were turning a nasty cyanotic purple, and his arms jerked and wiggled, struggling vainly with the broom.

James and Sirius were snickering, and Peter began to laugh out loud. Lily, still giggling, tried valiantly to control herself.

'C'mon, Sev. It's not so hard,' she said in earnest encouragement.

'What'sa matter, Snivellus?' James sneered. 'Never been on a broom before?'

Severus shot him a look of pure hatred, and made another attempt to mount the broom, hopping a little as he tried to compensate for the pitch of the vehicle.

'Can we go yet?' Sirius whined at Avian, overplaying a little in his eagerness. 'It's not fair to take up all our afternoon waiting for _that_ weedy git!'

Master Avian, too, was growing impatient with the Slytherin's struggles. 'Pull yourself together,' he said sternly. 'Show it that you're in control.'

Snape hopped twice on his left foot before leaping onto the broom. He landed on the handle, bent so that his chest almost touched it and clinging desperately with both hands. For a moment, it seemed that he had done it, but then the broom bucked again, so violently that it rose to almost a ninety degree angle. Severus slipped off over the straws, landing with a crash, flat on his back.

Lily had stopped laughing. She ran to his side. The broom, now bereft of rider, fell to earth without protest. Avian strode towards the downed student.

'Sev, are you okay?' Lily asked anxiously.

'Ooh, Sev!' Sirius taunted in a mean, nasal voice. 'Did you fall and hurt your skinny little bum? Do you need your little friend to kiss it all better?'

'Ooh, Snivellus is crying!' James whooped. He kicked off and brought the broom skilfully around so that he was hovering three feet off the ground, looking down at the Slytherin. Snape did, indeed, have one tear trickling onto his right cheek. He jabbed at it so violently that his fist caught himself in the eye. This, of course, only made the two Gryffindors laugh even harder.

'Oh, you _hateful_ brats!' Lily cried, rummaging in her pockets for her handkerchief.

'Your girlfriend gonna kiss it better?' Sirius sneered. 'Gonna snog the pretty Gryffindor, Snapey-wapey? You know, we don't like stupid little Slytherins horning in on our women. I'd watch my back, Snivellus!'

'That's enough!' Avian said sternly. 'The both of you do a quick run to the beech and back: let's see if you can put all that talk into action!'

'Right you are!' Sirius said. 'Ready, Potter? Your mark, get set, GO!'

The two broomsticks shot into the air with amazing speed. Remus ducked instinctively as his dormitory mates whizzed past his head and went barrelling up towards the Astronomy Tower.

'Hey! The beech tree, I said!' Avian shouted, but it was too late.

Sirius Black and James Potter were speeding upward, gaining altitude with dizzying speed. Either they had both got new brooms, or they were both skilled enough to compensate for old ones, because neither seemed to lag. They were neck on neck, rocketing towards their goal and the ten Galleon prize. Peter and Remus gawked in amazement, and Avian fell silent as he watched. Even Lily Evans stared, dumbfounded, as they became little black spots against the autumn sky. Remus squinted to pick out Sirius as he pulled into a sharp dive and landed on the flat roof of the Astronomy Tower. A half-second later, James touched down on the crenulated edge. The two boys gripped one another triumphantly by the wrist, and then each sprung into the air again, spiralling into a gentle descent.

Lily exhaled in a very impressed manner as they alighted on the grass, but her face hardened when Sirius let out a whoop of victory.

'How 'bout that!' he crowed. 'Did it ever feel good! See, Snivellus? See what a _real_ wizard can do?'

'I am a real wizard!' Severus shouted, suddenly flushing a horrible scarlet. 'I am! Just 'cause there's something wrong with my broomstick—'

'Or with _you_,' James sneered. He turned to Lily. 'What d'you think of those moves, eh?' he asked. 'Just about pro Quidditch quality, huh!'

Lily cast him a withering glare. Avian regarded the two boys sternly. 'Black, Potter,' he said; 'five points from Gryffindor for disobeying my instructions. However, that was some _very_ good flying! I don't seem many first-years with that kind of control. It's a pity you can't try out for your House Quidditch team: either one of you would be an asset. Go and enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Mr Snape, you're going to keep trying until you can mount that broom properly. On your feet and try it again.'

Still red with humiliation, Severus stood up and brushed off his robes. He cast a furtive look of loathing at the Gryffindor boys, and moved towards the fallen broomstick.

'Come on, Sev,' Lily said quietly, looking more than a little ashamed of herself. 'You can do it.'

'Sure he can,' Sirius snorted. 'When gnomes can fly!'

'Aw, c'mon, Black! He's not a gnome!' James said. 'With that nose he's more of a niffler.'

Peter Pettigrew almost choked laughing at that one: he was still giggling hysterically when they reached the castle door, having been driven away by an annoyed Master Avian.

~_discidium_~

In the Gryffindor common room that evening, James and Sirius regaled the crowd with the tale of Severus Snape's misadventure. Remus slipped away midway through the second encore. He was beginning to feel a little uneasy. Certainly it had been amusing to watch, but to continue to laugh at the other boy's expense seemed cruel. He had not been especially adept on his broomstick the other day, but in the crowd of first years no one had noticed. Severus had not been so fortunate, and now everyone was preying upon him.

Remus was working on his Transfiguration assignment when the dormitory door swung open and the two master storytellers waltzed in.

'You've had your fun, James. Now pay up!' Sirius said, snapping his fingers insistently. 'I reached the top of the Astronomy Tower first: you owe me ten Galleons!'

'Do not!' James said.

'You do so!' cried Sirius. 'We had an agreement!'

'Sure,' James said with a lazy shrug. 'We had an agreement that the last one to land on the battlements of the Astronomy Tower would give the other one ten Galleons.'

'Right! And I was first, so fork it over!' Sirius said.

'No,' James said.

'Are you welshing on a bet?' Sirius asked, his eyes narrowing nastily. 'You no-good cheating bum!'

'I resent that!' James said, drawing himself up to his full height, which still left him at a disadvantage with Sirius. 'You didn't land on the battlements at all! You landed on the roof. _I_ was the only one to touch down on the battlements. You owe _me_ ten Galleons!'

'What?' Sirius yelped. 'You— I— it— Remus, is that fair?'

'I'm afraid it sounds fair,' Remus said timidly. 'You _didn't_ land on the battlements, and the wager _was_ very specific.'

Glowering, Sirius rummaged around in his cupboard and brought out his heavy pouch of money. He counted out ten gold coins and handed them to James.

'I'll win 'em back,' he promised darkly. 'Just you wait!'

'I'm not going to hold my breath,' James said. Then he started to laugh again. 'Did you _see_ Snivellus's face?' he crowed. 'I always knew that jinx would come in handy!'

'You did that?' Remus gasped. 'With your wand, that was what you did? You jinxed his broomstick?'

The others didn't hear him: they were laughing much too hard. Suddenly Remus felt rather ill. He had been uncomfortable with the teasing, but it was much worse to know that the Slytherin boy's problem had been inflicted intentionally. He wanted to scold the other boys, but they looked so cheerful and carefree, and it was wonderful to see them finally getting along. Resolutely he turned back to his book, trying to bring the words on the page back into focus.

~_discidium_~

Remus soon forgot his distress over Severus Snape's humiliation. Something wonderful had happened that day; all hostilities between James Potter and Sirius Black had ceased. United in their mutual dislike of Snape, they had reached the point where no prejudice about their parents' Houses could make a difference. They were fast friends.

Really, Remus knew, it was Sirius who had accepted his membership in Gryffindor. Once he stopped maligning the House, James stopped making digs about Sirius's Slytherin heritage. Digs about the _Slytherins_, on the other hand, were fair game, and both boys took advantage of that to the hilt.

Time passed. Defence Against the Dark Arts was miserable. Transfiguration was so hard as to be almost impossible. Astronomy was utterly exhausting. Charms and History of Magic were quickly becoming Remus's favourite subjects. He was quite good at the former, and though the lecturer was dull in the latter, the material was interesting enough to make up for it.

After a couple of weeks, it was becoming evident that James and Sirius were among the very brightest students in the first year class. They were making rapid process with McGonagall's lessons, and in all of their other subjects they were doing equally well. They were certainly the best at the weekly flying lessons. Remus was catching on, but he did not enjoy it the way his roommates did. Severus, however, continued to struggle. His efforts were not helped by the taunting that sprung up whenever he tried to mount—most often led by James and Sirius. He wasn't going to live down the incident of the bucking broomstick very quickly.

~_discidium~_

October came, and the full moon rolled inexorably around. Although more comfortable with the security arrangements than he had been last time, Remus found this transformation much more brutal. Apparently, unease in the new surroundings or interest in their novelty had calmed the wolf a little in September. This month, however, it was its usual horribly violent self. Though Madam Pomfrey did her best to patch him up, when Remus returned to lessons on the third morning after the moon, he was still displaying a peculiarity that he could not hide.

'Where did you get that bruise?' Sirius demanded at dinner that day. It was plain that he had been itching to ask that question all morning.

Remus's hand flew self-consciously to his eye, the socket of which was inflamed and discoloured. Madam Pomfrey's best efforts had only sufficed to reduce the swelling enough to allow him to open it. There was nothing to be done about the tenderness or the hideous purple colour. 'I… I…' he stammered.

'_Where_?' Sirius repeated in a tone that was not to be argued. Remus looked away. James tried a more diplomatic approach.

'Remus, what happened? You can tell us, and it won't go any further.'

'Won't go any further?' Sirius scoffed. 'Tell me the name of the lousy—' Peter Pettigrew, seated nearby, gasped at the colourful phrase Sirius utilized. '—who did that to you, and he'll wish he'd never been born!'

'It's nothing, really,' mumbled Remus, casting about for an excuse, any excuse. As is so often the case when under pressure, all he could come up with was a feeble lie. 'I… I just ran into a door, that's all.'

'You can't just knuckle under to bullies, Remus!' Sirius cried. 'Tell me his name, and I'll slug him into next Tuesday!'

Oddly enough, it was Peter who bailed him out of that one. 'Just leave Remus alone,' he said quietly. It was rare for him to speak up while the other boys were talking. 'Are you calling him a liar?'

Sirius shut up, but both he and James kept a very close and constant vigil on Remus after that, eyes wide open for would-be intimidators and assailants. Their concern, though misguided, was very comforting. Remus was beginning to feel as if he belonged in their group, as if he were one of their real friends and not just a quiet mousy kid who shared their dormitory. It was heady mead after so many years without companions of his own age, and he was only too eager to follow Sirius and James.


	8. All in Good Fun

**Chapter Eight: All in Good Fun**

'No, you've got to have larger pieces that that,' James said. 'The instructions say quarter-inch cubes. Those are more like three-sixteenths.'

Remus suppressed a frustrated sigh and brushed aside the cut safflower root. He hated Potions. He was no good at it at all. There was a thick smell in the air, and under the myriad scents of strange herbs and tinctures was the unmistakable miasma of wolfsbane. Within a few minutes of entering the room Remus's lungs always felt tight and his stomach churned rebelliously. This made it very difficult to concentrate, and that was quite apart from the fact that the subject itself was finicky, particular, and almost unfathomable.

He diced the root as quickly as he could, eyeing the other students as he did so. At the next table, Peter was whispering frantically to Sirius, who was impatiently brushing him off. The rest of the class displayed the entire spectrum from eager to bored to frantic. Across the room, Lily Evans was busy with her potion, talking quietly to Severus Snape. He nodded and pointed to the vial of lavender oil.

Professor Slughorn was going about his rounds of the class. As usual, he started with the Andrews twins, his round face alight with anticipation.

'Looking fine, looking fine!' he said. 'You might try a couple really good, deep stirs — anticlockwise. Ought to calm down that murky buildup near the edges. How _is_ your grandfather doing? Busy, I daresay, with affairs of state and the like.'

'Oh, yes, he's always very busy, Professor,' Athena said courteously.

Aeolus, who unlike his sister did not like the teacher's attention, scowled at his cauldron. 'Yeah, he's busy,' he said sourly. 'Hasn't written us in two weeks.'

Slughorn frowned a little, and moved on to the next group of Slytherins. He didn't have much to say to them, or to the table of Gryffindors beside them. Then he reached the table where little Charlotte White and tall Betta MacFusty were working together.

'Miss MacFusty!' he said buoyantly. 'And how are you today?'

'Fine, thank you,' she replied in her lyrical Scottish accent. 'And you, sir?'

'Splendid, splendid. I hear your aunt Esme's going to be married — to Alexis Fitzhenri, of all people! You and your sister will be in the wedding party, of course?'

'That hasn't been decided yet,' Betta said. 'I mean, the wedding isn't until July.'

'But still — Alexis Fitzhenri! Such an excellent alliance for both families!' Slughorn eulogized gleefully. 'You know that Alexis's first cousin is the youngest doctor ever to serve on the St. Mungo's Board of Directors?'

There was a tiny hint of amused disbelief in Betta's voice as she said, 'No, sir, I had no idea.'

Slughorn nodded sagely. 'Indeed he is! One of the greatest healers of our time. I haven't seen many pupils with his proficiency in Potions. Only a handful over the years. Adrian Fitzhenri… I remember once when we were making Scintillating Solution in the NEWTs class. He took the initiative to add cobalt to his: just a little of the finest powder he could produce. The results were simply delightful! It had the faintest blue sheen to it, almost like mother-of-pearl. And of course, the cobalt provided the most _marvellous_—'

He was interrupted by a tremendous explosion. Hot potion flew in every direction. Several people screamed, and most, Remus included, dove for the floor. There was a sharp report of repeated detonations, and Slughorn let out a loud, startled exclamation of, 'Merlin's drawers!' as he threw himself under one of the counters. Chaotic cries broke out throughout the room, students calling to one another and asking anxiously what had happened. When a minute passed with no further explosions, Remus crept out into the aisle and looked around.

Peter Pettigrew was the only one still on his feet. He looked absolutely petrified with shock, and he was staring at the remains of his potion. From what Remus could see, it had exploded right out of the cauldron, coating Peter, the counter, and a good deal of the surrounding desks in a thick layer of greyish sludge. Amid the ruins Sirius's cauldron was still simmering serenely, and just to the right of Peter's ruined textbook Remus could see several soggy lumps clinging to the remains of a charred wick.

'Good one, huh?' Sirius hissed, moving from his hasty squat to sit with his back against the counter. He stretched his legs out over the stone floor, smirking in a very self-satisfied way. Remus abruptly realized that his dormitory-mate was the source of the mayhem. He stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

James got to his feet. 'Hey, Pettigrew,' he said in an almost conversational voice. 'All right?'

Suddenly, Peter let out a long, wailing scream of fright. Then Remus realized that he was probably burned quite badly, too. He scrambled to his feet.

'Professor!' he called frantically. 'Professor Slughorn! Peter's hurt!'

He took the podgy boy's arm and led him quickly to a chair. Peter was now sobbing, his tears cutting rivulets through the muck on his face. Remus dug for his handkerchief, and began to wipe away the potion. There was far too much for the little bit of linen to cope with, and he quickly gave up and used his hands to push it off of Peter's skin, pausing to wipe the excess off on the front of his own robes. 'Professor!' he repeated. 'Please, Professor!'

Slughorn, however, was still hiding under the desk. Most of the students were on their feet again, curious as to the source of the distress.

'Here, let me.' Betta MacFusty nudged Remus aside and pointed her wand at Peter.

'No, you can't!' Remus protested. She was only a first year, and Peter was probably really hurt…

'Calm down,' she said firmly. 'You have to be calm in these situations. _Evanesco_!'

To Remus's amazement, a good portion of the muck vanished. Betta frowned.

'That's no good,' she said in annoyance. 'You oughta see my mam do it. Here, calm down, you're not hurt.'

'But it's all over his face!' Remus protested. It upset him dreadfully to think that the other boy might be hurting.

'It's not hot,' Betta pointed out, scooping up a fingerful and then wiping it off on the edge of Peter's cloak. 'I don't think he had the heat high enough to make it simmer. Lucky thing. _Evanesco, evanesco, evanesco_!'

This helped a lot. Peter now looked like a person again, instead of a lumpy clay model left out in the rain. He was still blubbering copiously, though, and he looked quite miserable.

'Aw, knock it off,' James said, mild irritation in his eyes. 'It's all in good fun, and you're not hurt.'

'Professor Slughorn!' Remus repeated. He desperately wanted the adult to take control of the situation, but Slughorn remained out of sight.

Luckily, Betta MacFusty felt differently. 'Fie, you're well enough,' she said firmly to Peter. 'Come along, we'll take you to the hospital wing and have Madam Pomfrey look at you. You'll feel better when you're cleaned up.' She turned to Remus. 'You have to show them who's in charge,' she said with the certainty of one reciting established dogma by rote. 'When they're scared, they need someone to take over.'

_Remus_ was scared, and he certainly needed someone to take over. He nodded.

'Professor!' Betta said firmly. 'I'm taking Peter to the hospital wing. May I have a note, please? Professor?' There was no answer. Several students snickered. Slughorn had yet to emerge from his hiding place. Betta sighed. 'Never mind. Come along, Peter.'

She took the boy's arm and led him, still crying, out of the room.

From his evidently comfortable position on the floor, Sirius snorted derisively. 'What a jellylegs,' he said crossly. 'No sense of fun. I was only trying—'

'But… but…' Remus gasped. 'But _how_?'

Sirius stood and fished in the mess for the lumpy things. 'Firecrackers,' he said smugly. 'Bought 'em off Eldritch McKinnon in case of emergency, and it's luck I did. Somebody had to shut Slughorn up!'

The Potions Master was on his feet in an instant, pointing a quaking finger at Sirius.

'You… you interrupted my class?' he said. '_You_ made this mess? Detention, Mister Black, and twenty points from Slytherin!'

There was a brief, astounded silence as the class processed what the teacher had said. James began to snigger into his hands. Phillip Avery turned red as a beat. Sirius let out a loud, barking laugh and started for the door.

'Fair enough, mate,' he said languidly. '_I'm_ in Gryffindor!'

~_discidium_~

James and Sirius were still laughing about it at supper, even though Professor Slughorn had rectified his slip of the tongue by docking Gryffindor thirty points, and awarding Severus Snape forty for Slytherin on the flimsy excuse that his potion was the best in the class. Indeed, as word of the incident spread to the other years, the older Gryffindors all seemed to be looking more favourably on Sirius than they had hitherto. There was one notable exception, however. She caught up to him at supper.

'Well, well, well. Sirius Black.'

'Well, well, well. Dorcas Meadowes,' Sirius said, smacking his lips as he plucked up a chicken drumstick and nibbled daintily at the golden roasted skin.

The prefect was not impressed. She crossed her arms and glared down at him.

'I suppose you think you're clever.'

'Fairly clever, yeah. Got top marks on my last Transfiguration paper.'

'Look, Professor Slughorn may not want to punish you because he already looks like an idiot, but I don't take well to arrogant little toerags dragging the good name of Gryffindor through the muck and setting us back thirty points in one afternoon.' Dorcas's scowl deepened as Sirius finished stripping off the bone and reached for another. 'Three nights' detention with Professor Arachne. And if you put another toe out of line—'

'You'll pull the rag right out from under it. Thanks, Meadowes. I think we're both perfectly clear where we stand.' Sirius bit deep into the bird-flesh, inhaling enormously in contentment. 'Don't leave your hat upside-down tonight. I hear the Head Boy's toad has collywobbles.'

'Four nights' detention,' Dorcas said crisply. 'That last one is for talking back to a prefect.'

Sirius smirked but said nothing more until the fifth-year had returned to her seat near the head of the Gryffindor table. 'I think somebody Vanished her sense of humour,' he remarked dryly.

'I'm surprised you're so cheerful,' Remus said. 'You've racked up a week's detention today.'

'Five days,' said Sirius, waving his drumstick dismissively. 'So I'll calibrate some astrolabes and dust off some old star-charts. It can't be worse than sitting through Act Five of _The Reminiscences of Horace Slughorn_.'

James snorted into his pumpkin juice. 'Sirius Black, Pyrotechnic of the People,' he said solemnly. 'Making the world a better place one firecracker at a time.'

Sirius stood up and offered an elaborate bow to his public, then plunked himself back on the bench and reached for another piece of chicken.

Remus, whose appetite had suddenly left him, got to his feet and began to walk away. Sirius reached out and caught hold of his robe with a greasy thumb and forefinger.

'Hang on there, Lupin. Where do you think you're going?' he demanded.

'To the hospital wing,' Remus said as stoutly as he could. 'To see if Peter is all right.'

The grey eyes narrowed, and for a moment Remus was terrified that the bigger boy was going to say something cruel and scathing. But Sirius grinned and shrugged. 'Ah, suit yourself,' he said. 'Give old Pettigrew my fond regards.'

'Mine too,' said James, cutting himself a generous slice of mince pie. 'And tell him he ought to keep a closer watch on his cauldron.'

Remus fled before they could say anything more. It hardly seemed fair, he thought as he hurried down the familiar corridor, for Sirius and James to poke fun at Peter after putting him through such an ordeal for no good reason. Certainly Remus didn't think he would like it much if someone played a practical joke on him simply out of boredom. But then he remembered Sirius's remark about Dorcas Meadowes' lack of humour. Maybe Remus just didn't understand what was funny and what was not.

Madam Pomfrey was bustling about in her supply cupboard when Remus reached the hospital wing. He waited quietly until she found what she was looking for and emerged with a bottle of swirling lavender fluid.

'Remus!' she said. 'Why, dear, whatever is the matter? Are you feeling ill?'

He shook his head. 'I came to see Peter,' he said softly. 'Peter Pettigrew. He was hurt in Potions today.'

'Oh, yes, little Peter,' Madam said. 'He wasn't hurt, not really. He's just a little shaken up. I was about to give him a drop of sleeping draught, but you can come and say goodnight if you like.'

Remus followed her to a bed near the window, where Peter was lying curled on his side. He reached out to touch the other boy's plump hand. Peter stiffened and opened his eyes.

'Hey, there,' Remus said softly. 'How do you feel?'

Peter's lower lip trembled. 'It was a rotten trick,' he said miserably. 'I could've been really hurt, you know.'

'I know. Sirius is ashamed of himself.' Remus coloured only a little at the fib. After all, it would comfort Peter to hear it, and surely Sirius would start to feel some shame before the littler boy got out tomorrow. 'He's got five nights in detention, and Professor Slughorn took thirty points from Gryffindor.'

'Oh, bother!' Peter said anxiously. 'I didn't want Gryffindor to lose any points.'

'Don't worry about that; just you get a good night's sleep.' It was one of his mother's favourite sayings; she used it often when Remus was fretting about troubles beyond his control. 'Things will look better in the morning. They always do, you know.'

That wasn't true, either, but as Peter wasn't likely to wake up in a pool of his own blood the platitude seemed appropriate.

Peter smiled contentedly. ''Kay,' he mumbled. 'Thanks, Remus.'

'Any time.' Remus patted the other boy's hand and then withdrew from the bed. Madam Pomfrey moved in to coax Peter to take his medicine.

'That was a very kind thing you did,' she said presently, catching up to Remus before he could slip out into the corridor. She chucked him under the chin with the side of her thumb. 'You're a good boy.'

Remus smiled wanly. He didn't feel like a good boy at all. He felt like an accomplice to Sirius Black's unpleasant joke. 'Good night, Madam,' he said softly. 'Please take good care of Peter.'

He walked very slowly back to the Gryffindor Tower, scuffing his shoes against the smooth stone floor. Just as he reached the portrait-hole he heard footsteps behind him. Betta MacFusty came striding up.

'Oh, hallo,' she said. 'I was just down to see Peter, but he's fast asleep. I guess he's going to be just fine. Good work today.'

'I didn't do anything,' Remus protested. 'I was worse than useless. You're the one who took charge.'

'Och, that's nothing! It was just one hysterical boy. You ought to see when the hatchlings get in a panic. If _somebody_ doesn't take charge they're liable to set themselves on fire. It's one thing you learn in dragon husbandry: keep your head.' She grinned. 'You did fine. Next time you'll be even better.'

She clapped him on the shoulder, gave the password, and stepped into the common room. Remus hurried through before the portrait could swing closed. He watched as Betta vanished up the girls' staircase, and then mounted the steps to his own dormitory.

Sirius, of course, was off serving the first of his detentions. James was lounging on his bed, swinging one foot in the air as he pored over the latest edition of _World Quidditch_ magazine. Remus watched him for a long time before he finally looked up.

'What?' he asked convivially.

'Aren't you a bit ashamed?' Remus asked, startled at his own boldness. 'Peter's very shaken up.'

'Why should I be ashamed?' James asked. He seemed quite innocently perplexed. 'I didn't do it. Besides, it was all in good fun and nobody got hurt. Lighten up a little, Lupin. You need to learn to laugh.' He turned back to his magazine, humming tunelessly to himself.

The implied criticism stung. So he was right: they thought he didn't have a sense of humour. But it still didn't seem right to laugh at Peter, just as it hadn't seemed right to laugh at Snape. Behind the bedcurtains Remus undressed, put on his nightshirt, and crept between the sheets. He lay awake for a long time, worrying and wondering. He was still alert when Sirius came back to the dormitory at a quarter to twelve, but he didn't say anything to the dark-haired boy. He didn't want to be censured again.


	9. Of Scoldings and Quidditch

**Chapter Nine: Of Scoldings and Quidditch**

Peter came to breakfast the following morning, perfectly healthy but understandably embittered. He had no admiring gaze to lavish on Sirius that day and instead sat down glumly on the bench, edging as near to Remus as he could while still maintaining the full range of motion of his left elbow. Remus, who had felt entirely unable to keep his usual company that morning, was glad to make room for a familiar face in the sea of Gryffindor students.

'Thanks again for coming to visit me,' Peter said quietly, glancing sidelong at Sirius and James who were seated together three places down, laughing raucously about something or other. 'Nobody else bothered.'

'Betta MacFusty tried, but you were already asleep,' Remus said. He paused a minute before adding, though he only half believed it himself; 'Sirius didn't mean to hurt you. He was just being thoughtless.'

The post was coming in. James rubbed his hands in glee as his parents' majestic owl circled down to deposit in front of him his latest package from home. Remus was watching the circling birds, hoping for a note from home. He did not notice the owl that landed in front of Sirius until a hush fell over the nearby students.

Sirius was holding a brilliant red envelope, staring at it as if it threatened to bite him.

James grimaced. 'Ooh. Someone's in trouble,' he sang softly.

The colour was gone from Sirius's face, and his jaw was working nervously. 'S-she must be _furious_,' he whispered, his voice tight and hoarse. 'Blacks don't air their dirty laundry in public.'

'I think you'd better open it,' Remus suggested. The corners of the envelope were beginning to smoke ominously.

Sirius's hands were shaking. He fumbled with the seal, but the envelope fell onto the table. The smoke was pouring onto the table now, and the paper began to vibrate violently.

'It'll be worse if you don't open it,' James warned, snatching up the Howler and breaking the seal.

A resounding voice, magnified many times normal volume, filled the Great Hall with vitriol. '…MY FLESH! NOT ENOUGH THAT YOU DISGRACE THE FAMILY AND SHAME YOUR POOR COUSINS! NOT ENOUGH THAT YOU IGNORE EVERY WORD I WRITE YOU! NOT ENOUGH, YOU VILE LITTLE CREATURE, THAT YOU GET INTO _FIGHTS_ LIKE AN ANIMAL – LIKE A TROLL – LIKE A _MUDBLOOD_! NO, YOU COULD NOT BE CONTENT WITH THAT! YOU HATEFUL AND DEFIANT JACKANAPE, YOU TAINTED EFFLUENCE OF MY BODY, IS THERE NO BASENESS TO WHICH YOU WILL NOT SINK? DISRUPTING YOUR LESSONS, BRINGING SHAME ON OUR HOUSE…'

Everyone was listening. The Gryffindors seated near Sirius had their hands clamped over their ears, but the woman's voice was so loud and pervasive that these efforts hardly served to muffle her cries. Elsewhere in the Great Hall, students sat shell-shocked or horrified as the vitriolic tirade continued. Many wore an expression of amusement, mingled in only a few cases with gratitude that they had been spared such embarrassment. Peter seemed simultaneously terrified and righteous.

At the Slytherin table, Narcissa Black was sitting with her arms crossed, looking smugly superior. Severus was watching with a sort of avid vindication. Most of the other Slytherins were snickering and trying to murmur superciliously to one another over the roars of the Howler.

Sirius, meanwhile, was sitting bolt upright, hands gripping the edge of the bench. He was staring at the tabletop with a stony, guarded look on his face, but in his eyes there was a glint of something else – terror, perhaps, or hatred. Short minutes ago, Remus had been indignant and angry at Sirius, but no one deserved to hear the things that the Howler was saying now – much less to have them shouted out for the whole school to hear.

'… TOO GOOD FOR YOU! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU CONTEMPTIBLE ABOMINATION OF MY FLESH, YOU WILL RUE THE VERY DAY YOU TOOK ROOT WITHIN ME!' With a final horrible shriek, the letter burst into flames.

After a hushed moment, conversation resumed throughout the hall. There was a great deal of laughter and snickering, and Remus picked out several taunting voices quoting phrases from the Howler. He got up from his seat and moved to be near Sirius. James, who was wearing a look of inexperienced pity, slid away to allow the other boy to sit.

'I suppose she found out about the detention,' Remus said softly.

Sirius stared at him. For a moment his face was a crumpled wasteland of panic and vulnerability. Then his eyes hardened and his lips grew tight. 'Just forget about it, Lupin,' he said. 'She's got a bee in her bonnet; that's all.'

'It's over now,' James said bracingly, sweeping the ashes of the Howler onto the floor and pouring himself another helping of milk. 'Life must go on.'

Sirius shot him a withering look. 'Don't imagine _you've _got any worries about getting a Howler, do you, Potter?' he said dangerously.

James shrugged. 'Time will tell,' he said graciously. 'To date, _I_ haven't blown anyone up.'

A snort that might have been a noise of derision or amusement issued from Sirius Black's nostrils. He picked up his fork and looked at Remus. `What about you?' he asked. `D'you suppose your mum would dash off one of those horrors in between the pretty hand-stitched hankies?'

Remus gestured helplessly with one hand. `I don't know that she could,' he said. `She's—'

`Right, right. A Muggle.' Sirius waved him off. `Weren't you just born under a lucky star?'

The currents of Gryffindor conversation rippled a little. A tall, patrician Slytherin student who had to be at least sixteen was striding down the length of the table. She stopped next to Sirius and shot an appraising look at Remus and James. Remus tried to edge away from her, but next to him James sat fast. Instead the young woman cast an imperious look at the second-year seated at Sirius's left. The girl moved down and allowed the older student to sit on the Gryffindor bench. This she did with indolent grace, leaning back against the table with one arm draped against it. Her legs, still on the other side of the bench, crossed neatly to reveal a costly pair of dragon-hide shoes with tall spool heels and exceedingly pointy toes.

'Are you all right?' she asked Sirius, seeming genuinely concerned.

`Of course I am,' he muttered irritably. `It's not as though I've never heard her shout before.'

`She must be fit to be tied,' the older student said. `It's not like Aunt Walburga to air her dirt—'

'We've covered that already, Andromeda,' said Sirius with a terse, dismissive gesture. `Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to trying to live down the morning's spectacle.'

The Slytherin girl gave him a long, hard look before nodding resignedly. Patting his arm sympathetically, she rose smoothly to her feet and sailed back towards her House table.

James watched her go. 'I take it that's some other cousin,' he said mildly. 'Not as unpleasant as the other one, is she?'

Sirius did not answer. He was focused intently on his breakfast. Suddenly Remus saw his opportunity.

'It isn't nice to be ridiculed in front of everybody, is it?' he said quietly.

Sirius shot him a vicious glare. 'How would _you_ know?' he demanded.

Remus felt as if someone had pulled a rug from beneath his feet. His intention to corral Sirius into looking at the situation from Peter's point of view collapsed into a molten pool of shame and dread and terrified remembrance. His courage abandoned him, and he yielded the battlefield. 'You're right,' he said hastily, the lie spilling out like a protective miasma. 'You're completely right. I don't.'

'Exactly,' snapped Sirius.

_~discidium~_

The incident at breakfast did not seem to teach Sirius Black anything about humility. He served out his detentions with an air of good-natured amusement, and won back the points he had lost with a string of exemplary performances in Charms. He went about his daily business with lackadaisical élan even though the stigma of the Howler haunted him for weeks. It seemed a source of endless amusement to the Slytherins that the heir to one of the oldest and most prestigious pure-blood families was the object of such disgrace. Sirius bore their sniggers stoically for a long while – much longer than Remus would have expected. Yet the mounting tension that accompanied each such incident was obvious. A Black, it seemed, did not suffer humiliation lightly. As the days wore on it was inevitable that he would reach his breaking point and unleash his temper on his tormentors.

It happened on the last Saturday in October. The day began on a jubilant note. The inter-House Quidditch league was well into their season, and that particular weekend marked Gryffindor's first game against Slytherin. Remus awoke to find the dormitory filled with laughter and eager predictions him of victory. James and Sirius were already bedecked in red and gold, attempting to enchant their black school cloaks to match while Peter – who had long since forgotten the incident in the Potions classroom – looked on in worshipful delight.

Seeing that he was awake, Sirius tossed his wand James and reached to herd Remus out of bed. The smaller boy was obliged to scramble in order to tug the hem of his nightshirt over his scarred calves.

'Come on now, get dressed double quick!' Sirius said. 'No time to muck about getting changed in bed today; we've got to get down to breakfast or we won't be at the pitch in time to get decent seats!'

Remus watched feebly as Sirius began to rummage through his cupboard, tossing out neatly folded robes and a change of linens. 'Actually, I hadn't really planned on going,' he said, stooping to gather his scattered belongings.

Sirius froze, gawping at him. 'Not going?' he said blankly.

'Didn't I tell you?' James asked. `Remus isn't big on Quidditch.'

'Not big on Quidditch?' Sirius parroted. He grinned sympathetically. 'Chudley Cannons fan, are you? They really ought to change their motto.'

Remus shook his head. 'I don't follow it,' he confessed.

'Don't follow Quidditch…' Sirius seemed to be struggling with this concept. 'I can't believe it!' he exclaimed. 'You really don't follow Quidditch?'

Remus bit his lip. He couldn't bear anything that smacked even faintly of rejection, and his friend's consternation was frightening. 'It's just that I never really had the opportunity…' he said hurriedly, trying to back out.

The other boy clicked his tongue. 'Unbelievable,' he said. 'Well, who've you seen play, then?'

'Nobody,' Remus whispered, taking a step backward so that he could grip the bedpost.

'_Nobody_?' echoed Sirius. 'Seriously? Literally _nobody_?'

Remus nodded mutely, wishing the floor would swallow him up. James looked shocked by this revelation, too. Peter had a pleasantly surprised look on his face – as, no doubt, he tallied up the games that he had seen.

Sirius whistled. 'Blimey,' he said. 'Never seen a Quidditch game. Mixed marriages really _are_ a terrible thing.' When Remus didn't comment, he continued brightly. 'Well, then, today's match will be your first one! You've _got_ to go!'

Remus looked at James, who grinned. 'Whatever you're going to do, make up your mind quickly, okay? I absolutely _refuse_ to miss the toss.'

A little over half an hour later, dressed carefully against the morning chill, Remus found himself hurrying across the grounds with Sirius's fist closed insistently on his elbow. The sun was shining with a benevolent autumnal indifference, and the Forbidden Forest was streaked with every shade of crimson and orange.

The game was not due to begin for almost an hour, but the stands were already filling with students. James took the stairs of the Gryffindor box two at a time, with Sirius tugging Remus after him. Peter Pettigrew tried to keep pace, but soon had to fall back as the other boys outstripped him.

'Second row,' James said resignedly, taking a seat. 'Well, it'll have to do. C'mon, Sirius. Sit by me.'

'Not a chance,' said Sirius, moving his hand onto Remus's shoulder and pressing down upon it until he sat. 'This one looks like he might bolt if he gets half the chance. You guard his left.'

Remus felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up his collar. He stared down at his mittens. The crowded box made filled him with unease, and he could feel the other boys' eyes upon him.

'Remus,' James said in an earnest voice touched faintly by puzzled concern; 'you needn't be so nervous. We're only ribbing you, you know.'

He could not reply that he _didn't _know; that the difference between friendly teasing and malicious mockery eluded him. Like his sense of humour, it seemed his ability recognize friendly jibes was woefully underdeveloped. 'I know,' he mumbled.

'D'you understand the game?' Sirius asked, and Remus's chest was suffused with warm gratitude as the other boy changed the subject. 'There are seven players on each team, and…'

By the time the match began, Remus had been tutored on the basic rules of Quidditch, the intricacies of several popular plays, and a concise history of the sport. As usual he said little, preferring instead to watch the animated faces of the other two as they spoke to him eagerly with broad smiles on their faces. Now and again one of them would leave out some point that the other felt was utterly indispensable, and a brief, laughing debate would ensue. At such moments Remus could not help grinning rather foolishly, remembering the ferocity of the early quarrels.

He was almost disappointed when the two teams came cruising out onto the pitch, because James and Sirius stopped talking and leaned forward eagerly to watch.

It was strangely exhilarating, sitting in the midst of a thunderous crowd all cheering for a common aim. The action on the pitch moved to quickly for Remus to follow it all, but it was easy to tell when Gryffindor made a good play. Then the box fairly shuddered with the collective jubilation of the spectators. Remus found himself applauding eagerly with the others, and once even dared to call out in celebration. Whenever the Gryffindor Keeper made especially spectacular save, James clapped him between the shoulders. As for Sirius, he took the occasional hiatus from screaming himself gleefully hoarse to explain the mechanics of particularly interesting play for Remus's benefit.

The Gryffindor team was strong, but so were the Slytherins. The score rocked back and forth between them, mounting past fifty to a hundred and beyond. The two Seekers were colourful blurs as they zipped around the pitch. The air was warmer now, and some of the Chasers were slowing down. The game had been going for almost two hours when the Gryffindor captain called for a timeout.

While the teams huddled up to strategize and take some water, the spectators fell into eager conversation. James got to his feet and scooted past Remus. Sirius reached up to catch his sleeve. `Where do you think you're going?' he asked.

`Where else?' James said. 'To ask why they're letting Slytherin lick them!'

Remus glanced at the scoreboard. 'We are up ten points,' he pointed out.

'Exactly. We should be up sixty at least! Either one of our Chasers isn't doing their job, or Eldritch McKinnon is off his game. Either way, they could obviously use a little encouragement.'

Sirius chuckled. 'You're going to give captain of the House team what for? This I have got to see.' He released James's sleeve and stood up. 'Save our seats, would you?' he said to Remus. Then he and James were gone, tearing down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor box.

Remus saw them dashing out onto the pitch far below. There was some scattered laughter as other spectators became aware of the young intruders. Avian spotted them, but by that time James was elbowing his way into the midst of the red-robed Gryffindor players with Sirius on his heels. There was a flurry of disorder as the Gryffindor team reacted to this interruption. The Keeper was gesticulating at James while the older players looked on bemusedly. Sirius leaned in, no doubt to offer his own thoughts. By this time the flying master had reached them and he was trying to shepherd James and Sirius away.

James turned his attention on the adult, launching into what was no doubt an animated explanation of his reasoning. Sirius was trying to offer advice to one of the Beaters when the Slytherin Seeker – who was also a fifth year prefect – broke away from the rest of his team and strode over to lay a censuring hand on Sirius's shoulder. Sirius turned to see who had touched him, and a posture of disdainful impatience overtook his whole body. His mouth moved dismissively, and he tried to shake off the prefect's hand.

The Slytherin must have said something, because Sirius's stance changed instantly. He hurled an arm at the bigger boy's face, retreating four steps and drawing his wand. There was a flash of light, and the Seeker was clutching at his brow, blood showing dark against his pale hair. He was unarmed, of course, but he groped for his broom and swung it like a cudgel. Sirius danced out of the way, diving in to shoot another jinx. James had caught sight of the affray, and he dodged around Master Avian and whipped out his own wand. The sound of his shouting voice as he sent off a hex reverberated dimly and unintelligibly towards the stands.

The flying master was digging in his robes for his wand, and Professor McGonagall came running onto the pitch. She was armed and ready, and with a flick and a stern incantation the two boys' wands flew high into the air. James and Sirius froze, startled, as their Head of House descended upon them, fury writ upon her brow.

The Slytherin team was clustered around their Seeker now, and Avian turned towards them. Other members of staff were appearing on the pitch: tiny Professor Flitwick, looking uncommonly stern; Professor Slughorn, obviously agitated; and Professor Dumbledore, who moved to close his fingers on Sirius's wrist before he could take a swing at McGonagall.

Edgar Bones strode out from the Gryffindor stands, while Andromeda Black came running from amid the Slytherins. Her expression was unreadable, but she had her robes hitched up in a less-than-elegant fashion and she scarcely glanced at the fallen Seeker as she hurried up to the Headmaster and took hold of Sirius's other arm. She seemed to be scolding him; there was a cold and stubborn set to his jaw, and neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall moved to stop her.

The Head Boy trotted up the pitch, collecting the two fallen wands. He tucked them into his belt and presented himself to Dumbledore for instruction. Edgar led James away, off the pitch and out of sight beneath the stands. The Headmaster kept his hold on Sirius, who was too occupied with his cousin to make any attempt at writhing away.

There was another argument going on now; McGonagall and Slughorn had Avian cornered. Under Flitwick's supervision two other Slytherin prefects were helping the Seeker to his feet. He seemed able to walk, but his face was bloody and there was something green and writhing protruding from one of his sleeves. As he was led away, Professor Slughorn began to hop up and down, arms flapping in protest. McGonagall cast him a disdainful look and resumed her stern discussion with Avian.

Apparently deciding that his staff were in need of some arbitration, Dumbledore handed Sirius over to Andromeda Black and moved to settle Slughorn. The two Quidditch teams, one short a crucial player, were now arguing loudly as well. Sirius cast a long look over his shoulder as his cousin, gripping his wrist and marching with grim resolve, began to drag him off of the pitch.

Remus got up, struggling to squeeze his way through the crowd of Gryffindors now congregating in the lower tiers of the box to watch the affray. He ran down the stairs and left the pitch just as Sirius and Andromeda were emerging.

'—can't just go around hexing prefects,' the older girl was saying, her voice filled with exasperation. 'Not in front of the whole school. Do you really think you can get away with that kind of behaviour, Sirius Black?'

He was trotting to keep up with her. 'Ow, Drommie, leggo my arm…' he said petulantly.

She whirled around and bore down on him, still maintaining her grip. 'Look, I know what you're doing and I understand,' she said emphatically. 'But do you really think this is the best way to use your first taste of independence? What do you think your mother is going to do when she hears about this?'

Sirius looked sullen. 'She wouldn't hear about it at all if Cissy would just keep her bloody trap shut.'

'It wasn't Narcissa who wrote home about the firecrackers,' the girl said. 'She was just as surprised as I was when you got that Howler. And even if she keeps quiet about this you know Lucius will find some way to let it slip to Walburga. _Why_ did you do it, Sirius?' There was a desperate, imploring flavour to her voice now.

'Because he's a great bullying prat, and he was muttering that bit she said about me taking root… you know.' Sirius's face convulsed with disgust. 'As if I want to think about _that._'

Andromeda's expression softened marginally. 'You can't just go around hexing prefects,' she said again. '_Especially _not Lucius. You've got to find a more creative outlet for your frustration, Sirius, or you'll be spending every school holiday for the next seven years shut up in the—'

Abruptly she caught sight of Remus, standing nervously in the shadow of the pitch. Her mouth settled into a hard line and she straightened her back, tilting her chin regally. 'You run along, you nosey little thing,' she said with a chill in her voice. 'There's nothing to see here, and if you don't stop staring I'll feed you to the Giant Squid.'

Sirius whipped his head around and tugged his arm free of his cousin's grasp. 'Lay off, Drommie: he's a friend of mine.' He hurried over to Remus and said out of the corner of his mouth; 'I'd make tracks if I were you, mate. I have a feeling I'm in for a record spat of detention.' Before Andromeda could grab him he sauntered back to her, wrists held out in a gesture of surrender. 'Let's go,' he said. 'McGonagall's office, just like they said.'

_~discidium~_

Remus did not see either of his friends again that day. He was asleep when they finally returned from the first of their detentions. The following morning, Sirius received a letter from his mother. It was not a Howler this time, but an ominous-looking note written on black parchment. Sirius read it with white-lipped resolve, and then tucked it inside of his robes. Later that day Remus caught him burning it on the hearth of the Gryffindor common room. He said nothing, and slipped away before Sirius noticed him.

While the rest of the school was enjoying the scrumptious Hallowe'en feast, Sirius and James were off serving their punishment. Recalling the plate of food that Sirius had brought out for him two months before, Remus assembled a wide assortment of treats on a platter to keep for his friends.

'Where are you going with that?' Dorcas Meadowes asked, eyeing him sharply as he rose to leave. 'No food in the dormitories.'

'Leave him be,' Edgar Bones said, looking up from his slice of chocolate cake. 'It's only once a year.' He smiled at Remus. 'How are you liking Hogwarts, then?' he asked.

'Very much, sir, thank you,' Remus said politely.

The Head Boy laughed. 'You needn't call me "sir",' he said. 'I'm not that imposing, am I? I showed him 'round last fall,' Edgar said to Dorcas. 'Muggle mum: sometimes they take some reassuring.' He took another forkful of cake, and nodded at Remus. 'Go on; get out of here with that before McGonagall catches you.'

Remus hurried off, casting a furtive glance at the staff table where the Gryffindor Head of House was nibbling at a slice of pumpkin tart while she conversed cheerfully with Professor Sprout.

Sirius and James returned to the dormitory just before midnight, grubby and tired and smelling vaguely of mildew. Their faces lit up when Remus presented them proudly with his plunder.

'A prince among wizards!' Sirius exclaimed, flopping down on the floor between their beds and picking up a little cake covered in sugared violets. 'All we got were sandwiches in that greasy caretaker's office. Egg and pickle,' he said, grimacing.

'How'd you get this lot up here?' James asked, clearly impressed.

Realizing that the story was less than epic, Remus shrugged. 'I have my ways,' he said, trying to sound shrewd and knowing. He watched happily as the other two dug into his spoils.

'You're a lifesaver, that's what you are,' Sirius mumbled, his mouth full of caramel apple. 'Five hours mucking out some attic that's stood untouched since the dawn of time… don't know how I'd have made it 'til morning without some decent food.'

'I'm just proud to see you showing a little independent spirit,' James told Remus. 'You're too quiet by half.'

There was a rustling at the far side of the room, and Peter Pettigrew came around the beds, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 'Wha's goin' on?' he mumbled sleepily. Then he caught sight of the food and grinned eagerly.

Sirius looked oddly possessive as he eyed the other boy, but James patted the floor beside him. 'You'd better join us,' he said, grinning. 'That way you're an accomplice. Can't rat us out.'

Peter sat down happily and reached for a custard tart.

'How many more days is it?' Sirius asked, trying to work it out on his fingers.

'Four,' said James. 'But I hear Malfoy's still in the hospital wing; the matron can't figure out how to detach the tentacles.'

'Where'd you learn _that _one?' Sirius asked. 'Seems like bad form for an international duelling champion father.'

James shrugged. 'It was one of those ones Snivellus tried to use when we got into that scuffle. Figured I'd give it a go. I didn't expect it to do anything like that.'

'Oi!' Sirius said, swatting Peter's hand away from a thick slice of chocolate cake. 'That's mine.' He grinned at Remus as he took it. 'How'd you know, anyway?'

'Know what?' James asked, much to Remus's relief.

'S'my birthday,' Sirius said. 'Has been for a good twenty minutes now.'

'You prat. Why didn't you say?' demanded James. 'I would've sent away for a gift or something.'

Sirius shrugged. 'It's not important,' he said. 'I'm not exactly expecting the moon on a platter or anything this year. I'm certainly not in the height of favour back home right now. Uncle Alphard's away in Pretoria until Christmas. Drommie's usually good for something, but she's pretty annoyed with me just at present, too. Still,' he added, winking at Remus; 'it's nice _somebody _noticed.'

The truth was on the tip of Remus's tongue, but he could not bring himself to utter it. Sirius looked so delighted that someone had troubled to acknowledge his birthday. And his happy words sounded so much like praise, like approval. He smiled. 'Happy Birthday.'

'Should we give you a rousing chorus of "He's a Jolly Good Warlock"?' James asked. 'Or are the Blacks more of a "_Bon anniversaire, nos vœux les plus sincères"_ kind of family? _Toujours pur_,' he added hastily with a stiff salute.

'Actually, they're more of an "At Your Age You Ought To Know Better" kind of family,' Sirius said. 'How do you know so much French, anyway?'

James shrugged. 'Spent last spring in Marseilles. You pick it up.'

'We shouldn't sing,' Peter Pettigrew said around a mouthful of fudge. 'We'll wake everybody up.'

'He's right,' Sirius said, turning conspiratorially to James. 'And then we'd have to share.'

'Very true. Very true.' James nodded sagely. He reached for another biscuit and grinned hopefully at Remus. 'It's not _just_ a birthday thing, is it?' he asked. 'You'll do it every night, won't you?'

Remus did not answer. Even if he had it in him to bend the rules again, he had another grim commitment looming just ahead. A shiver of dread coursed down his spine. He rested his chin on his knee, watching as Sirius shared around a large cinnamon pasty. He was determined to enjoy it, this wondrous feeling of camaraderie and acceptance, as long as he possibly could.

~_discidium~_

At breakfast on Monday, Sirius did receive one envelope in the post. He scarcely more than glanced at his name on the front before stowing it inside his robes, but Remus caught sight of the graceful lettering as he did so. It belonged to the third hand that customarily sent letters that angered Sirius. As predicted, the two Black girls kept their distance that day. There was no further mention of Sirius's birthday; even James didn't have the gall to bring it up, unless he did so during their shared detention.

On Tuesday Remus made his way to the hospital wing straight after lessons to discover, much to his horror, that the Slytherin prefect had yet to be discharged. He seemed more imposing in his hospital bed than he had on the Quidditch pitch, his sharp eyes lighting upon the first year who had dared to enter the ward. Remus had been caught unawares, hurrying into the hospital wing without troubling to check for other patients. He stood still for a moment, startled, and then backed against the door. The handle dug into the base of his spine and he gripped it with one shaking hand.

Just as he was wondering whether he ought to flee, Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. 'Why, hello!' she said, as if she were surprised to see him. 'Coming down with a bit of a cold, I daresay. It's that time of year. Onto that bed there, dear, and I'll look to you in a minute.'

Remus obeyed, his knees shaking. The bed she had indicated was in the main ward, and he glanced longingly at the door that led to his little room. But of course she could not usher him in there with another student looking on. He gripped the edge of the mattress and let his sore legs swing gently over the side.

Madam Pomfrey was tending to the Prefect, plumping up his pillows and offering him a cup full of some kind of sharp-smelling potion. 'Drink it up,' she said in her brisk, efficient fashion. 'Only three more doses and we should have you put to rights. Now you just rest while I see to this little one and get him back to his dormitory. I expect the whole first year class will catch it in a week, and I'll be run off my feet.'

She came back to Remus and started to mete out his usual medicines. Once her back was turned to the Slytherin boy, she touched her finger to her lips and smiled reassuringly. 'Drink up, dear, and we'll see about getting you excused from lessons tomorrow. A day or two in bed will see you right. Come along, now, while Professor McGonagall's still in her office.'

She took Remus by the hand and led him smoothly from the ward. Once in the corridor she turned, not towards McGonagall's office, but down the corridor that led out of the castle. Remus followed her, struggling to keep pace as she swept out onto the lawn and down towards the Whomping Willow.

'Madam Pomfrey, I'm not dressed yet!' he protested, tugging at his school robes. He never wore his good clothing on the night of a transformation; the clothes always smelled of humans, and more than once the wolf had gone after them.

She looked at him worriedly. 'I know, Remus, and I'm so sorry. I've been trying all afternoon to convince him that he's well enough to go back to his dormitory, but I rather fancy he likes being waited on hand and foot.' She had reached the tree now, and she quickly froze it. 'If only we had more time,' she said, leading the way down the tunnel. 'But it's sunset at a quarter to five tonight.'

Remus was all too aware of that. The long winter nights, when the moonlit hours stretched from twelve to fourteen, then fifteen, then sixteen, were terrible. The wolf grew ever more hungry as the night wore on, and morning bore gruesome testament to the consequences.

'How will you get me back inside?' he asked, suddenly stricken with that horrible prospect.

Madam Pomfrey had a determined look on her face as she hoisted the trap door and offered him her shoulder for leverage to lift himself into the house. 'I'll manage it somehow,' she promised. 'Perhaps Professor Slughorn can have a word with Mr Malfoy. Someone has got to convince him to stop malingering.' She climbed up onto the bare floor and gave Remus a long, gentle look. 'Don't worry, dear. We'll get you in safe and unseen. I promise.'

Her voice was so reassuring that Remus managed an unsteady smile. 'Thank you,' he said softly.

She hugged him swiftly and offered a few quick words of comfort, but then she slipped away. It was after four now, and Remus undressed. He climbed into his usual chair, hugging his knees to his chest. The room was filled with a damp chill that settled right into his bones. As his teeth began to chatter he looked longingly at the great stone fireplace. He wished desperately that he might have a fire, but of course it was too dangerous. The wolf might so easily set itself alight, and the whole house with it. Remus did not know if werewolves burned, but he could imagine…

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to close his mind to the nightmarish images. He thought back to Sunday night – Monday morning, really – in the dormitory. Sirius was laughing at something James had said. Little Peter was munching happily on a square of treacle fudge. Remus watched them, crumbs of chocolate sweet upon his lips. Sweeter still was the taste of companionship. As his limbs began to tremble and the bones in his neck began to twist and change, he held on to that.


	10. Refocused Energies

**Chapter Ten: Refocused Energies**

Remus was not allowed to return to his dormitory until Friday evening. He had mangled his right foot so badly that it took Madam Pomfrey six separate treatments to put it right again. The remedies were painful and tortuously slow, but Remus was grateful for them. He knew from experience that such an injury would have been far beyond his father's power to set right, and at home that would have meant a dreaded pilgrimage to St Mungo's Hospital in London. Eight transformations had passed since he had last been subjected the place his mother, with that curious expression she wore when she knew she would not be understood, called "the beach of the tumid river". Remus knew that Madam Pomfrey's gentle ministrations these last three months were largely to thank for that.

Still, he was fraught with anxiety when he thought about the three days' lessons he had missed. He was still trying to get his head around Transfiguration, and he would be behind in Charms. History of Magic was all right; he had done the week's readings in bed, and doubted that Professor Binns had said anything more interesting than usual that week. But there was also Defence Against the Dark Arts. It made his skin crawl to think that Professor Alfstin might one day correlate his absences and work out what he was. There was a rumour that the second-years were doing hands-on work with Doxies, and some irrational part of Remus's mind still wondered whether a werewolf mightn't make an interesting teaching aide for the third-years.

He had missed a Potions lesson, too, but Remus could not find it in his heart to be upset about that. He likely would have botched his concoction anyhow, and this way he didn't need to scrub out his cauldron afterward. And Astronomy was scheduled for that night, so at least he wouldn't miss that. He did not mention that particular plan to Madam Pomfrey when she discharged him with stern instructions to rest up well over the weekend and to keep off his foot as much as he could.

Sirius was in the dormitory, curled up on the foot of his bed so that he could nap without mussing up the covers. The glow of the setting sun spilled through the window and bathed his contented face. Remus moved very quietly into the room, anxious to avoid any sound that might disturb his roommate. He opened his cupboard and brought out his telescope and his textbook and the star chart he ought to have finished two days ago.

At twenty minutes to midnight James came in, banging noisily around and shaking Sirius awake. 'Up and at 'em, lazybones,' he said, laughing when the other boy grunted disconsolately. 'I know you've been up late every night for ages, but if you don't get moving Arachne'll have you back on polishing detail over the weekend.'

Abruptly he noticed Remus. 'Where did you disappear to?' he asked, frowning pensively and tilting his head so that his spectacles looked like a hourglass mid-turn. 'You've missed an awful lot of school.'

'I don't want to miss Astronomy, too,' Remus said softly as he rolled up his star-chart. The ink was still shiny, and he prayed it wouldn't smudge. 'We should wrap up warmly,' he said, rummaging for a second pair of socks to supplement the ones he wore. 'It's awfully cold at night this time of year.'

He held his breath, waiting for more questions – or at the very least a snide remark from Sirius about how he sounded like an old woman. But the other two quickly pulled on their cloaks and their winter things. James had a cap and gloves in supple red leather, lined in luxuriant grey fur. His scarf was the same shade of scarlet, embroidered with the Gryffindor lion in what looked like real gilt thread. Sirius wore black gloves, a black fur hat, and a dark silk muffler. Remus felt very juvenile beside them as he tugged on the old woolly hat and blue mittens his mother had made for him last year. He had his father's grey scarf, which was warm but rather drab. He wrapped it around his throat and ears, tucking the tails into the collar of his cloak. He hesitated, wondering whether he ought to grab a third pair of socks, but the other two were already leaving the dormitory. He hurried after them.

The common room was almost deserted; Aloysius Carlyle was reading by the fire wher he could keep one prefect's eye on the egressing first years, and in a corner a bookish sixth year girl had fallen asleep over what looked to be a lengthy treatise on Summoning spells. Lily Evans and Charlotte White – who looked like an expensive china doll in her rabbit-fur stole and a spoon bonnet lined in feathers – were just slipping out of the portrait hole. James paused at one of the overstuffed chairs to prod its drowsing occupant.

'Better wake up, Pettigrew; you'll be late!' he said loudly. Then, while the other boy was sputtering and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sprinted off into the corridor.

Peter hurried up the stairs, and Remus's well-meant warning about wrapping up warmly was interrupted when Sirius plucked at his elbow and nodded towards the door. 'James is right,' he said. 'We don't want to be late.'

There was a glint of mischief in his eyes, but Remus had no time to consider it. A moment later he found himself trotting after Sirius as the latter eased into step with James, clutching his telescope clumsily in one mittened hand. The other boys seemed to move so quickly, but as he struggled to keep up Remus realized that they were moving no faster than usual; he was slower. He wanted to call out and beg them to let up a little, but if he did they would want to know why he couldn't keep pace. Despairingly, he fell back to a stride he could manage.

Sirius and James vanished around a corner, but Remus didn't realize how badly he was lagging until Peter Pettigrew appeared beside him, huffing and puffing. His arms were overflowing with his cloak and winter things. 'Come on! We mustn't be late!' he squeaked.

Remus nodded wordlessly and shifted his telescope to the same arm that carried his hastily completed assignment so that he could help with Peter's cloak. They walked on, Peter dressing as they went. By the time they reached the stairs that led up to the Astronomy Tower, it was almost midnight.

Peter hurried up the stairs and Remus followed, clutching the banister as he went. The MacGreggor girls came up behind him, almost knocking him over as they bolted past, taking the stairs two at a time. Remus's bad ankle was aching now, a sharp stabbing pain radiating into the joint. He could no longer put his whole weight on it, and he was obliged to rest both feet on each step before tackling the next; _THUMP-bump, THUMP-bump, THUMP-bump._

Yet somehow, miraculously, he reached the top, shuffling out into the frigid night air and hobbling to his place along the battlements on the very stroke of twelve. Professor Arachne gave him a hard look, but there was nothing she could say: he _had_ arrived on time.

It was nearly impossible to work the knobs on his telescope while wearing mittens. Remus tugged the right one off and tucked it under his arm, but the chilled brass made his fingers numb and he was quickly obliged to replace it. He fumbled as best he could, but he could not bring Aldebaran into focus.

Arachne was talking about mean accretion as she prowled behind the class. No one seemed to be listening; they were all too drowsy and cold. There was a sound of shattering glass as Peter dropped the lens he had been trying to change. Frustrated mumbling came from the direction of the Andrews twins. James muttered something to Sirius, who let out a derisive snort. Remus pulled off his mitten again, braving the feel of the frozen metal as he struggled to adjust his aperture.

'Excuse me, Professor.' It was Sirius who spoke, using the same polite, measured tone that he always took with Alfstin. 'May I say something?'

'By all means, Black,' she said aloofly as she flicked her wand to mend Peter's lens.

'It's an awfully nippy night,' Said Sirius. 'I don't think we're very focused on our work.'

'That had not escaped my notice,' Arachne said. 'You have all been warned before that you must dress appropriately for the elements. Back to work, now.'

'But Professor, I've got a suggestion,' Sirius said. 'You see, we could forget about the telescopes tonight, and you could conjure up a fire or something – a charcoal brazier, maybe? Then we could get some hot chocolate and do the lecture on terrestrial perihelion and winter rotation patterns. We've got it booked for next week anyhow, and we could do Aldebaran then instead; I'm pretty sure he'll still be up there.'

A phalanx of steaming clouds appeared as the Gryffindors chuckled. Everyone was watching Arachne, waiting to see if she would yield to this exceedingly appealing plan. The professor looked around at the cold-reddened faces and pursed her lips.

'Why, exactly, would you be any more likely to focus next week?' she asked. Sirius's lips moved, but no sound came out; he could clearly think of no reply. 'Precisely,' Arachne said. 'Now come along. I know it's cold, but you _have _been warned to bundle up. Back to work, or we'll be out here all night.'

There were murmurs of discontent, but the Gryffindors turned back to their telescopes. Remus moved clumsily, the pain in his right ankle dulled somewhat by the numbness creeping up from his toes. He meant to go straight back to work, but a bright spot caught in the corner of his eye. Involuntarily he looked. The moon, waning gibbous, hung over the lake. To the inexperienced eye it almost looked full; only the first few degrees had been pared away. To Remus it seemed to be vanishing swiftly, all too swiftly. Twenty-six days, he thought, before the next transformation.

'Eyes front, Lupin,' Arachne said, passing behind him. 'You'll have plenty of time for gazing at the moon next year.' She rapped a gloved knuckle on his telescope. 'Aldebaran. Now. Honestly, Andrews. Stop stamping your feet. You were _warned_ to dress for the weather…'

The lesson seemed to drag on into eternity, but at a quarter to one Arachne clapped her hands. 'That's enough,' she said. 'Off to bed. I hope you have all learned your lesson? Warm hats, wool socks, and good thick cloaks.'

'No chance of hot chocolate, then?' Sirius muttered as the rest of the class began shuffling towards the stairs.

'Black, unless you want another detention you will take your impudence and _go to bed_,' Arachne said as she swept off into the shelter of the castle.

James exhaled an enormous cloud of condensation. 'I like her nerve,' he said. 'It's _freezing _out here, and anyhow we were all wearing our winter things. We're not stupid, are we?'

'At least she's letting us off early,' Remus said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He could no longer feel his toes, and his joints were beginning to ache as the cold compounded the trauma of the transformation.

'I thought my suggestion was perfectly reasonable,' said Sirius, sounding indignant and even rather hurt. 'It's not as if I was proposing we all skive off or anything: just a hot drink and a bit of a fire while we did something a little less demanding. What d'you think? You two up for it?'

'You're right, she's a hag,' James said emphatically. 'Now can we please get inside? Everyone else is long gone.'

'No, I mean _are you up for it_?' Sirius repeated. 'Hot chocolate and a roaring fire.'

James was grinning wickedly, his teeth shining in the moonlight. Remus was rapidly reaching the point where his overtired mind and his overtaxed body could hold no more coherent desire than the urge to retreat from the cold.

'Well?' Sirius asked, looking directly at him. 'Are you game?'

'Of course he is!' James said gleefully, batting at Remus's arm. 'We're all half frozen; it'll be just the thing.'

Thankfully Sirius seemed to take this as the cue that they should move indoors. Arachne was waiting to close the Tower hatch behind them. She did so impatiently, and then disappeared down the winding stairs.

'Give her a minute,' Sirius said softly, tugging off his gloves and wiggling his fingers. 'What do you think? Frost-bitten?' He put the back of his hand against Remus's nose. It felt warm against the smaller boy's chilled skin and Remus was disappointed when it was withdrawn. 'I reckon we're okay.'

James had his gloves off too, and was tucking them into his hat, which he folded in the crook of his arm. 'What exactly is the plan?' he asked. 'The Great Hall's shut up for the night. Do you have some intelligence on a professor's secret stash, or something?'

'Of course not,' Sirius said. 'Breaking into a teacher's rooms would be _stupid_. We're going straight to the source.'

Remus peeled off his mittens and blew on his hands, trying to warm them and not really listen to Sirius. He had been most intrigued by the promise of a roaring fire, though in its absence he would have been more than happy to retreat to his nice, warm bed.

But James was already ambling down the stairs and Sirius moved to follow. Anxious not to be left behind, Remus took a couple of clumsy steps forward. He paused to put his mittens in his pocket before gripping the banister with both hands so that he could begin his descent. His bad foot trembled and pained him, but it did not give out. The others were waiting when he reached the bottom, looking rather impatient.

'You won't fall, you know,' James said dismissively. 'You never mentioned you're afraid of heights.'

'That's why I don't play Quidditch,' Remus tried to joke. Evidently his effort was successful: James smiled and Sirius chuckled.

'Well, Black,' James said, turning to the taller boy; 'you've made some heavy promises and you had better deliver. How do you get into the kitchens?'

Sirius touched a finger to the side of his nose. 'Follow me,' he said, putting on a warbling voice of prognostication; 'and all shall be made clear with time.'

He led the way to the Entrance Hall, where he took a passage Remus had never used before. It led downward into a long arcade filled with still life paintings, most of them featuring food. Sirius stopped before an enormous frame that housed a picture of a wide assortment of fruit. 'This is it,' he said. 'The kitchens are right behind this door.'

James cocked an eyebrow. 'Useful,' he said. 'Do you know the password?'

'It can't take a password; there's nobody in the picture,' Sirius said. 'There's got to be some other way in.'

'So you've dragged us down here at one in the morning with promises of wassail and good cheer,' James said slowly; 'and you don't even know how to get inside.'

Sirius looked affronted. 'I've made a very important discovery,' he countered in a clear imitation of the other boy's tone; 'and you don't even _thank_ me.'

'Your important discovery doesn't do us much good if we can't get past the door,' James pointed out. 'How did you find this place, anyway?'

'A wise old witch told me I needed to find a more creative outlet for my energies.' Sirius smirked. 'So I've been exploring.'

'Before or after detention?' James asked.

'Why not during?' Sirius said cheekily. 'Are you gonna help, or what?'

James paused for thought. 'Have you tried unlocking it?' he asked.

'Do you see a keyhole?' Sirius countered.

'Have you tried an unlocking _charm_?' James took out his wand. '_Alohomora!_' Nothing happened.

'I'm thinking there must be some kind of a switch or trigger,' Sirius was saying. 'Maybe a panel of some kind, or a trick spot on the frame…'

As the debate continued, Remus sank to the floor with his back against the wall. He knew now that he was still too weak and tired to be running about the castle. His head was throbbing and his until-recently-smashed foot ached. And he was still cold, right to his core, from the Astronomy lesson. He dug out his mittens, but they were damp with melted frost and he could not put them on. Tucking his chilled hands under his arms instead, he tried to focus on getting warm again.

Sirius was now standing on the tips of his toes, doing his utmost to peer behind the picture frame. James was trying several new incantations, his wand flicking to and fro like a conductor's baton. Remus wanted to tell them to give it up so that they could all go to bed, but he felt it was not his place. They had so generously included him in their adventure when it would have been the easiest thing in the world to leave him behind. Besides which, he rather thought he was too worn out to make it all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower just at present.

'Maybe if we poke it?' James asked. Sirius looked at his wand. 'No, with a finger. Like this.' There was a soft thump as his hand collided with the canvas.

'Why don't we try licking it while we're at it?' Sirius snorted.

'I'd like to see you come up with anything better.' James sounded annoyed now.

'Calm yourself, mate,' said Sirius. 'This is supposed to be fun.'

'It's almost two in the morning,' retorted James. 'I was promised hot chocolate, and none is forthcoming. Where's the fun?'

'It's a challenge!' Sirius proclaimed. 'A battle of wits!'

'In a battle of wits between you and a door, my money's on the door.'

It was like listening to a horrible accident unfolding a few feet away. All the long, slow weeks of building a friendship were going to topple, here and now, because they were cold and tired and frustrated. Remus braced himself, unable to rouse the strength to intercede but terrified of the argument to come.

But Sirius said shrewdly; 'Ten Galleons?'

'What?' It came out as more of a laugh than a word.

'Would you stake _ten Galleons_ on the door? Against me in a battle of wits, I mean,' said Sirius.

'In a heartbeat,' said James.

'Shake on it?'

Apparently they shook, because a moment later James chuckled. 'At this rate you're going to be totally skint by Christmas.'

'I wouldn't bet on that, Potter,' said Sirius. 'You see, there's a door up on the fourth floor that likes to be _tickled_. You just… need… to find… the right… spot… Hah!' There was a soft swishing of hinges. Sirius sounded very smug. 'You owe me ten Galleons.'

Someone was gripping Remus's elbow. Hazily he struggled to get his feet underneath him. Sirius's voice mumbled something encouraging and ushered him through the newly opened door. He blinked his bleary eyes, and took in as best he could the spectacle of the Hogwarts kitchen. The room was large, every bit as large as the Great Hall above. Four long tables were lined up like the House tables, and an enormous hearth filled the far wall. The three boys stepped further in, and suddenly there was a crowd of small creatures about their knees, asking eagerly how they might be of service.

'Three mugs of chocolate, hot and sweet,' Sirius said authoritatively. 'A nice big plate of biscuits, and a poppy seed roll.'

'And some chairs by the fire, please,' added James, rather more politely.

Remus let the others lead him down to the hearth, trying to keep from limping despite the daggers of pain that shot up from his foot. When he sank into the wooden armchair drawn for him, he could not help an exhalation of relief.

In less than five minutes the house-elves were back bearing a tall pot of chocolate and a wide assortment of treats.

'Your pardons, sir,' said one, bowing low before Sirius; 'but we isn't having any poppy seed roll just at present. If sir is wanting, we can be making it.'

'Fine,' Sirius said in a curt, dismissive tone. 'But be quick. It's almost two in the morning, you know.'

'Don't be daft!' said James. 'We don't need a poppy seed roll; there's plenty to eat here. For heaven's sake, Remus, are you going to drink that or pour it on the fire?'

Remus roused himself long enough to take a long draught of his chocolate, which was precisely the right temperature for drinking. The coldness in his chest melted away and he curled the fingers of his other hand around the warm bowl of the goblet.

'Gimme one of those dark ones,' Sirius said, pointing at a biscuit. 'And one of you can go and get some clotted cream for the cocoa.'

There was another flurry of activity as his orders were carried out. Remus was struck by the confident nonchalance in the other boy's voice. Sirius was obviously used to giving such commands, and to having them obeyed swiftly and without question.

James offered him a biscuit, which he took and nibbled obediently. In truth, Remus was far more interested in the drinking chocolate, which warmed him from the inside out and put a little strength in his limbs. When the others had eaten their fill he found that he was able to stand with little trouble – though he was still mindful of his throbbing foot. They made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, where the Fat Lady had to be roused from sleep to admit them. In the dormitory the other two undressed, but Remus contented himself with shucking his cloak and pulling off his shoes before crawling into bed.

~_discidium_~

When Remus finally woke up at eleven o'clock on Saturday, he discovered to his horror that his ankle was swollen to nearly twice its normal size. He could not ram it into his shoe and was obliged to hobble sock-footed down the stairs to the crowded common room. By the time he finished with the stairs he knew he would not be able to reach the hospital wing without help.

Sirius and James were nowhere to be seen; like as not they were out watching Quidditch practice. Remus would have been loath to ask their aid anyhow; they would have been filled with questions he could not answer and although he knew Madam Pomfrey would try to protect his secret her tongue might slip. The first years had been instructed to go to their House prefects if they needed anything, but there were no prefects to be seen.

'Morning!' a deep, cheerful voice said. 'Did you enjoy your private little Hallowe'en feast?'

Remus turned to see Edgar Bones looking down at him. 'Yes, thank you,' he said. 'I didn't realize that it was against the rules when I…'

'Never mind. Just don't make a habit of it. Where are you off to today?' the Head Boy asked.

Remus flushed and looked down at the carpet. 'I hurt my foot,' he said. 'I need to go to the hospital wing.'

Suddenly the Head Boy looked concerned and very much in command of the situation. 'Let me see,' he said, kneeling down and putting out a hand. Remus lifted his leg, tugging on his robes so that the swollen ankle was exposed. Edgar whistled softly. 'That's a nasty one. You think you can make it all the way down there?'

Remus shook his head, and the Head Boy nodded. 'Here, hang on to me,' he said. 'We'll get you squared away.'

Grateful for the support, Remus leaned on the seventh year and hopped towards the portrait hole. The motion sent jarring pain into the joints of his good leg, which had only just begun to heal from the exertions of the transformation. He realized unhappily that he wouldn't be able to reach the hospital wing this way, either.

Apparently the Head Boy reached a similar conclusion, because as soon as they were out in the empty hallway and away from prying eyes he got down on one knee.

'Here, arms about my neck,' he instructed. 'You can't take four to seventeen flights of stairs like that.'

Remus hesitated. He knew that Bones was right, but he also knew that if the Head Boy had any idea what he was he would not even be able to look at him, much less be touched by him.

'Come on. Pride goeth before a broken leg.' Edgar took the smaller boy's right arm and slung it over his shoulder. Then he put one arm under Remus's knees and the other against his back and lifted him with ease. 'Oofph. You're skin and bones, even for a firstie. Aren't they feeding you properly?' He grinned. 'Evidently not, if you're pinching food.'

Remus knew he ought to be embarrassed, that any other student in his year would have taken it to be the height of humiliation to be toted around by the Head Boy like some kind of overgrown infant. But he was so relieved to have found help, and such generous and unquestioning help too, that he could not find it in him to fret about his weakness.

'My friends were in detention,' he confessed. 'They had to miss the feast, and I wanted to share. There was so much; I didn't think anyone would miss it.'

'That's true enough,' said Bones. 'But you'd best watch out. If you're breaking the rules for your friends in detention you might be running with the wrong crowd.'

'No, they're wonderful,' Remus said, unwonted boldness in his voice. 'It was all just… an unfortunate mishap.'

'Did these friends of yours goad you into doing whatever it was you were doing when you twisted that foot?' the Head Boy challenged.

The courage with which he had spoken up for James and Sirius shrivelled away into a hot knot of shame. 'No,' he whispered. 'I did that myself.'

Edgar did not look wholly convinced, but he let the matter rest. He turned a little to tackle a narrow staircase that Remus never would have managed on his own. 'Here we are,' he said, moving through a small door into a familiar corridor. 'Please wait to disembark until the Head Boy Express has pulled fully into the station.'

Madam Pomfrey was appalled by their arrival. She thanked Edgar and then chased him out of the hospital wing so that she could begin to scold her patient.

'Stay off that foot, I said!' she admonished, peeling off Remus's sock and probing the joint with practiced fingers. 'What have you been doing? Running laps around the lake? Hiking up into the caves above Hogsmeade, maybe, or charging through the Forbidden Forest like a wild thing? I told you to _rest_, to take the weekend to _heal_, and what do you do? You—'

She saw the tears in the boy's eyes, and realized what she had said. 'Oh, Remus, you know I didn't mean it like that,' she sighed, fishing out a handkerchief and offering it to him. 'There, there, dear. You're not a wild thing; you're just a foolish, disobedient boy who's gone and hurt himself. What were you doing?'

'I went to Astronomy last night,' Remus confessed. 'The stairs. And then…' He paused. He could hardly tell her where he had gone afterwards. 'And I know I shouldn't have done it.'

'I should say you shouldn't,' Madam Pomfrey said gruffly. 'You should have stayed in bed and just missed one more lesson, that's what you should have done.'

'I couldn't,' he mumbled. 'They'll guess. Sirius and James. They'll _know_.'

'Don't be silly. One missed Astronomy class won't raise any suspicions.' She had her wand out now, and she was working to repair whatever it was he had done to the foot she had taken such pains to mend.

'You can see the moon,' Remus said. 'From the Astronomy Tower. They had class in September the day before I transformed, and last month it was the day after I came back to the dormitory, and if I'd missed it this month they would have seen—'

Madam Pomfrey looked exceedingly unimpressed. 'That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard, child,' she said. 'You have Astronomy class every week, and you haven't missed one yet. Not that you shouldn't have broken that perfect record last night. If I can't trust you to rest when I send you back to your House, then you're just going to have to stay here until I decide you're well enough to leave.'

Remus was suddenly anxious. She meant to keep him here. The others would wonder why. He had seen them last night, tearing into a problem until – by hook or crook – they had solved it. If they wouldn't give up on a door at two in the morning when they were exhausted and frozen, they would never give up on him if once they thought there was something to be found out. 'Oh, Madam, no!' he cried. 'You can't! You mustn't!'

'You hush now,' she said. 'If you promise never to do something this foolish again, I'll give you another chance. But you need to start taking better care of yourself. I'll not have you undoing all of my hard work in a fit of misguided paranoia.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said softly. 'I promise I'll do as you say.'

The matron patted his knee approvingly as she began to wrap a long bandage snugly around his ankle. 'Good boy,' she said.

~_discidium_~

His first test came that night, when Sirius and James decided they were up to another escapade to the kitchens. It took all of Remus's courage to tell them that, if it was all the same to them, he wanted to stay in bed. But neither of them seemed to mind in the least, and when they came back they had crab sandwiches and teacakes for him. Sunday they spent holed up in the dormitory; James had taken all of Remus's homework, and Sirius generously offered to share his class notes. While Remus worked the other two settled on the floor with their chessmen, calling out answers whenever Remus came across something he didn't understand.

On Monday the regular routine of classes resumed, and life settled back into the soothing, recognizable pattern that was beginning to form between each full moon.


	11. The Accomplice

_Note: Sun Tsu's __The Art of War__ is public domain, but hey! Credit where credit is due. _

**Chapter Eleven: The Accomplice**

'Today is the day,' Sirius announced on a Wednesday morning in the middle of November; 'that we make a scene in Transfiguration.'

Remus looked up from sorting the previous evening's homework. 'I don't think—'

'No, there's nothing for it,' Sirius said resolutely, ploughing neatly over the protest and tossing his head in a grandly patrician manner. 'We've been entirely too selfish this last little while, creeping about after hours quiet as you please just to nick food from the kitchens. It's about time we put a little effort into brightening the lives of those around us.'

James rummaged under his bed, looking for his left shoe. 'What do you propose?' he asked. 'You can hardly start slinging firecrackers; McGonagall looks the sort to smell 'em the second they're out of the packet.'

'Don't have any firecrackers left, anyway,' Sirius sulked. 'Ever since that regrettable incident on the Quidditch Pitch—'

'You mean when you disrupted my well-intentioned efforts to encourage our team by attacking a fifth year, whereupon I was forced to spring to your defence, resulting in a very nasty letter being sent home to my mother, who consequently didn't send me any baking for a week?' James asked. He paused, head cocked to one side in a posture of contemplation. 'Nope, doesn't ring a bell.'

'That's because there's nothing in your belfry,' retorted Sirius, a sour expression flashing across his face at the allusion to Mrs Potter's particular brand of long-distance punishment. 'Anyhow, since that _regrettable incident_, Eldritch McKinnon won't even speak to me, much less peddle off his Hogsmeade purchases. No, we're going to have to rely on our own assets.'

James laughed. 'My wits, your arrogant good looks and Remus's… uh… sort of docile way of sitting quietly at his desk?'

Sirius rolled his eyes enormously. 'I was talking about our _wands_, you great blithering river troll. And that last one about Remus and his desk.'

'Oh, sure,' James said, his voice tight with mirth. 'We'll just waltz into Transfiguration, whip out our wands, and shower everyone with sparks. Professor McGonagall will never catch on.'

'Does every prank have to involve fire?' asked Sirius. 'You really need to work on lengthening that imagination of yours, Potter.'

'There's nothing wrong with the length of my imagination,' James retorted. 'And let me remind you that _you_ were the brains behind the firecrackers-in-the-cauldron lark. More to the point, though; d'you really think we know any spell that we could pull off right under McGonagall's nose without getting caught?'

Sirius wore a very condescending smile. 'Oh, James, the point isn't to do it without getting caught,' he said soothingly. 'The point is to do it without getting caught _immediately_.'

'It sounds like a bad idea to me,' Remus ventured timidly, closing his satchel and hefting it onto his shoulder.

'And me,' Peter piped up from his perch on the foot of his bed.

Sirius shot him an irate look. 'Don't you have somewhere to be?' he asked, staring at him with wide grey eyes until Peter, visibly disturbed, grabbed his bag and scuttled out of the dormitory. Sirius turned back to Remus. 'It's actually a _brilliant _idea, I'll have you know, and your level of personal risk is acceptably low. James and I will manage the wandwork; you'll be the decoy.'

'Th-the decoy?'

A triumphant laugh rang out as Sirius launched onto his bed to grab his school hat from atop his cupboard. 'Look at that face!' he crowed, gesturing at Remus and grinning at James. 'All wide-eyed and innocent and kind of absurdly adorable. I could practice for _years _and still not manage it.' He leaped very grandly onto the floor and patted Remus just below the shoulder. 'Buck up, old sport. It'll be _fun_.'

He crooked one long finger at James, who sidled up. Then, leaning in and looking furtively around the dormitory as if the three of them were not alone, Sirius began in a loud stage whisper to relate the details of his scheme.

~_discidium_~

All through Professor Flitwick's lecture on mid-air stabilization of a falling object, Remus sat plucking at his quill. He could not recall feeling ever feeling such anxiety in the week of a new moon, and he found it absolutely impossible to focus on anything the tiny Charms teacher was saying. As soon as the lesson ended, Remus gathered his books and his untouched bit of note-parchment, and ran after Sirius.

'We can't do this!' he hissed, cornering the bigger boy against a portly suit of armour just outside of the classroom. 'It's… sneaking food is one thing, but when she catches us we'll be _expelled_.'

Sirius chuckled, looking down at him with a fondly condoling expression on his face. 'We won't be expelled,' he promised. 'I've commandeered a flying lesson, blown up a classroom and hexed a prefect, and I'm still here, aren't I? James too.' He took Remus's wrist between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it away so that he could slip past.

'But why Transfiguration?' Remus protested, hurrying after him and trying to keep his voice down so that the nearby students would not overhear. 'Why do you have to go after Professor McGonagall?'

''Cause it's a challenge,' Sirius said blithely. 'And because I'm working through the staff in reverse alphabetical order.'

'Shouldn't you have started with Sprout, then, not Slughorn?' James asked, coming up behind Remus so quickly that the smaller boy jumped.

'Oh, _now_ you tell me,' Sirius said, grinning. 'Fear not; I'll get around to everyone eventually. Would you stop looking like a dragon ate your cat?' he exclaimed, his eyes catching again upon Remus's overanxious expression. 'What's the worst she could do?'

'She could write and tell your mother,' James said brightly.

The colour drained from Sirius's face. 'She wouldn't,' he said tersely. 'McGonagall's not the sort to go running off to somebody else to solve her problems for her. No, you and I will get detention – which, let's face it, livens up an otherwise dull evening – and our team Fretter here comes out of it fresh as a pressed pillowcase.'

James raised an eyebrow at the peculiar simile.

'Don't give me that look. You can't pretend you haven't used Remus as a smokescreen before. It worked on the first day of class, didn't it?'

The other boy looked smug. 'Didn't realize you'd noticed,' he said.

'Yeah, well, _if you know thine enemy and know thyself_ and all that,' said Sirius. 'I was pretty sure back then that adage applied to you.'

'Ah, such an age ago,' James said nostalgically. He grinned sidelong at Remus. 'Don't worry; he's barmy but he's right. There's no way you could possibly be implicated. Just follow the plan.'

They were approaching the Transfiguration classroom now, and Sirius gestured for silence. Remus entered and slipped into his usual seat, casting a nervous eye at the front of the room, where Professor McGonagall was seated at her desk. She sat with her back very straight and her head bowed ever so slightly so that she might peer through her perched spectacles at the essay she was grading. She did not look up as the class filed in, not even when Betta MacFusty's voice rang out irately.

'That's my seat, Black,' she said.

Sirius, who had not taken his usual place next to Remus, looked up innocently with his bottom poised over the chair. 'Is it?' he said, mildly surprised. 'I didn't realize first years brought their own furniture. Have they lifted the ban on broomsticks as well?'

The girl looked decidedly unimpressed. 'It's where I ordinarily sit,' she said. 'Now why don't you move two rows back like you usually do, and stop poking the dragon?'

Sirius planted himself firmly on the chair and began to unload his class materials. 'If you're the dragon I'd just as soon stay where I am, thanks,' he said cheerfully. 'You're more than welcome to have my place; Remus doesn't bite.'

Remus, who had felt quite certain that it was impossible for him to be more miserable, hid his head in his hands as the Scottish girl sat down beside him. He knew Sirius was just throwing out a common turn of phrase, but the jibe struck far too close to home.

'I don't know how you live with those boys,' Betta said sympathetically, misinterpreting his posture of despair. 'It must get frightfully tiresome.'

James had taken Charlotte White's seat, one row behind Sirius and to the left. She, unlike MacFusty, seemed unable to protest, and quietly found an empty place in the front row.

The students were seated and talking quietly amongst themselves by the time the lesson was due to begin. Professor McGonagall set aside her marking with a quick, efficient motion and stood up. Silence fell immediately, and the lecture began.

It was Professor McGonagall's habit to patrol the classroom as she spoke, her sharp eyes on the lookout for smuggled sweets or clandestine notes or any of the other hallmarks of disruption. Even if he had possessed the ordnance, Sirius never would have been able to discharge a firecracker in her classroom. But there he sat, politely attentive, with his wand lying innocuously next to his textbook in anticipation of his need. James was watching the teacher's progress with one carefully tracking eye, all the while scribbling industriously with his quill.

Remus tried to focus on what the teacher was saying, but his eyes kept shifting between James and Sirius. He supposed that he could just keep his mouth closed, and deprive them of the planned distraction. That way he could certainly not be blamed for anything they did. But they would likely go ahead with it anyhow, and they wouldn't get very far. And they would know he had welshed and that he was useless to them, and then they would have no reason to be his friends any longer.

So when James twisted in his chair and mouthed the word _now_, Remus raised his hand as if someone had lit a fire under his elbow.

Professor McGonagall, who had been coming down his row, paused before his desk. 'Yes, Lupin?' she said, sounding mildly surprised. He had never spoken out in her class before.

Remus wracked his brain, wishing that he had been paying more careful attention to her lecture. 'I— I don't understand, Professor,' he said. 'If matter is limited – finite – and fixed, then how is it possible to change the size of an object so much? I mean, turning a desk into a pig is one thing, but what about turning a pencil into a basket – or a chair into a pocket-handkerchief?'

He held his breath, hoping that his question was not too far off-topic. Professor McGonagall reached up to adjust her spectacles, still looking perplexed to hear such a speech from one of her quietest pupils. 'That's an interesting question, and there are several advanced theorems that address that issue – theorems you will need to learn in the coming years. For the time let it suffice to say that it is much easier indeed to transfigure an article into something of a similar size and weight. The smaller the difference in shape and composition, the easier…'

As she was speaking, James and Sirius lifted their wands. McGonagall's back was turned to them and she did not notice as they pointed at her desk and chair. Remus tried to maintain a look of academic interest, nodding as McGonagall went on, but his eyes kept shifting to the furniture at the front of the room. Slowly, steadily, the desk began to rise, and the chair with it. James was manoeuvring the former, while Sirius, gnawing gleefully on his lip, kept the latter carefully level with it.

Of course, the other students could scarcely fail to notice the teacher's table floating up into the air, and low murmurs of amazement began to ripple through the room. Professor McGonagall was deep into her explanation now, and she did not seem to hear.

'…when choosing your source object. So when we change the peach-pit into a six-sided die, for example, we are merely rearranging the available matter into a new…'

The desk was almost six feet in the air now, and Sirius was obviously getting bored. He twitched his wand and sent the chair spinning into an elaborate pirouette, dancing and bobbing around the desk in a lazy elliptical orbit. The murmurs were turning to giggles now, and Professor McGonagall paused briefly in her dissertation, eyes flickering to the students in the back row.

'And we can focus on the accuracy of the change we're trying to effect?' Remus said, drawing her attention back onto himself.

She nodded curtly. 'Quite, Lupin,' she said. 'Each witch or wizard has their own priorities, but in my class you will find that greater emphasis is placed on precision and accuracy than on showy displays of— what is the meaning of this?'

The laughter had mounted to a dull roar, and the whole class was watching the steadily rising desk and its twirling satellite. Professor McGonagall spun around, and Remus was very grateful that he could not see the look in her eyes when she took in the spectacle. She took one swift step forward and reached behind Elsie Appleby to seize Sirius Black by the ear.

'Ow!' he yelped, hopping out of his seat and losing control over the chair. It tumbled to the ground, splitting upon impact into half a dozen pieces.

James still had control of the desk, and he was trying to lower it when McGonagall turned on him. 'Put that down immediately, Potter,' she said frigidly, still maintaining a pincer-like grip on Sirus Black's ear. '_Carefully_.'

James nodded, intently focused on navigating the desk in for a gentle landing. But his concentration slipped and the table wobbled, tilting dangerously towards Charlotte White as parchment, quills, and a large pot of ink rained down over the front row.

Quick as a flash, McGonagall released her hold on Sirius Black and whipped out her wand. There was a sharp cracking sound, and the desk vanished.

Remus exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding. McGonagall pointed her wand at the front of the classroom, and her table reappeared. Another flick and a quick _Reparo_ restored the chair to its normal state. She then used a single sweeping gesture to gather all the scattered papers and sundries. The broken inkwell reassembled itself and the dark blotches vanished from the faces and robes of the students in the front row.

Then Professor McGonagall turned. Her lips were very thin, and her stern eyes glittered dangerously. She fixed them straight on James and Sirius. 'You two,' she said coldly; 'will wait in my office until the lesson concludes. I will deal with you then. As for the rest of you…' She surveyed the other Gryffindors. '…you will turn to page 127 in your textbook and read _silently_ for the remainder of the period.'

Sirius and James gathered their books and started for the door. As they passed Remus, James grinned and winked at him. Remus watched them go, and then turned back toward his desk only to realize that Professor McGonagall had her knowing eyes fixed upon him.

Remus tried to look unconcerned as he opened his textbook and sought out the assigned passage. He struggled to reassure himself that everything had gone according to plan, just as James and Sirius had said it would. They were off awaiting punishment now, as expected, while he remained above suspicion. Yet Professor McGonagall was looking at him in a way that certainly suggested mistrust, although he was certain – nearly certain – that if she if she suspected his complicity in the disturbance she would have sent him from the room, too.

The gnawing realization that she had another reason to mistrust him made him dip his head low over his book. Professor McGonagall knew about him. She _knew_. Was it his imagination, or had she taken pains to avoid looking him straight in the eye when he had raised his hand? Had he really heard that note of loathing in her voice when she said his name? Was she watching him, waiting for some excuse, however small, to have him expelled and sent home in disgrace? Had his thoughtless behaviour unwittingly given her cause?

He could not answer any of his questions, but the doubts themselves were enough. Remus sat very still as his mind spun out all the dreadful scenarios that might befall him if Professor McGonagall reneged on her assurances to Dumbledore and took action to expose the werewolf in her House for what he was. He did not even realize the lesson had ended until Betta MacFusty brushed past him on her way out of the room.

He stood up and gathered his things slowly, waiting for the professor to command him to wait behind. Instead he found himself waiting uselessly until the room was all but empty. McGonagall rose from her chair and raised her eyebrows.

'Did you want something, Lupin?' she asked.

'No, ma'am,' he said softly, taking a tremulous step backward. 'No – nothing…'

The words sounded feeble, even to him. If he wanted nothing, why on earth was he lingering behind when everyone else was on their way to the Great Hall for the noon meal? He clawed the recesses of his brain for some pretext to explain his loitering.

'Sirius,' he said abruptly. 'Are you… do you have to write and tell his parents about all this?'

A curious expression flickered in the witch's eyes. 'That is none of your affair,' she said; 'but as a matter of fact I do not. And will not. It is none of my business how parents choose to discipline their children, but I do not like having blood slurs slung about over breakfast.' She studied his expression carefully. 'What is your interest in Sirius Black?'

'He's in my dormitory,' Remus said, wishing as soon as he did that he hadn't. 'He's my friend.'

McGonagall seemed pensive, but she nodded slightly. 'Run along now,' she said curtly. 'I want to lock up.'

Remus obeyed, making his way slowly down to dinner. He found a seat near the foot of the Gryffindor table and filled his plate, though he was too uneasy to eat. He busied himself with making crumbs of a warm roll while he kept one eye on the door.

There was a tingling sound and the Gryffindor students looked up, murmuring discontentedly as a handful of rubies retracted into the top of the hourglass that tracked their House points. Twenty, Remus noted. Not so terrible, really, for having wreaked chaos in front of one of the strictest teachers in the school. He waited, still demolishing the bread, until at last Sirius and James – looking not at all chagrined – appeared in the lofty doorway.

Sirius spotted him first, and elbowed his way onto the bench next to Remus. 'I told you, didn't I? Flawless.'

'Well done!' James added, depositing himself on Remus's other side and reaching for the pumpkin juice. 'That was quick thinking, getting her eye back on you like that. Convincing question, too.'

'She didn't cotton on at all, did she?' Sirius pressed gleefully.

'I don't think so,' Remus said. 'But—'

'But what? It went off without a hitch, and the whole school will be talking about it by supper. Pass me those chicken sandwiches.' Sirius reached out greedily.

'That desk almost landed on Charlotte White,' said Remus, trying to give James a reproving look.

'It did not!' James scoffed. 'I wouldn't've let that happen; that's carrying the joke too far.'

'You lost control,' Remus protested. 'You were going to drop it.'

'Even if I was, McGonagall stopped it,' James said, shrugging. 'I'm surprised _you_ didn't do something about it if you were that worried. We'd just finished talking about that kind of thing in Charms.'

Remus felt his ears turning pink. 'I wasn't minding Professor Flitwick very carefully this morning,' he confessed.

Sirius seemed to think this was outrageously funny. 'First time jitters,' he said bracingly. 'Go on, admit that you enjoyed it.'

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Remus's mouth. 'It _was_ awfully funny to see that chair dancing around in midair,' he whispered.

A roaring laugh startled the pair of third year girls seated across from them. 'I knew it!' Sirius chortled. 'The quiet ones; they always fool you. You think you can turn your back on them…'

'… and then it turns out that you ought to have followed through on that, because those two rabble-rousers behind you were breeding chaos,' James finished. He cut himself a large slice of steak-and-kidney pie and began to tuck in with gusto. 'Who's next on this alleged list, anyway?'

'Flitwick,' Sirius said. 'Unless you really do think we ought to double back for Sprout?'

'No, Flitwick's fine. It'll take a bit of planning, though,' James mused. 'I reckon it's my turn to come up with the clever scheme.'

'As long as it doesn't involve fire,' Sirius said. 'We don't want to become predictable, or anything.'

'Fine. I'll dream it up, but I'll let you vet it. And Remus…'

Remus knew what was coming. 'I'll be the decoy?' he asked, hazarding a smile.

Sirius patted his arm paternally. 'How quickly they learn,' he said sagely.

~_discidium_~

As fortune would have it, Sirius and James set the date of their disturbance for the first of December. All the previous weekend Remus had been worried that they would decide to leave it until the third instead; the day after the full moon, when he would be immured in bed recovering from self-inflicted wounds. He could not admit to himself that he was eager, exactly, to disturb another lesson, but he very much longed to prove his worth to the other two boys. They had both been so delighted by his part in the Transfiguration expedition, and he was thirsty for such approval again.

There was also the nasty, niggling little voice that told him if his disappearances began to have too great an impact on their plans they would demand to know the cause. His feeble fibs would not hold up to much more scrutiny than they had already been given.

When they woke that morning, the boys found the dormitory windows bejewelled with a thick layer of frost. Peter was reluctant to get out of his warm bed, but James and Sirius took it upon themselves to divest him of his blankets, ribbing him jovially as he dressed.

'You're planning something again, aren't you?' Peter said, his voice one part agitation and two parts eagerness. 'Are you going to make Professor McGonagall's things fly around the room again? Can I help?'

'I don't know about that, Pettigrew,' Sirius said. 'You had enough trouble levitating those feathers in Charms…'

'Besides,' James told him; 'we won't be doing that again anytime soon The first time is funny. The second time is silly. The third time is just _asking_ for a pre-emptive strike.'

'And Merlin _forbid_ we stoop to being silly,' Sirius declared. He glowered in feigned disgust as Remus began to draw the curtains of his bed again. 'I said _Merlin forbid_,' he repeated loudly.

'I thought we decided that what Remus does in his bed is his business and nobody else's,' James said, reaching out helpfully to draw to the draperies at the foot of the four-poster. 'Mark my words; one of these days you'll want to be afforded the same privilege.'

Sirius snorted. 'The day _I'm _too embarrassed to change wherever I bloody well please is the day you can lock the door and throw away the key. Hurry up, would you Lupin? Flitwick always leaves the room unlocked, and if we get down there before everyone else we'll have no trouble getting the right seats.'

'What are you planning?' Peter asked eagerly. Remus was busy trying to straighten his robes without causing too much visible motion, but he imagined the small boy must be bounding around near James. 'I bet it's funny. I bet it's _brilliant_.'

'I bet it is,' James said smugly. 'But you see, like most intricate plans it requires a conspiracy of silence, and I'm afraid you're just not part of that, Peter.'

'I could be,' Peter said. 'I could ask questions and distract the teacher. I could help with something. Maybe I could levitate Professor Flitwick's hat? It can't be that much harder than feathers—'

'We're not levitating anything!' Sirius exclaimed, irritation rumbling from the depths of his lungs. 'Are you being intentionally thick or something?'

'Look, Peter, the plan has been fixed,' James said, trying to be cordial. 'We only need three people for it, and that's that. If we ever find we're short a man you'll be the first one we call up, I promise. It's like Quidditch. There's the real team, and the Reserve. You're on our Reserve.'

'Yeah,' Sirius said dryly. 'Triple Backup Beater. Called up once in a blue moon when the second backup is down with festering piles. Oi, Lupin! You done in there yet? Sodding Narcissa spends less time mucking about with her clothes.'

Remus tugged aside his bedcurtains and emerged, trying to tie his shoelace. 'You could do my bit, Peter,' he offered generously. 'There's really nothing to it.'

'Oh, I can just imagine the kind of questions he'd ask!' Sirius snorted. He raised his voice half an octave and forced it into his sinuses. '"Ooh, Professor Flitwick! When you wave your wand and the little stars come out, why are they blue instead of orange?"'

'You know, I've always sort of wondered that,' James mused. His tone was amicably mocking, but that nuance seemed lost on Peter, who smiled adoringly at him. 'Really, though, Remus; I'd much rather you do it. You were perfect with McGonagall.'

A pleasured smile spread across Remus's face, stretching muscles at the corners of his mouth that had never moved that way before. 'I tried,' he admitted.

'Settled, then,' Sirius said. 'Let's go!'

'Can I…' Peter tried again.

'Run along to the Great Hall;' Sirius said. 'We'll be missing breakfast, and I don't really think your constitution is up to that, is it?'

Peter seemed rather off-put, though whether by the implied criticism or by the idea of skipping the meal Remus could not tell. He left the dormitory quickly, however, and without further protest. After a few last-minute preparations, the three other boys followed also quitted Gryffindor Tower

As they had expected the Charms classroom was unlocked. Sirius chose a seat in the centre of the third row. James took the very front left corner. Remus settled to the right of the room, not quite in the back. The idea, as Sirius had explained, was to draw the tiny Charms teacher away from his podium so that modifications could be made to the diagrams on the blackboard.

The rest of the class began to filter in at around the time Remus's stomach began to grumble about skipping breakfast. He earned an odd look from Aeolus Andrews, in whose wonted seat he was sitting, but there were no squabbles about the arrangements. When Professor Flitwick came in, the class settled at their usual swift pace.

Flitwick surveyed the students, his eyes lingering just a little longer on James than on any other pupil. Remus realized, too late, that he had surely heard the story of what had transpired in McGonagall's class the previous fortnight.

'I think…' Flitwick said in his high voice. 'I think… we'll make it a practical lesson today. Books away, and let's move these desks…'

Sirius and James looked momentarily flummoxed. They exchanged an articulate look, but the consensus between them seemed to be that a practical lesson would be just as amusing as the intended joke. Sirius turned to catch Remus's eye, and drew the fingers of his left hand across his throat. Remus nodded, trying to assure himself that his relief outweighed his disappointment.

~_discidium_~

'All that work,' James sighed, watching the chalk he had spent two days enchanting as it scrawled rude words on his bedpost. 'I think he was onto us.'

'Of _course _he was onto us,' Sirius said, rolling his eyes. 'What I can't figure out is what tipped him off.'

'It was the way we were sitting,' Remus told him. 'I'm sure of it.'

'What do you mean?' Sirius sounded almost insulted. 'I have a very, very casual way of sitting. See?' He draped himself against his headboard in a very languorous manner. 'You've got the "I'm an innocent ickle firstie" face, and I've got the "Butter wouldn't melt in my mouth" posture.'

'No, I mean where we were sitting,' Remus said earnestly. 'We always take the same three seats; me on the right, with you beside me and James behind you. When he saw we were all spread out he knew something was up.'

'Saw Sirius and me were spread out, you mean,' said James.

'Sirius and I,' Remus corrected reflexively. His mother always placed great emphasise on proper pronouns.

'No, not you,' James said. 'I mean, why would he be watching you? McGonagall's probably warned all the staff to keep an eye on Sirius and me.'

'Sirius and _I_,' Sirius parroted.

'Fine. Sirius and Sirius. But I really think you're onto something there, Lupin,' said James. 'It is kind of suspicious if we just suddenly choose different places.'

'Well it wouldn't have worked in our regular seats,' Sirius pointed out. 'Remus in front like that… even if he'd got Flitwick practically on top of his desk the little blighter still would've had us under immediate scrutiny. What else could we have done?'

'It's a problem, all right.' James sighed. 'You and your reverse alphabetical order. We should've saved McGonagall 'til last. She's too clever by half.'

'You know that thing is misspelling "sod off", don't you?' Sirius asked mildly.

'It's supposed to be "sodding naff"…' James said, twisting his neck and squinting at the chalk marks. 'Maybe my Diction Charm needs work.'

'Shame to waste that thing,' Sirius said. 'You reckon we could try Friday?'

Remus's spirits fell. Friday. They would be sure to wonder where he had gone and why he had left without saying anything when they had such firm plans.

'Not a chance, Black!' James said fiercely. 'If we get caught we'll be in detention on Saturday, and then we'll have to miss the Quidditch rematch. If you make me miss Quidditch, I'll be the first Hogwarts firstie ever tried for murder.'

'Well, next week then,' Sirius suggested.

James shook his head. 'After Christmas,' he said, as if the matter were settled. 'That way it'll give Flitwick a chance to get used to us taking different seats each time. Better chance of catching him off-guard.'

'Can I do something?' Peter asked. He was sitting with his back to the rest of the room, having been appalled at the profane piece of chalk. 'Can I help? I want to help out…'

'Only if you stop pestering,' Sirius said, exasperated.

'Sometime, yeah,' James said. 'After Christmas.'

'Promise?' Peter said hopefully, daring to turn around to look at the other boys.

Sirius shrugged. 'Sure. Why not? Promise. _As long as you stop pestering_.' He covered his mouth with his hand and sang out to Remus, _sotto voce_; 'I'm going to _regret_ this, aren't I?'


	12. Snap Judgements

**Chapter Twelve: Snap Judgements**

Remus whimpered as a band of anguish closed about his lungs. He couldn't breathe. It hurt even to try. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, lying perfectly still for as long as he could. Eventually, however, his brain cried out for oxygen and he had to take a breath. It was little more than a strangled gasp. The agony of the motion was unbearable.

'Oh, my poor little lad!' The matron's familiar voice cut through the fog of torment, and Remus felt grateful tears springing to his eyes.

It was over.

'Lie still, Remus dear. Try to lie still now. How on earth did you manage to do that?'

He didn't know how he had done it. He wasn't even certain what it was he _had_ done. He didn't remember anything of the hours when the wolf ruled the night except the rage and the hatred and the terror, and always the pain. The wolf resented captivity. It wanted to roam free, to hunt, to kill. It knew there were humans nearby; it could taste their scent on the air. When it realized that it could not reach them, it never failed to launch into a frenzy of ravenous self-mutilation.

'Hold tight, dear,' Madam Pomfrey was saying. Remus felt her curling her left hand around his right. 'Squeeze as hard as you have to. This is going to hurt, I'm afraid.'

There was a blinding surge of agony as she moved her wand, setting and knitting his broken ribs. His spine arched against the cold floor and he would have screamed, save that the night's crazed howls had robbed him of his voice. His fist closed over Madam Pomfrey's fingers with what was surely crushing force. But then a gentle numbness settled over the place where the fractures had been, and he fell limp onto the floorboards.

'That's a good boy. That's my brave young man,' Pomfrey clucked. She was bundling a blanket around him. 'I'll not mend the rest here: you're liable to freeze to death in this old house. We'll get you back up to the castle, to a nice warm bed, and you'll be good as new in no time.'

Remus let himself drift into the fog that wanted to swallow him. He could still hear the matron's kind voice, soothing him and offering what comfort she could, but the words blurred together. He could feel himself levitating, floating away from the bare floor. Then there was a stretcher beneath him and they were moving. The darkness of the tunnel became blurred with the darkness in his mind, and he scarcely noticed the change as they emerged into the grey December morning. It was colder here in the open air. The blood and perspiration on his skin grew suddenly frigid, and a deep chill settled into his bones, burning through him despite his wrappings.

Then suddenly the air grew warm and he began to shiver violently, trembling with such force that he almost toppled from the conjured bier. A hand reached out to steady him, sure and gentle, but it touched the place where the wolf had used its shoulder to ram against the fortified windows. Scorching pain shot down into the joint and a vague moan forced itself through the boy's swollen throat.

Madam Pomfrey was talking again, her words punctuated by the occasional warm crackle of magic. Abruptly Remus was aware that he was no longer on the stretcher, but lying on the firm softness of a bed. Then capable hands were supporting his head and tipping a spoonful of something strong and sour between his lips. He tried to swallow but could not, and the sticky fluid trickled from the corners of his mouth. Again the spoon came, and this time one finger stroked the length of his throat very gently. The reflex took hold despite the pain, and the potion was down.

Now she was working on his shoulder, probing cautiously with one hand while the other plied her wand. All the while she was talking softly, soothingly, in tender and consoling words that he was too far gone to understand. There was another glow of magic, another ripple of relief. Then he slept.

~_discidium~_

He awoke to the sound of voices in the next room. Mechanically he tensed, waiting for the low and anxious words that always followed his transformations at home. But the calm voice of Professor McGonagall filtered to his ears.

'Here you are, Poppy,' she was saying. 'They're really rather ghastly.'

Madam Pomfrey chuckled. 'Well, Minerva, you can't expect him to wear his best robes for creeping through tunnels, can you? There wasn't time to change last month, and you should have seen him fretting. Thank you for fetching them; I was so flustered I clean forgot.'

'And forgot to clean,' McGonagall said softly, suddenly very sombre. 'I haven't seen so much blood since…' Her voice trailed off grimly. When she spoke again, it sounded strained. 'Is he very badly wounded?'

'I've patched up the worst of it,' Madam Pomfrey said ruefully; 'A few snapped ribs, a dislocated shoulder, the deeper gores and gashes. I'm going to wait a while longer before I tend to the rest. It's too much strain for a little body all at once.'

There was a protracted silence. 'I'd like to speak to him if I may,' said McGonagall at last.

'He's sleeping, Minerva…'

'He most certainly is not. I can tell a sleeping child at fifty yards; that is one of the qualities that makes me such a capable Head of House.' The door to the little isolation room opened, forcing Remus to snap his eyes shut against the sudden brightness. The Transfiguration teacher closed the door carefully and sat down on the chair next to his bed.

'Well, Mr Lupin. How are you feeling?' she asked.

Remus opened his eyes, blinking blearily. 'I…' he croaked. His tongue worked fruitlessly against his teeth. 'I…'

Professor McGonagall twitched her wand at the night table, and a glass of cool water appeared. She braced her arm under Remus's shoulder blades and helped him bring the cup to his mouth. He gulped at it greedily and then sank back onto the pillow, exhausted from the exertion.

'I'll be all right, Professor,' he said hoarsely. 'M-Madam Pomfrey's very good to me.'

McGonagall almost smiled. 'That she is. I'm sorry I haven't been in to visit you before, Lupin. I… there really is no excuse for that. You're in my House and I ought to be looking out for you.'

Remus studied her face in the dim light. Had he imagined the shiver of revulsion that had crossed it? Was there ill-concealed disgust behind the sympathy in her eyes? The familiar terror of discovery, the fear of rejection, and the doubt of recent weeks clawed at him.

'Pr-professor?' he said quietly. 'You don't like werewolves, do you?'

The remorse that filled McGonagall's eyes stung him. She pursed her lips pensively and paused to consider her reply. 'I'd never met a werewolf before you,' she said carefully. 'I must say that thus far I've found you to be well-behaved, studious and tidy, and considerate of others. Whether that's common for werewolves in general I don't know, but it's certainly rare among first years. As a student, Mr Lupin, I like you very much. I hope to get to know you better.'

It wasn't really an answer, but Remus did not want to press the matter. He feasted on those words; _I like you very much_. He closed his leaden eyes and inhaled as if he could smell acceptance instead of nettle soap. His bruised lips curled into a tiny smile.

'I like you very much, too, Professor,' he said. 'I'm sorry I'm so useless in Transfiguration.'

This time McGonagall did smile. 'You're coming along quite nicely, I promise. Transfiguration takes practice and hard work.'

'I'll work,' Remus promised fervently. 'I'll work twice as hard as I have been.'

'Well, you can leave that for a few days at least,' she said, reaching across to tidy the bedclothes. 'For now I want you to rest. I'll stop by tomorrow after the match; Gryffindor is replaying their game against Slytherin, so hopefully I'll have some good news for you.'

She patted his hand almost fondly as she rose and slipped from the room. A moment later, Madam Pomfrey came in with a medicine-bottle and a plate of ginger biscuits.

'Have you any pain, Remus dear?' she asked.

Remus hesitated. There was always pain after a transformation: the knotted strain in his muscles, the intangible ache in the re-fused bones, the burning in every tortured joint. He rolled his shoulder and drew in a deep breath that brought no screaming agony from his side. He wiggled his toes and looked down at his bandaged hands. 'Not much, ma'am,' he concluded.

She nodded knowingly and doled out a dram of the potion anyhow. He opened his mouth obediently and swallowed. This one was bitter and smelled faintly of yarrow. The matron set down the spoon and the bottle and offered him a biscuit.

'Just a little nibble to chase away the taste of your medicine,' she tempted. 'You ought to eat something before you go back to sleep.'

The biscuit was delicious and still warm from the oven, but Remus could only manage half of it. His stomach churned uneasily and his head began to ache. Wordlessly Madam Pomfrey took the remaining half and brushed the damp hair from his forehead. She bent over the bed and hugged him, ever so gently.

'That's my brave boy,' she said softly. 'Back to sleep now, all right?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

She rose and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Remus curled onto his side, rocked with a wave of nausea. He set his teeth and let it pass. The dopey, drowsy feeling of the night after began to seep into his limbs. He closed his eyes and slipped away.

~_discidium_~

As promised, Professor McGonagall stopped in to see him the following afternoon. Remus was feeling a little stronger; he was propped up in bed when she came, with his Transfiguration text leaning against his knees.

'Hard at work as promised, I see,' Professor McGonagall said approvingly, taking up the same chair she had occupied the previous evening.

'Yes, Professor. Madam Pomfrey won't let me practice, but I'm well enough to read.' Remus closed the book and hefted it off of his lap. It was impolite, Mother always said, to eye a book while making conversation.

'You're looking much better. Did you sleep well?' Remus nodded and McGonagall smiled. She had quite a pleasant smile; it took some of the severity from her young face. 'I'm afraid I've got no glad tidings of victory; Slytherin won the match.'

'Oh, dear,' said Remus politely. He still felt as if he knew very little about Quidditch, and so it was an awkward subject for small-talk. 'Perhaps our team will do better next time.'

He didn't think he had said anything funny, but a glint of amusement sparkled in the teacher's eyes. 'Perhaps,' she agreed. She reached across Remus's lap and picked up the Transfiguration book. She opened it to the ribbon that marked the page he had been reading. 'Ah. Fundamental modification of colour. A helpful skill. The trick is proper visualization. Most students don't take the time to accurately choose the desired shade. Precision is necessary; it isn't a bad idea to use a visual point of reference when you're first learning it. Something in the room, or a spot on a painting, or—'

'Professor, you don't have to do this,' Remus ventured quietly. Her promise to visit him had been made when he was feeble and vulnerable. It seemed only fair to give her an opportunity to withdraw it gracefully now, if she had changed her mind.

'Do what?' she asked, straightening up and regarding him curiously through her spectacles.

'You know,' he whispered miserably. 'Sit here and be kind to me. I know you'd rather not.'

McGonagall's eyes grew suddenly very hard, and her lips vanished into a tight, angry line. 'And how exactly do you know that?' she demanded coolly.

Remus felt a hot flush of colour in his cheeks. He stared down at his hands, where the new scars were still an angry red. 'You're trying to be kind,' he mumbled; 'but you don't like werewolves. You don't.'

The sinew at the base of her jaw twitched. 'I see,' she said. She put down the textbook and folded her hands sternly in her lap. 'We had best sort this out once and for all. Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Lupin.' He obeyed instantly, frightened of the taughtness in her voice.

'I have lived in the wizarding community my whole life,' McGonagall said. 'Though it shames me to say it I have not entirely escaped the fears and prejudices common throughout it. That is something I am working very hard to overcome. I have said that I find you to be an intelligent and likeable boy, and I am building my own opinions around you. I have no objection to your presence in my House, and I firmly believe that you have every right to be in attendance at Hogwarts. I admit I am not yet comfortable with the idea of your transformations, and I am finding it difficult to face the aftermath – not, as you suppose, because I am repulsed, but because it is a very hard thing to watch a child suffer through no fault of his own.'

She sat back a little, adjusting her spectacles. 'If you do not give other people the benefit of the doubt, Mr Lupin, you are going to live a very hard and lonely life. You must learn to allow others a chance to prove their worth to you, just as you want that chance yourself. Do you understand me?'

Remus nodded feebly.

McGonagall seemed satisfied. 'None of us like to be tucked into the popular pigeonholes, Lupin,' she said. 'You are more than the sum of your condition, and I am more than the sum of my upbringing. Let us try to get along with one another.'

A tear prickled in Remus's left eye. 'Yes, ma'am,' he whispered, dabbing it away. 'I'd like that, ma'am.'

She reached out and patted his hand, seemingly undeterred by the florid reminders of his affliction. 'Good,' she said stoutly. 'Now what do you say you and I get back to discussing colouration in transfiguration, shall we? It's not often that I offer private tutorials.'

~_discidium_~

On Sunday evening Remus was permitted to return to his dormitory, having promised Madam Pomfrey at least seven times that he would not overexert himself. The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual; a morose attitude of defeat hung in the air, doubtless the result of the unhappy outcome of yesterday's match. Remus didn't see any familiar faces as he moved to the boys' staircase. He paused at the door of his dormitory. Angry voices could be heard within.

'…Slytherin berks! I'd like to ram their broomsticks up their nostrils,' Sirius snarled

'If you ask me, Friessen's to blame. She's been off her game ever since she broke it off with that beefy Hufflepuff.' That was James. 'Is it so bloody hard to keep your mind on the pitch?'

'D-don't curse,' stammered Peter.

Remus drew in a deep breath and opened the door. Three pairs of eyes pivoted upon him.

'Where have you been?' Sirius demanded. 'You missed the worst defeat Gryffindor has suffered in twenty years! The Slytherins slaughtered us.' His tone of voice seemed to imply that Remus bore some measure of responsibility for this outrage.

'We had a surprise test in Charms,' James said. 'I'd read up on simple incendiary incantations if I were you.'

'Are you okay, Remus?' offered Peter. 'You look a little tired.'

'What happened to your lip?' said Sirius shrewdly.

Remus touched it without thinking, and then had to scramble to pull his sleeve down over his knuckles to cover the fresh scars on the back of his hand. 'It's nothing. It's stupid,' he demurred, hoping that they would let the matter rest there. He turned towards his cupboard so that he did not have to see their eyes upon him.

'No you don't,' Sirius said, climbing off of his bed and striding around to take hold of Remus's arm. His other hand closed on the smaller boy's chin, tilting his head up towards the light so that the injury could be seen more clearly. 'How did it happen?'

'I tripped,' Remus said quickly, lighting upon the first lie he could think of. 'I tripped on the stairs of the Astronomy tower and I bit it.'

Sirius brushed the bruise with the tip of his thumb and grunted sceptically. He released his hold on the smaller boy's sleeve. 'Oh, really?' he said.

Remus nodded. 'I told you it was stupid.'

Some of his desperate determination to be believed must have shown in his eyes, because Sirius shrugged languorously and loped back to his own bed. 'Have it your way, Lupin,' he said.

'You missed Astronomy on Friday,' James pointed out, looking thoughtful.

'I was picking up my homework,' fibbed Remus. 'Thursday night.'

It was one lie too many: he realized it almost instantly. That queer, hungry look had appeared on Sirius's face again; like a bloodhound on the trail of an irresistible scent. He sat up very straight, one leg crooked up under the opposite knee.

'You were picking up your Astronomy homework on Thursday night,' he said, enunciating meticulously.

'Yes,' Remus mumbled.

'Homework Arachne didn't give us until Friday.'

'Yes,' Remus whispered.

'Meaning you _knew _you'd miss Friday's class.' The cogwheels of deduction were turning, slowly but inexorably. Remus suddenly wished he had named any class but Astronomy. They had all been up on Friday night, staring at the moon just a sliver past full. It would never do to have them remember that.

'Y-yes,' he stammered. Out of the corner of his eye he measured the distance to the door. How quickly could he flee the room? He was still tired and run-down from his transformation, and Sirius's legs were longer than his. He couldn't make it all the way to the safety of the hospital wing before the bigger boy caught him, hurt him…

'But you couldn't have been sick,' Sirius mused; 'because then you wouldn't have been running up to Astronomy Tower; you would've gone straight to the hospital wing. So my question is where did you disappear to for three days, and why, if you knew on Thursday that you were leaving that night, didn't you tell us you were going?'

'I… it's… I…' he stuttered, waiting for the other shoe to fall. But no one said anything. They were all looking at him expectantly, waiting for his explanation. 'It was my mother!' Remus blurted out. 'I went home to visit my mother! She's sick. She's not well at all. She might die, even.'

Suddenly his inquisitors were the very picture of solicitude. James clambered onto Remus's bed and tugged him down to sit, grabbing his arm and bracing him up. Sirius hurried over to put a sympathetic hand on the smaller boy's shoulder, and Peter danced attendance at the foot of the bed.

'That's awful,' James said earnestly, 'I'm so sorry. What's wrong? Can't they do anything for her? My father's on the Board of Governors at St Mungo's; he could have a word and get her in to see their very best people.'

'It's…' Remus groped for the next lie. 'It's a Muggle sickness. There's not much they can do for her at St Mungo's.'

'Look, I'm sorry mate,' Sirius said gruffly. 'I didn't mean to rake you over the coals like that. I thought maybe you were trying to protect some bully again. Listen, if there's any way I can help…'

'Poor Remus!' Peter said, bouncing from one foot to the other. 'I don't know what I'd do if _my _mum were sick. I think I'd leave school and stay with her all the time.' The thought appeared to make him rather tearful, and he retreated to his corner of the room.

'I'm all right,' Remus said. 'Really. I'm just tired, that's all. I think I'd like to go and have a wash and then just go to bed.'

Sirius and James both murmured their agreement and let Remus alone as he gathered his nightclothes and hurried off. When he returned, damp and clean-smelling with the worst of the incriminating marks hidden under his long nightshirt, the others were already in bed, sitting up and waiting for him. They watched him wriggle beneath the blankets, and then Sirius extinguished the light.

'Sleep tight, Remus,' he said, but it was a long time before Remus was able to follow that bit of advice.

~_discidium~_

Christmas was coming, and as he always did at this time of year, Remus found himself puzzling over gifts for his parents. In the long, solitary days at home he had always had an abundance of time to lavish on planning, making and wrapping little presents to offer on Christmas Morning. Last year he had hoarded his pocket money for months to buy a new comb and brush for Mother and a scrap of blue dragon hide which he had made into a lumpy but serviceable money pouch for his father.

This year, because his school things had cost such a great deal, he did not have any pocket money. In any case, there were no shops at Hogwarts and the village was off-limits to first years. He knew that he would have to find materials on hand in the school, and he spent most of his free hours wracking his brain for ideas.

On the second Tuesday of the month, James received an enormous basket of treats from home. There were Christmas biscuits of every description, fudge and homemade toffee and peppermint wafers and a vast array of chocolates. And there was a little bentwood box filled with old-fashioned ribbon sweets.

James eagerly shared out his loot, but Remus had eyes only for the box. When James asked why he wasn't helping himself, Remus said; 'Could I have that? When you're finished with it, I mean.'

'Huh. Take 'em all. Mum feels she ought to buy a pound of the stuff every Christmas because it's what they had when she was a girl, but it's awfully dull as sweets go.' James took the lid off and held it out.

'Not the sweets,' said Remus. 'The box.'

James looked perplexed. 'The _box_?' He eyed the unadorned thing critically, as if he had not even noticed its existence until that moment. '_This_ box?'

Remus nodded. 'Please?'

A moment later the bright bonbons were heaped in an unceremonious pile on top of James's Potions textbook, and Remus had the coveted container in his hands. He studied it in awe, running his fingers along the perfectly smooth sides and feeling the almost seamless joints of the lid. 'Thank you,' he breathed.

James shrugged indifferently. 'Whatever makes you happy.'

~_discidium_~

Remus spent every evening that week planning his project. He went to the library to copy out pictures from one of the books on English botany. He practiced on scraps of parchment until he was certain he could reproduce his chosen design neatly and accurately. He put the gold and green bits on the box; those colours were easy to find. And everywhere he went he kept his eyes open for something that was the right shade of blue.

On Friday he found it, when for a moment his attention began to wander in Charms. It took him all the rest of the day to work up the courage to act, but that evening after supper he managed it.

Charlotte White was curled up in one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, reading a well-loved copy of _The Water Babies_ when he approached her with the caution ordinarily reserved for entering dragons' lairs.

'Ch-Charlotte?' he stammered.

She looked up from her book. 'Oh, hello,' she said. 'You're Remus Lupin, aren't you? Betta MacFusty says you've got a good head on your shoulders.'

Remus knew he ought to say something nice about Betta in return, but he couldn't form the words. He had only just learned how to make casual conversation with James and Sirius. To extrapolate to speaking to a strange girl was a leap beyond his present abilities.

'M-may I borrow your hair ribbon?'

The words came out awkwardly and much louder than Remus had intended. Several nearby students – all older – looked at him in amusement. He bit his lip, waiting for Charlotte to laugh at him.

She did not. Her eyes were thoughtful and her expression grave.

'What are you going to do with it?' she asked, one hand drifting up to touch the bow of periwinkle silk that nestled in her dark hair.

'Only look at it,' Remus said awkwardly. 'For the colour.'

Her brow wrinkled. 'What are you talking about?'

He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to flee. 'I'm going to try a spell to transfigure something, and I need a reference colour so that I get the right shade,' he said, very quickly.

'Oh.' She sounded suddenly interested. Remus dared to peek at her, and saw that she had removed the ribbon and was holding it out to him. 'May I watch?' she asked.

He could hardly refuse her. They retreated to a table in a corner of the room, and he set down his drawings and his early attempts. He folded the ribbon and laid it out on the table. Then he took the lid of the little box and put it squarely in front of him. He drew his wand and he touched it to the wood he fixed his eyes on the ribbon.

`_Colosabeo_,' he said firmly.

There was a little surge of power from his wand, and there on the lid, miraculously, appeared the five petals he had been practicing, each one rendered perfectly in the same violet blue as Charlotte White's hair ribbon.

The girl gasped. 'It's perfect!' she said. 'I can never get a match like that.'

'Strong visualization, that's the key,' Remus said. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he could not stop staring at his handiwork. The lid of the box was now adorned with a neat little forget-me-not with a centre of Gryffindor gold and (though he never would have admitted it to his friends) leaves of Slytherin green. 'Most students don't take the time to really _see_ the colour they want to reproduce, so it comes out wrong.'

Charlotte was smiling now. 'Do it again!' she urged.

Remus was only too happy to oblige; he had traced out a wreath of lupin blossoms on the side of the box, which he coloured to match the petals on the lid. Then he assembled the two pieces and sat back to admire his work.

'You can have your ribbon back,' he said to Charlotte. 'Thank you for letting me use it.'

'Thank _you_ for the Transfiguration tip,' she replied. 'What are you going to do with the box.'

He flushed a little, afraid she would poke fun. 'It's my mother's Christmas present,' he said.

Charlotte nodded in satisfaction. 'I'm sure she'll love it very much,' she assured him.

~_discidium_~

As it turned out Father's gift was much easier to come by, once Remus settled upon the idea. On Saturday he went up to the Owlery, and he spent most of the morning searching through the down and pellets amassed on the floor until he found half a dozen long tail feathers, each with its own unique colouring and pattern. There were two brown ones, one dark and one flecked with gold; and one just the colour of caramel; and a speckled grey one; and a snowy white one. There was even a great big black one that had to have come from Sirius's Hermes.

Remus took them back to the dormitory and washed them gently and thoroughly in warm soapy water. He let them dry spread out on a pilfered page of _The Daily Prophet_, then combed and curled the vanes. With his penknife he stripped off the downy bits at the base of each one, and then cut neat, slender nibs. They looked very handsome laid out on his bedspread; six tidy new quills for his father to take to work.

Remus wrapped both the gifts in tissue he had found in the common room; bright red and gold, laid out, he presumed, for that very purpose. He packed them carefully among his clothes, for tomorrow the Hogwarts Express would be carrying the students back to London to spend Christmas with their families.


	13. Christmas at Home

**Chapter Thirteen: Christmas at Home**

The sun had set and the winter sky glowed orange with the distant lights of London.

'You ought to get into your Muggle things,' James said. 'We'll be there any minute now.'

Remus looked down at his school robes and bit his lip, groping unconsciously for his left arm.

'Oh, honestly,' Sirius scoffed. 'I'd have thought you'd be used to us by now. When are you going to get it in your head that you've got nothing the rest of us haven't seen before?'

Through the cloth of his sleeve, Remus could feel the deep knot of scar tissue and the other smaller ridges that surrounded it. 'I'd rather not change on the train,' he said softly.

'We could go out into the corridor,' Peter said generously. The other two boys looked at him as though they had forgotten he was there – as they quite likely had. James and Sirius suffered Peter's presence because they had no choice. He followed them everywhere, and he knew too much about their clandestine activities to be snubbed. But they had hardly spoken to him the entire journey.

'Don't be daft,' Sirius said. 'If he doesn't want to change on the train, he doesn't have to change on the train.' He yawned and reached out his arms in an exaggerated stretch. 'Anyone else want to hide on the luggage rack and stow away back to Hogwarts?'

'I'm pretty sure they berth the Express in London,' James said. 'Besides, I wouldn't miss Christmas at home for the world.'

'But think of all the exploring we could be doing if only we'd stayed at school!' Sirius said wistfully. 'The castle will be practically _deserted_. No pesky Slytherin prefects, no Professor Flitwick popping out from behind a suit of armour like some kind of vengeful bunny rabbit…'

Remus laughed. They had been caught trying to sneak into the staff room two days before. The tiny Charms teacher had been most indignant, scolding the three boys roundly before chasing them away with a shower of stars from his wand. At the time Remus had been terrified that they would be punished, but Flitwick had let the matter drop.

'We could be trying to find a way into Dumbledore's office right this second,' Sirius concluded.

'Except that Dumbledore is staying at school over Christmas. A lot of the staff stay. And there're bound to be a few students with nowhere else to go,' James said, wrinkling his nose benevolently. 'Poor sods.'

'I can just imagine Christmas in the home of Roland Potter, Esquire,' Sirius said dryly. 'Do you have fresh holly boughs draped from the banisters? Silk tapestry stockings passed down through the generations? Carols around the flaming Yule log? Golden candles on the Christmas tree?'

'Why, yes, as a matter of fact, we've got all those things,' James said. 'But the candles are only gold-coloured wax. We're not a bunch of mad hedonists.'

The train was slowing now, and the station lights flashed past the windows.

'And I suppose you have a big dinner with turkey and stuffing and six kinds of veg and a great silver boat full of gravy,' Sirius went on.

'There's usually ham, too,' James agreed. 'And candied figs and cranberry preserves and mince pies and plum pudding. And of course Mum's treacle tart, too; it's Dad's favourite.'

'And old Grandfather Potter tells jolly stories of Christmas long ago,' intoned Sirius, rolling his eyes.

'Well, no, actually. My grandparents are all dead,' James said in a matter-of-fact way that told Remus this was not a recent state of affairs.

Sirius snorted, looking suddenly morose. 'Even better,' he said.

James's eyes grew narrow. 'Wait a minute. Are you taking the mickey out of me or something?'

'Not at all,' said Sirius suavely. 'What is there to poke fun at? I'm writing a book: _James Potter and the Perfectly Picturesque Christmas_. It'll sell a million copies.'

James snorted with laughter, swatting at his friend as he got up to haul his case off of the rack. 'Not half as many as _Twenty-One Detentions with Sirius Black _will sell,' he jibed. 'I'll let you share the table at my book-signing.'

There was a squealing of brakes as the train ground to a halt. Outside the window Remus could see the platform burgeoning with waiting families; parents and grandparents and younger siblings all waiting to greet the returning students. He twisted on the seat, trying to see if he could spy his own family. The crowd was too thick.

'C'mon, let's get this over with,' Sirius said, getting to his feet and offering handshakes all around. 'Happy Christmas, all. See you in the blinking New Year.'

'Happy Christmas,' James said merrily. 'Happy Christmas, Remus. Happy Christmas, Pettigrew. Happy Christmas!'

He sprang out of the compartment. Peter grabbed his things and hurried off as quickly as his plump legs would carry him. Remus reached for his satchel and then smiled at Sirius. 'Do have a Happy Christmas,' he said earnestly. 'We'll be back at school soon.'

'Not soon enough for my liking,' Sirius muttered. Then with gritted resolve he moved for the door.

Remus stepped out onto the platform, jostled left and right in the chaos. He craned his neck, scanning the ocean of faces until he saw his father, standing off to one side. Eagerly, Remus elbowed his way through the crowd in a way he never would have dreamed of doing four months before.

'Father!' he cried, hurrying over to hug him. 'Mother! You've got to come and meet my friends. Sirius and James, they're wonderful! You've got to…'

He stopped short as he looked over his shoulder. James was twenty yards away, enveloped in the proud embrace of a tall, distinguished-looking wizard with silver spectacles. A witch with flyaway silver hair was kissing his coyly upturned cheek. James had a blissful look on his face; they adored him, and he knew it. A little further along, Sirius stood sullenly next to a severe-looking man while an eager little boy who could only have been his younger brother bounced up and down on his heels, babbling delightedly at him. The grey eyes locked with Remus's for half a second, and then Sirius looked resolutely away.

Remus turned back to his parents. Father was frowning. 'What is it?' he asked, puzzled. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Remus said hastily, trying to hide his disappointment. 'Nothing. They're busy, that's all.' He turned to his mother, who was sitting on a corner of a railway bench, and bent down to hug her tightly. 'Happy Christmas!' he said reflexively, relishing the sanctuary of her arms.

She kissed him. 'Welcome back,' she said, her voice filled with a kind of longing. She held him at arm's length and smiled – a deep, radiant smile that made her look young again. 'How well you look, dear heart! I did wonder how they'd feed you, but it seems I needn't have worried.'

Remus looked at his father, who was watching them almost hungrily. He held out an arm to squeeze the boy's shoulders. 'You do look well,' he said. 'But we must be going; it's a long ride home.'

~_discidium_~

It was indeed a long ride, driving by motorcar from London to Falmouth. Mrs Lupin refused to allow her husband to take her anywhere by means of side-aong Apparition, and she reserved Floo powder for the gravest emergencies. Remus did not mind. For the first four hours of the journey, he talked almost ceaselessly. Once alone with his parents, the poverty of speech born of shy inexperience melted away. He fairly ranted about Sirius and James and all the wonderful things they said and did. He told all about his progress in Charms, and his top mark on his History of Magic term paper, and his efforts at flying a broomstick. For his mother's benefit he described in enthusiastic detail all the sights and sounds of Hogwarts; the Great Hall with its enchanted ceilings, the staircases that moved and shifted, the portraits and the Owlery and Gryffindor Tower.

He said nothing at all of Potions or Astronomy, or the hurts he had sustained over the past several moons. He made no mention of Howlers or brawls with the Slytherins or sneaking down to the kitchens in the dead of night. He didn't mention the cruel trick Sirius had played on Peter Pettigrew, or the incident on the Quidditch pitch. But neither could Remus really think about any of these things; not when his mind was overflowing with glorious memories of the last few months.

Eventually, however, he began to feel drowsy. He stretched out across the back seat and listened while his parents talked. Their low, familiar voices were soothing, and although he couldn't make out much of what they were saying he was content to listen as the motorcar rattled westward through the wet winter night.

He must have dozed off, for he awoke with a startled snort when Mother switched off the engine. She turned in her seat, smiling gloriously. 'You're home,' she said, as if there were no sweeter words in the world. 'Come now, off to bed; it's nearly two o'clock.'

Scrubbing at his eyes, Remus climbed out into the chilly salt air. He was halfway up the path to the front door when he turned to look at the automobile. 'What sort is it?' he asked. 'What make?'

'It's a 1959 Morris Minor and we bought around the time we realized we were expecting you,' Mother told him as she moved around to open the front passenger door. 'Why?'

Remus shrugged his shoulders. 'I want to tell Sirius.'

'Ah.' Mother had the door open now, and she leaned in to shake her husband's shoulder. 'Ross. We're home.'

Father awoke with a snort rather like his son's. He heaved himself out of the vehicle and leaned against it, shaking his head to rouse himself. He blinked at Mother and his face softened into its old, sad smile. 'Home,' he said sleepily. He closed the door of the car and moved to put a warm hand on Remus's shoulder. Together they walked into the house.

Remus went upstairs at once to undress. He opened the door to his room and groped for the light. Everything was just as he had left it; the bed carefully made, his books on the shelves neatly arranged by subject, his old pair of slippers – too worn to take to Hogwarts – sitting on the floor by the door. But there was something amiss. There was a curious tasted to the air, he realized. It was stagnant, old. It was like the air in the _other_ bedroom, the third bedroom.

A thrill of panic gripped him and he leapt onto the bed so that he could force open the window. Cold and damp sea air poured in, and he inhaled deeply of the clean, open smell of it. He stood that way for several minutes, until the fresh air filled the room and drove away the scent of the tomb. Even then he did not close the window, but undressed quickly and went to brush his teeth, skirting broadly around the closed door at the end of the hall.

He heard his parents coming up the stairs, talking together in their quiet voices.

'…have to wear yourself out. I could have fetched him myself and Apparated home six hours ago,' Father was saying.

'Oh, no, Ross,' Mother said plaintively. 'No, I couldn't have. Did you see his face when he got off the train? He looked so happy. So…'

'Young,' Father murmured.

Remus paused with the toothbrush against an incisor, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Young? He looked like himself; a little pale, maybe, for a boy of eleven, but as healthy as he ever did and no younger than before. But he did look a little foolish, he thought, with his mouth hanging open and a dribble of toothpaste inching down his chin.

'Never mind driving to London and back; I would have walked from Land's End to John o' Groats to see that,' Mother whispered. 'Ross, I think… don't you think… it's the best thing we could possibly have done?'

Remus scrubbed at his gums with a vengeance, wishing he hadn't heard her. He suddenly felt horribly selfish. All these months, all this time while he had been off at Hogwarts, his mother had been worrying about him. When she should have been resting, and enjoying the time to herself, and relishing week after week without the hardships of preparing for the full moon, she had been fretting, wondering whether she had made the right choice in sending him away to school. Even when he wasn't in the house he was upsetting her.

There was a soft knock on the door. 'Remus?' It was his father.

'C'm in,' Remus said around the mouthful of toothpaste.

He watched the mirror as his father entered the little lavatory and stood behind him. His grey eyes were gentle, and his mouth was not set into quite its usual line of grim endurance. 'Go on and rinse up,' he said. 'You'll be sporting a beard to rival Dumbledore's if you don't.'

Remus almost choked on a surprised chuckle as he bent to spit out the minty lather. He splashed water on his face and dried himself carefully before turning around. He looked up at his father, waiting and wondering.

'You weren't meant to hear what your mother just said, and you're not a worry to her, Remus,' Mr Lupin said softly, reaching to brush a lock of hair from his son's eyes. At the boy's startled expression, he offered a small, shrewd smile. 'I know how you think. I wanted to thank you for sending all those letters. She did so look forward to them.'

'I should have written more often,' Remus said hurriedly. 'I could have written every day—'

'Once a week is plenty.' Father sounded almost amused. 'From the sound of it, you've been very busy.'

Remus nodded, the warm glow of happiness surging back. 'I have _friends_,' he whispered, hardly daring to say the words aloud lest naming the miracle should cause it to melt away.

Father's lips grew tight, but not with worry or frustration or disgust. He cupped his hand around the back of Remus's head and drew him into an enfolding embrace. 'I know,' he murmured, almost inaudibly.

They stood like that for a long time, Remus drinking in the comforting feeling of his father's arms. Then his mouth cracked wide in an enormous yawn.

The moment was shattered. Father let go. 'Now off to bed with you,' he said with a playful tweak of Remus's ear. 'You're not spending your entire holiday staying up all hours and lying in until three.'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said politely. He returned to his room, now quite cold and smelling of the sea, and wrestled the window closed before climbing into his narrow little bed.

~_discidium~_

Christmas in the Lupin household was always a quiet affair. There was no crowd of relations, no boisterous carol-singing, no lengthy orgy of giftgiving. On Christmas Eve the three of them sat down to a modest but lovingly prepared meal of roast goose and winter vegetables, followed by Mother's holiday pudding. Afterward they sat by the small pine tree erected in the sitting room and listened to the wireless. There were hot toddies for Mother and Father and cinnamon milk for Remus. Then it was off to bed.

In the morning there was breakfast; an assortment of savoury dishes and fresh baking. The celebration moved back into the sitting room where Remus opened his stocking. It held the usual fare: a little net bag filled with peppermint sticks, three new pairs of wool socks that would serve him very well in Astronomy, a satsuma, and a whole gold Galleon.

After that, the family exchanged their gifts. Remus received a book that he had been eyeing that summer, a new pair of shoes (his old ones were beginning to pinch), a box of Chocolate Frogs, a jigsaw puzzle with changing pictures, and – best of all! – new winter things. There was a woolly hat and a long scarf in stripes of red and gold, knit by his mother with her usual care, and a pair of store-bought gloves with lamb's-wool lining. All of these were from his parents, of course. There was no one else to send gifts.

As usual this year Mr and Mrs Lupin had agreed not to give one another anything, and as usual they had each bought a small trifle for each other anyway. Mother opened a pair of nylon stockings and a box of chocolate truffles, both of the Muggle variety. Father had a new hat, which he badly needed. Both of them exclaimed happily over Remus's gifts. Father said the quills would look very handsome on his desk, and Mother was amazed by the little box. Remus told the story of how he had changed the colour of the wood, leaving out the bits about discussing werewolves with Professor McGonagall.

After dining on the remains of yesterday's feast, the Lupins settled in for a peaceful afternoon. Remus spread out on the hearth with his puzzle. Father, looking rather silly in his old flannel dressing gown and dapper new hat, sat down with a book. Mother brought the comforter from her bedroom and curled up on the sofa for a nap.

Remus was about two thirds of the way through his puzzle when something rapped insistently at the sitting room window. He twisted around, trying to identify large dark shape on the sill. Father looked up from his book, startled.

'It's an owl!' Remus exclaimed even as Ross moved to the window and lifted the latch.

A stately grey bird hopped one-footed into the house. Its other leg was occupied in supporting an envelope and a small parcel wrapped in festive paper. Father relieved the creature of its burden and the owl sprang off into fight. He studied the back of the envelope and held it out to Remus, smiling.

'Guess who it's for,' he said.

Eagerly Remus jumped to his feet and ran to retrieve the letter. He rarely received post at home, and the bright little packet was wonderfully enticing. He broke the seal on the envelope and drew out the letter inside. It was written in crimson ink, and the carefree, lazy handwriting was instantly recognizable. It read:

_Happy Christmas, Remus!_

_I hope you're having a brilliant holiday. I am! Busy, though, no time to write. I'll tell you all about it when we're back in school._

_Anyway, here's your present. It's from Sirius and me. He would've sent a letter, too, except he figured he'd be on owl lockdown over the break. Seeing as I've sent him seven notes and got no reply, looks like he was right._

_Happy New Year! I'll see you on the train._

_James Potter, still not evil._

Remus looked up at his father, who was watching him with a queer closed expression on his face. 'It's from James,' he said eagerly. He had talked of almost nothing but his new friends over the past week. He sat down right where he was, cross-legged, and carefully peeled away the Spellotape so as not to tear the shimmering wrapper. Inside was a nose-biting teacup and a packet of Peppermint Toads. Remus inspected the cup carefully, laughing as he did so.

Abruptly he realized that his mother was awake, propped up on one elbow and watching him from the sofa. There was a curious, closed expression on her face, as if she were fighting some strong emotion. Remus glanced down at his hand where the teacup was lying in wait, ready to snap. He felt abruptly apologetic. He was about to pledge that it was only a joke and that he would never, ever use it on anyone when Mother spoke.

'From your friends?' she asked. Remus nodded. Mother's lower lip trembled. 'I can't remember…'

She caught herself, but Remus knew what she had been about to say. She couldn't remember the last time anyone else had given him a gift. For as long as any of them could readily recall his world had been tiny, his human interactions limited only to his parents and a few unfortunate incidents with unkind strangers. What Remus had never before realized was that his isolation had been as painful for his mother as it had been for him.

Carefully setting the teacup aside, Remus got to his feet and moved over to the sofa. He wanted to hug Mother, because he knew how she loved it. She wrapped her arms about him and drew him into her lap, although he was nearly twelve years old and much too large to be sitting on her. She held him close, and he could smell the rosewater in her hair. For a long time he was satisfied just to sit there, warm and comfortable and loved while his mother held him and his father looked peacefully on.

Christmas was quiet, but it was wonderful.

~_discidium~_

In the week leading up to the end of the year, the tranquil and contented mood that had filled the house on Christmas Day vanished like the morning fog. Mother grew pale and anxious, and Father, who had been obliged to head back to work after Boxing Day, came home tense and restless each evening. Neither of them uttered a word of blame, but Remus understood all too well that he was the cause of this mounting anxiety. The full moon was slated for the night of the thirty-first. They would be ringing in the New Year with violence and bloodshed.

It was the thirteenth full moon of 1971; a fact that made Remus feel particularly unlucky. Although he had to undergo this grim ritual every twenty-nine days regardless, it seemed unjust to have to suffer it twice in a calendar month. Most months only had one moon, and most years only had twelve. This year and this month were an exception, and with a child's irrational frustration Remus could not help feeling that this was somehow patently unfair.

He secretly wished that he were back at Hogwarts. There no one looked at him differently in the days leading up to his transformation. There no one kept him awake at night with anxious murmurings down the hall. There he had Madam Pomfrey, who though she was kind did not suffer with him, to take him to his hiding place and to collect him when it was over.

On the morning of the full moon, his father was gone before Remus woke up. He was almost glad of that. Father had always struggled more than Mother with the reality of having a werewolf for a son. He loved Remus; he did. But when the change drew near he found it hard to look at the child so soon to be turned into a slavering beast. He understood as Mrs Lupin did not what happened behind the heavy cellar door. He understood as his wife _could _not the terrible stigma of the transformation.

Remus padded downstairs to the kitchen, where his mother was already hard at work, chopping parsnips and potatoes with a sharp, slender knife. On the back of the cooker a pot was bubbling with the marrow-tainted smell of boiling bones, rendering the stock. Remus climbed onto the kitchen stool, setting his teeth against the ache in his joints. He watched the familiar ritual with the fascination of a stranger, as if he had never before witnessed these preparations.

On the morning of the full moon, Mother always made stew. It was her great-grandmother's recipe, passed down through the generations by long tradition. It had once been meant merely as comfort food for a cold night, but in the Lupin household it served another more important function. The great potful of stew would stand, simmering quietly, throughout the long ordeal. It ensured that Mother and Father – and Remus, afterward when his strength and the will to eat began to return – would have something hot and hearty and nourishing to sustain them through the nightmare and the recovery. It was too easy to forget to eat, and impossible to find time to cook, during the days of blood and tears. Mother's stew was their safeguard against privation.

She smiled at Remus as she started to dice the onions. He could manage no more than his sombre natural expression. He knew it was the onions that made the tears stand out in her eyes, but nonetheless he felt the cold fingers of guilt on his bowels. The smell of the soup bones was intoxicating, and he cast a longing look at the boiling pot. Then a sharp, tinny smell touched his nostrils, and he looked down at the surface beside him.

Mother had already cut the mutton. She always used fresh mutton, which must have been a trick to find on New Year's Eve. The cubes, almost uniformly one inch to a side, sat in neat columns on the chipped willowware plate. Staring at the perfect shapes, Remus reflected distantly that his mother certainly would have been better at Potions than he was. The thought did not linger long, however, for he was staring at the meat and his mouth was flooding with saliva. The carmine flesh was marbled with pale streaks of fat, and the dark residual blood could be seen oozing languidly between the pieces.

He glanced furtively at his mother. She had her back to him now, heating up a skillet on the cooker. She reached out to check on the stock. She wasn't paying any attention at all.

With a swift predatory motion Remus plucked up a gobbet of mutton between thumb and forefinger and popped it into his mouth. The tang of the raw flesh filled his sinuses, and his stomach snarled eagerly. He chewed, slowly and awkwardly. His flat human molars were not meant for this work. He swallowed at last, and greedily reached for another piece.

'Remus!' Mother's voice was sharp and scandalized.

He froze, inexorably guilty with a hand outstretched over the plate, clutching another piece of fresh meat. He bit his lip, all too aware of the tell-tale smears upon it.

He must have looked a fright, but Mother's expression softened and she took the piece of mutton from him. 'At least let me brown it a little for you, love,' she said. 'Just enough to sear off the blood, I promise. All right?'

Remus nodded miserably, unable to confess to her the appalling truth that it was the blood, especially, that he craved. He put his fingers in his mouth, sucking off the lingering flavour of slaughter, and hot waves of shame rolled over him. At times like this he felt so much less than human. He was savage, bestial – a monster who yearned to glut itself on raw meat. Worse, he lacked even the self-control to resist the urge.

Mother took out a saucer from the tea cupboard and turned back to her skillet. There was a hissing of hot fat and a minute later she had half a dozen cubes of mutton on the little plate, lightly seared without but pink and tender within. She reached for a fork from the drawer of silverware, and offered the dish to Remus.

'Thank you,' he mumbled, staring down at the half-cooked mess. He forced his stiffened fingers to close on the fork, and brought a piece of mutton to his mouth. He chewed it carefully, but his mouth was dry. It tasted wrong now; hot and ashy and bitter. The sweet succulence was gone, leaving only a rubbery texture and the faint cloying taste of butter.

He set it down on the counter, and slipped off the stool. 'I don't want it,' he muttered miserably, fleeing the room.

Mother did not go after him. She understood that he needed to be alone for a while. As Remus stormed up the stairs and flung himself onto his bed, he knew she would be putting the half-cooked meat in with the rest, browning all the mutton together before loading it with the roots and the onions and a little bit of starch into her big stew-pot. Remus knew she had only meant to help him, but he felt ill and ashamed and he wished, once again, that he were back at school where he could not hurt the people he loved.


	14. Waiting for a Bed

**Chapter Fourteen: Waiting for a Bed**

After a while Mother came up to his room, carrying one of the chairs from the kitchen in one hand and her knitting basket in the other. She sat with him, working with dogged determination on a muffler for Father – even though each time Remus stirred or shifted position she dropped a stitch and had to work back to pick it up.

At one o'clock she went downstairs to fetch him a glass of water and a slice of cold tongue. It was salty and gamey and tasted _almost_ right, but Remus found himself unable to manage more than a couple of bites. His stomach was twisted into knots of anxiety. He tried to get up to walk for a while, but his knees were shaking. So he lay down on the couch in the living room and Mother sat beside him, rubbing his back and running through her repertoire of old narrative poems.

Father was supposed to return from London at three o'clock. The education offices at the Ministry of Magic closed early on New Year's Eve, but even if they hadn't he would have been obliged to leave in order to secure the cellar door. His wife was incapable of setting the necessary charms and warding spells. Remus waited expectantly, watching the fire for the first glimmer of green, but it did not appear. Three-thirty passed, and there was still no sign of Father. The sun would set at twenty after four.

Just before four o'clock Remus picked himself up and managed the twelve stairs to his bedroom. He undressed, tugging on his tatty old play robes over bare skin. He visited the water closet and washed his face. Then he went downstairs. Mother was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand curled around an untouched mug of tea while she stared vacantly at the clock.

'I'm going to the cellar now,' Remus said quietly. 'W-what will we do if Father doesn't come home?'

'He'll come home,' Mother said, so forcefully that the table rocked against her. 'He'll be home any minute. He has to be.'

'If – if he doesn't…' Remus stuttered.

'He _will_.'

'If he _doesn't_, I c-could try. I could try to lock the door myself,' he said, struggling despite his terror to be practical. 'But you c-can't stay in the house if I do. You'll need to get into the motorcar and drive away, far away where I can't find you if I…' He looked sidelong at the fragile glass window over the sink. 'If I get out…'

'Enough of that nonsense!' Mother cried, her voice breaking. 'You go down and get ready. Your father _will_ be here. I'm not leaving you alone in this house, not for one minute, do you hear me?'

Her eyes were wild, half-crazy with panic. Once before her husband had failed to come home on time. Had failed, in fact, to come home at all. Then the wolf had been no more than a cub, too small to mount the cellar stairs much less break down a latched door. Now it took many more precautions to safeguard the transformation. Remus thought of the house in Hogsmeade, with its thick, heavy walls and its boarded-up windows – all reinforced with magic. He remembered the broken ribs and the dislocated shoulder: the wolf had tried so hard to escape last time. The cellar door was oak, solid and heavy with great iron hinges, but it could not stand up to that kind of abuse without magical aid.

Maybe they could call Dumbledore, get Remus back to Hogwarts… but no, there was no time left for that. Back at school he would have been down in the house for at least half an hour already. The tunnel was so long. There was no time.

Suddenly there was a noise in the sitting room; the fire tools clattered noisily on the hearth. Father came hurtling around the corner, ash flying from his robes. His head was bare and his cloak was missing and he looked almost mad with haste.

'Hurry up!' he cried, herding Remus towards the stairs. 'It's dusk already, we haven't much time.'

Remus didn't need to be told there was no time for explanations. He ran down the stairs, tripping and tumbling over the last three. The room was ready for him: the blankets were laid on the floor and there was nothing he could shift or gnaw or cut himself against. His father came thundering down and helped him unceremoniously out of his robes.

'I'm sorry,' he muttered, squeezing Remus into a quick hug. 'I'm so sorry; I know how you hate to rush. I'm so sorry.'

Then suddenly he was gone, and the portal of light vanished as the door slammed closed. There was a sound of the locks being fastened, and Remus could feel the crackling of energy as the wards were set. His heart was hammering in his chest and he moved to huddle in the corner, trying to calm himself before the transformation began. But he took only three steps before his limbs began to tremble and his spine began to lengthen and his human mind abandoned him.

~_discidium~_

His mother was always the first to descend the stairs after moonset. There was little she could do for him, aside from wiping the blood from his eyes and pledging, as if she could will it so, that everything would be all right. She simply had a need to be with him, as she could not be during the long night of torment.

Remus felt her hand on his brow. He was dimly aware of the sound of her voice, but he could not make out any of the words. Something hot and wet landed on his nose, and he realized distantly that she was crying.

He felt rather than heard the low rumbling of his father's voice. He could sense the heat of a healing charm far away in his right leg. His mother was trying to stroke his hair now, but her fingers kept snagging on tangles matted with blood. There was a ghastly pressure on his side, below the ribs that had snapped during the last full moon. Remus felt a dull, shooting pain that slid through his viscera and tunnelled into his spine. He clenched his jaw, determined that he would not cry out. He knew how dreadful it was for his mother, seeing him like this. He would not make it worse for her by complaining.

Her voice had changed pitch now. She was no longer murmuring words of empty comfort. Questions were spilling from her lips, sharp and desperate. Father tried to answer her shortly, tersely. Remus could feel the blood pounding in his ears. His eyes felt terribly heavy. The welcoming maw of unconsciousness yawned before him, and he sank gratefully into it.

~_discidium_~

When he came back to himself he knew that he had not been gone for long. The pain was still a pervasive presence, creeping into every corner of his body and gnawing at every limb. He tried to open his eyes, but one eyelid was crusted shut. He was no longer on the cellar floor; the surface beneath him was smooth and yielding. His head was resting on his mother's stomach; he could feel the shallow rise and fall of her breathing.

His father spoke, his voice heavy with defeat. 'It's no use, Dorothy,' he said. 'I can't make it stop. He must have done it all with his teeth.'

'Can't you close it?' Mother asked. 'Then we could bandage it up and change the dressings every hour like we did that time he nicked the big vein in his leg.'

'There's not enough skin left to close it,' he replied wearily. 'And I don't like the look of that grey thing there. It's not muscle and it's not fat. I don't know what to do; he needs a proper Healer.'

Mother choked back a noise that sounded terribly like a sob. 'Oh, Ross, no. Not _again_.'

'What choice do we have, woman?' Father snarled. Remus flinched. It had been a long time since he had heard his father shout like that.

'Hush, Remus dearest,' murmured Mother, petting his cheek and rocking him ever so slightly. 'Hush, love. We could take him to see a doctor.'

'And what exactly could a doctor do for him?' Father asked. 'And how on earth do you explain to a Muggle how this happened? I'll pack it as best I can, but then we have to go.'

There were no further protestations. Remus waited until his father's retreating footsteps rattled up the stairs. Only then did he force open his clean eye and croak out hoarsely, 'W-where're we g-g—'

Mother seemed startled by the sound of his voice. She looked down at him and tried to smile. 'To the hospital, love. You hurt yourself quite badly, and your father can't fix it.'

Remus felt his pulse quicken. 'Oh, no, please,' he said, the words grating painfully against his raw throat. 'Can't we send to the school? Madam Pomfrey cou-could—'

Mother shook her head. 'She won't be at the school. It's the Christmas holidays; she'll be somewhere with her family celebrating the New Year. Don't worry, Remus. I'm sure it won't be like last time.'

'Don't make promises you can't keep, Dorothy,' said Father softly as he came back into the room. He squatted next to the couch and, with a concerted effort, looked Remus in the eye. 'We need to get you help, and quickly. I've managed to slow down the bleeding, but I can't close the wound. I know you don't want to do this, but we have to.'

Remus nodded feebly. He understood; they didn't need to be so carefully respectful of his feelings. His qualms where irrelevant. There was no other way.

He susurrated in anguish as his father applied pressure to the wound. Mother took his hand and let him squeeze her fingers, which helped a little. Then somehow they got his old robes over his head and down past his hips. Father wrapped him in Mother's pea-green wool coat and, with one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back, picked him up. Mother tried to protest, but he hissed at her, 'Just hurry and get the Floo powder.'

Remus let his head rest against his father shoulders. He suddenly felt horribly nauseous, and he hoped that he would not be sick. He screwed his eyes tightly closed, which caused some of the clotted blood on his lashes to crumble onto his cheeks. The jolting that came with crossing the room almost sent him into unconsciousness. By the time he could focus again on something other than pain he could feel the tickle of the flames as Father stepped into the fireplace.

'The gas!' Mother exclaimed distractedly. `I must turn off the gas…'

Mr Lupin said nothing to her: he was already in the fire.

'St. Mungo's,' he announced. There was a whirring in Remus's ears, and he could control himself no longer. He let the world fall away.

~_discidium_~

He came to as his father laid him down across three rickety wooden chairs with his head in Mother's lap. There was some clumsy rearranging of the makeshift dressing under his clothes, and then Father was gone.

Remus opened his eyes just far enough that he could get a sense of his surroundings. The St. Mungo's intake room was crowded with witches and wizards of every description. There were a great many who seem to be the victims of wayward hexes. He remembered vaguely that it was New Year's Day, and reasoned that most of these people had been drinking the night before. An inebriated wizard was a dangerous thing.

His mother was sitting rigidly, her eyes fixed firmly on her son's face. She looked worn and exhausted, and there were two bright fever-spots on her cheeks. Perhaps she was ashamed. Remus knew that they must be quite the spectacle: Mother in her faded Muggle housedress and he with his disarrayed hair and his bare, bloodied feet peeking out from under his old robes. He fancied he could feel dozens of eyes fixed on him, staring at the werewolf.

'Dear me, what happened here?' A woman's voice, pleasant and sympathetic, materialized off to the left.

'It was only an accident,' Mother said hollowly.

'Ah, well. Boys will be boys,' said the older woman. The chair next to Mrs Lupin creaked ominously as she sat down. 'When my son Hector was about that age, he got a little careless with the Quick-Snipping Clippers while he was doing our hedges. Wound up slicing himself in four places. Luckily, I was able to get him back to normal in five minutes flat. It must be challenging looking after a wizarding child. For a Muggle I mean.'

'We get along just fine, thank you,' said Mother. She still hadn't taken her eyes off of Remus.

'I knew a young lady who married a Muggle. He just couldn't understand how much easier life is with a little magic in it. He always insisted on doing things the Muggle way. They went on holiday to Skegness, and do you know what he did? He _drove_ them! In a Muggle motorcar! It took them almost three hours to get there. Can you imagine? Oh, silly me, of course you can. Well I don't know if you know this, but there about four different ways to get from A to B in under a minute using magic.'

'Yes, I knew that,' said Mother. 'Now if you don't mind, my son really does need a little peace and quiet.'

'To be sure, to be sure,' said the witch. 'Would you like me to see if I could help him, dear? Chances are it's just a little cut that's got out of hand, and I could have him fixed up in no time. There's going to be an awfully long wait today, with all the hapless revellers to be seen. Wouldn't it be nice just to take him home and get back to enjoying your holiday?'

Mother was angry now. From the corner of his eye Remus could see the twitching muscle on the left side of her nose. When he was younger, he had been convinced that that was the place where she sent her temper to wait instead of letting it burst free the way that Father did.

'Thank you for your kind offer,' she said with terse politeness; 'but my husband is quite an accomplished wizard with a great deal of experience in healing charms, and he felt that Remus ought to see a proper Healer. He's talking to the welcomewitch right now, and I'm sure they'll see us soon. Oughtn't you be getting back to whoever it is you're waiting with?'

'Oh, it's only Daddy. Took a nip too much of his sleeping draught last night and got an attack of the Drowsies. He's fast asleep in his chair and I doubt he'll even wake up when it's time to go up to the ward. You know how old people are, bless 'em.' The witch bent down so that her plump face was in Remus's line of vision. 'Well now. Remus, isn't it? Well now Remus, I suppose you've learned your lesson? You'll not get yourself into another scrape like this in a hurry, will you?'

'Please leave my son alone,' Mother said. Now her voice was very cold. 'He's had a difficult night, and it's none of your business. I'd quite like you to go away and leave us in peace.'

'Well!' the other woman exclaimed indignantly. 'Well! I was only trying to be helpful. There's no need to be rude. What have you got to be so defensive about, anyway? Just how exactly did he get knocked about like this? That's a funny-looking cut right there on his leg. Looks more like a bite then a cut if you ask me. Family pet get out of hand? I think parents ought to be ashamed, keeping dangerous magical beasts in the house where they might maul the children. Ridiculous new fad, keeping fire crabs and kelpies and Runespoors and such. Why, only last week there was an article in the Prophet about a couple in Leicester who had a ten-month-old Peruvian Vipertooth living in their back garden! If you ask me—'

'I didn't ask you!' Mother said, very sharply. 'Now go away.'

The witch's mouth worked impotently. She looked rather like a fish out of water. 'Well I never!' she said, but she got up and walked away, huffing irately as she went.

'Never mind her, Remus,' Mother said softly, pushing back the sticky hair from his forehead. 'She doesn't know what she's talking about.'

Remus made no reply, but he thought that the woman was right. He shouldn't be kept in the house when he transformed. The basement had always seemed so safe before, but compared to Professor Dumbledore's thorough defences it was horrifically reckless. If his father had arrived only minutes later, the wolf would have been loose in the house. Perhaps he would have even charged through a window and got out into the street. Mother would have been bitten, and who knew how many others? Remus felt the nausea rising up inside of him again.

'Ross. Thank heavens.' Mother sighed in relief as her husband sat down next to her. 'Will they see us now?'

'No, Dorothy, not yet. Looks like we'll be waiting for a while.'

'But he's bleeding,' she protested. 'Did you explain?'

'Of course I explained,' Father muttered. Remus could hear the mortification in his voice. 'She said that the consulting rooms are all full, and we would just have to wait. She said he's the fifth one they've had today and we might have expected this and we should have taken the proper precautions. She also suggested…'

He did not finish that thought, but his hand settled on the crown of Remus's head. 'Don't worry,' he said softly, addressing his son. 'It'll be over before you know it.'

Remus remembered what Father had said earlier about making promises that could not be kept, but he held his tongue. He was too tired to talk, anyway. He was too tired to think. He just lay still and stared vacantly at the knees of the elderly witch sitting opposite. Her robes were a very soothing shade of blue, and he let the colour fill his mind. The pain seemed a little further away now, and the throbbing in his flank was almost comforting – reassurance that his heart was still beating steadily. His fingers and his toes felt very cold.

Abruptly a wall of brilliant lime-green flooded his field of vision, so luridly startling that Remus tried to shy away from it. He lacked the strength to move far, however, and so his head merely rocked a little in his mother's lap.

'Name?' asked the young Healer brusquely. Remus did not need to look up to know that he was carrying the admissions form on a clipboard.

'Remus John Lupin,' Father said resignedly.

'Age?'

'Eleven.'

'Complaint?'

There was an uneasy pause. 'I told the woman at the desk,' Father said hesitantly.

'I see. And is the woman at the desk a qualified Healer?'

'He's bleeding,' mumbled Mr Lupin. 'It's a cursed bite and it's deep and I can't close it myself.'

'Please,' Mother said softly; 'can't somebody see him now?'

'In due time, ma'am. Now, you say it's cursed. Are you wanting to report an attack by a dangerous beast?'

'No,' Father whispered.

'Are you saying he's the victim of an assault by a part-human? There have been vampire sightings in Penzance…'

This time there was no audible answer: Father must have shaken his head.

'Well, how did it happen?'

Mr Lupin mumbled something that even Remus could not hear.

'I didn't catch that, sir. Sorry.' The man sounded annoyed now.

'I said it's self-inflicted,' Father said hoarsely. The misery in his voice cut like a knife.

There was a silence. 'I see,' the Healer said coldly. 'Wait here, please. Don't move from this spot.'

The green robes swished away, and Remus noted sadly that the lady in the blue robes was gone. The unsteady old chair made for a very melancholy view.

'Why do they do this?' Mother whispered. She sounded very near to tears. 'Why do they ask all these questions? Can't they just look at him and treat him and interrogate us later?'

Father said nothing, and Mother did not seem to expect him to. They sat there, silent, shying from speech as if by doing so they might elude reality itself. Remus had no way of measuring the time that they waited, but it felt like an eternity. He was beginning to shiver now, and the involuntary motion set his muscles afire with pain. He thought longingly of the little room in the Hogwarts hospital wing, with its warm bed and its carefully dimmed lamps. Madam Pomfrey would have had him patched up and fast asleep by now. His four transformations under her care had been so much easier than this…

'Do you mind?' a voice said, thunderously loud and obviously annoyed. 'He's taking up three seats.'

'I mind very much. Now go away and let us alone.' It was Mother who answered, her voice bristling with anger. She so seldom showed her anger. Remus trembled, and he felt her hand descending gently to stroke his head.

He felt suddenly very dizzy, although he was lying still and level. His stomach roiled and rebelled, and he began to retch. He could taste the blood and bile burning its way up his throat and up into his nose and out through his mouth. He was fearful that he would empty the tainted contents of his stomach over his mother's lap, but there were steady hands, turning his head and holding it over a bright tin bedpan. Father's voice murmured something comforting and Mother dabbed at his lips with a rumpled handkerchief, trying to wipe away the sour taste of the sick.

The purging seemed to help a little. Remus found the fog on his senses lifting somewhat. He could almost bring his eyes into focus. Someone else was talking to Father now, asking questions in a low and urgent voice. Mother was growing anxious: her hands kept playing over Remus's face and shoulders as if questing for some useful task to perform. Then a cold female voice said, 'Bring it along and follow me.'

Remus could not stop the whimper of pain as his father picked him up. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,' Father mumbled reflexively, while Mother muttered something about how they couldn't even be bothered to provide a stretcher.

The brightly shining candles in their suspended orbs above burned Remus's eyes and he turned his head in towards his father's shoulder. They moved down a long corridor and then made a sharp turn. Remus felt the grip on his body tightening as his father struggled to carry him up the stairs.

They were ushered into a darkened room, and at their escort's instruction Remus was settled on a hard examining table. The coat was lifted from him and the Healer took out her wand and cut away his worn old play robes. Then with a flick of her wand she conjured a brilliant orb of light that shone down on his torso.

'Stand back and let me take a look,' she said, staring sternly at Mr Lupin. He moved to stand against the wall, but his wife, looking defiant, settled herself by Remus's head and put her hand on his cheek.

There was a squeal of close-fitting dragonhide gloves being donned. The Healer peeled away the wadded bandages and bent to examine the edges of the wound. 'Much deeper and it would have bitten into the cecum,' she said, her voice detached and clinical. 'Eleven years old, you said. How long bitten?'

'Seven years,' said Mother. 'Can you help him?'

'I can close the wound, but there's been a deal of blood loss. You will have to take special care over the next weeks, to see that it's strong enough to undergo the next transformation safely.' She looked Remus sternly in the eyes. 'Don't move now, do you hear me, werewolf? If you do you might lose a good loop of your bowel.'

'You can't speak to my son like that,' Mother said tightly, her voice very low despite the recrimination that filled it. 'You're supposed to help him, not strip away his dignity. If a Muggle doctor behaved the way you are behaving—'

'Then next time take it to a Muggle doctor, and see what they make of a werewolf that mangles its own abdomen,' the Healer said briskly. She planted her left hand firmly on Remus's breastbone and lowered her wand at the wound. 'If you move there is nothing I can do for you,' she told him fiercely.

Terrified, Remus held his breath. When the Healer began to work he clenched his teeth against the burning, tugging anguish in his flank. He wanted to reach for his mother's hand but he was too frightened to even twitch a finger. His eyes ran with tears, but he did not dare to blink.

'There,' the Healer said, sounding quite pleased with herself. 'Quite a neat job. I'd like to see a Muggle doctor do _that._'

Remus exhaled frantically, filling his starved lungs as quickly as he could. His breath came in shallow gasps as his fingers crept to where the wound had been. He could feel a new scar, broad and long and still warm to the touch, just above the crest of his pelvis. His hand fell back onto the table. He was so tired, so unspeakably tired.

Mother made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. 'Thank you!' she said, her righteous indignation washed away on the tides of relief as she stated at the place where the horrible wound had been. 'Thank you!'

'We'll keep it overnight for observation,' said the Healer, scrawling on Remus's chart. 'Tomorrow we can make the determination concerning long-term arrangements.' She moved to the door, pausing on the threshold. 'I'll send in an assistant as soon as there's a bed available. Do not leave this room.'

The Lupins were left alone. Father rummaged in the cupboards that lined the exam room, and managed to find a blanket. Mother rolled up the ruined robes and tucked them under Remus's head, then helped him turn over onto his good side and bent up his knees for support. She covered him carefully with the blanket, slipping an edge between him and the cold surface of the table. Then she brought the stool meant for the Healers up to the head of the table and sat down, crooking one arm around Remus's head and stroking his cheek with the tip of her finger. Mr Lupin, now looking rather ill, retreated to a corner to prop himself against the wall. As Remus lost consciousness he thought he caught sight of his father casting his eyes shamefacedly away.

~_discidium_~

At some point during the long night a place on the ward was found at last and Remus moved to it, but mercifully he slept through the whole process. When he woke up he was lying in a hospital bed in a darkened room. Mother was in a chair at the foot of the bed, but her arms were folded on the mattress and she had fallen asleep with her head resting upon them. Father was nowhere to be seen.

Remus squinted into the darkness. There were six beds in the room: two to his right and three along the opposite wall. The bed in the far corner was separated from the rest of the room by two tall screens. The other four were all occupied, but Remus noticed that they seemed to be holding adults. He felt an uncomfortable pang of uneasiness. He did not like it when they put him in an adult ward; they were bleak and sometimes frightening places. He knew that he was still young enough that he ought to be off among other children. But of course, parents of normal children didn't like it when there was a werewolf on the ward.

He tried to sit up, but he was too weak. He managed to lift his head for a moment before it fell back onto the pillow. He held his breath, hoping that he had not disturbed his mother. She did not move.

Someone else had heard him, though. A young Healer with a very sombre face came around the corner carrying a little glass cup filled with a murky-looking potion. Wordlessly he held it to Remus's lips and the boy drank. Then the Healer took his wrist to feel his pulse.

'I'm just going to check your dressings,' he whispered curtly, folding back the bedclothes and lifting the hem of the hospital gown. Whatever he saw seemed satisfactory, for he quickly tucked Remus in again. 'Back to sleep now; that's the best cure.' A tiny painful grimace crossed his face and he shook his head. 'I mean the best _medicine_.'

Remus's mouth was so dry and his tongue so swollen that he could hardly form the words. 'Please,' he croaked. 'Please may I have some water?'

The Healer nodded grimly and vanished around the corner again. He returned with a mug, and raised the head of the bed so that Remus could sit up to drink. Remus was ungainly in his weakness and his reflexes slow; he spilled a good portion down his front, but managed nonetheless to ease the worst of his thirst.

The Healer pursed his lips. 'Clumsy, aren't we?' he said, rather crossly. Remus stared miserably down at his cold and sopping hospital gown.

'Yes, sir,' he murmured meekly, praying that he would escape this with no worse criticism. He had not heard _that word_ yet, that awful word always so laden with rancour and disgust. If only the young wizard didn't say it_,_ Remus vowed silently that he wouldn't mind shivering in a wet bed all night.

'I suppose it's to be expected,' the man muttered, plucking up the boy's hand and running his thumbs along the quivering sinews. 'How long do the shakes usually last?'

'A-a day or two, sir,' Remus said.

'Hmm.' The Healer was staring at the deep scratch on his palm now, studying the edges of the wound and doubtless imagining just how it had been inflicted. 'Hold still.'

Remus closed his eyes, waiting miserably for another terrifying threat like the one the woman had made after just such instruction. But he felt only a warm pulsing of magic as the gouge was closed. When the Healer released his hold, Remus dared to look at him again.

'Thank you, sir,' he whispered, flexing his fingers and cherishing the absence of pain as he did so.

The dourly turned mouth twitched spastically. '_Aguamenti_,' he said, and the mug was refilled. This time the Healer held it while Remus drank, and only a little water dribbled down, landing with a soft _splat_ upon the wet cloth of his gown.

Remus almost asked if the adult would cast a drying charm for him, but the request died on his sore lips. Madam Pomfrey would have done it already, with some gentle remark about how she didn`t want him to take a chill, but he could not expect this stranger to treat him with that sort of kindness. His fingers clutched at the sodden cloth and he stared down at his lap. He had already been shown more consideration than he had any right to expect.

'Are you hungry?' the Healer offered suddenly, almost impulsively. There was a strange note in his voice. 'You have nothing ordered until breakfast, but I daresay I could scare up something if you wanted it.'

Remus shook his head. He didn't feel well enough to eat anything just now. He was cold and abashed and he longed for sleep.

'All right, then,' said the man, brusque again. 'Back to sleep.'

'_I'm _hungry,' said a hoarse voice from the other side of the room. 'Or do you just feed the ones that are young and pitiable?'

'Of course not, Mr Anslow,' the Healer answered, moving away from Remus's bed and adopting a deliberately tolerant but obviously long-suffering tone. 'I'll see what I can do.'

Remus was half-dozing and trying not to shiver when the wizard returned with a bowl of soup and half a rather dubious-looking half sandwich. The man called Anslow slurped noisily at the former and devoured the latter so quickly that the sounds made Remus's stomach churn with nausea. 'That all I get?' he demanded.

Now the Healer sounded irritated. 'You'll live. Breakfast will be served in six hours' time. Now quiet down and get some rest. I was under the impression that you were _horribly_ injured and needed _days_ to recuperate.'

He moved to the next bed, glancing down at the sleeping patient within. Then he disappeared behind the screen.

Remus`s weary eyes slid over Mother's slumbering head toward the man opposite him. Anslow was sitting up against the bedstead, his eyes glittering in the darkness. 'That your mum there?' he asked. 'Lucky little beggar. Best hold onto her apron strings as long as you can.' He grinned wickedly and Remus realized that he was missing several teeth.

'That's enough,' said the Healer, reappearing from behind the screen. 'If you wake the other patients, Mr Anslow, I'll turn you out on the street quicker than you can say Jack Robinson.'

_Why, he's Muggle-born_, Remus thought, recognizing the idiom. That explained why he was able to look a werewolf in the eye without too much hatred. The thought was oddly comforting, and despite his semi-prone position and the damp nightclothes he let it carry him back to sleep.


	15. Werewolves on the Ward

**Chapter Fifteen: Werewolves on the Ward**

The noise of the breakfast trolley woke Remus up. The ward was not much brighter now than it had been the night before. There was only one dingy window, and most of the light came from the crystal orbs clustered against the high ceiling. The dark panelling and the brown cloth of the screens in the corner gave the room an oppressive feeling. Even the portrait on the wall was grim and foreboding; a nasty-looking wizard scowled down at the beds.

A witch wearing cheery pink robes and a sour expression was serving up the breakfast trays. Anslow was already eating, tearing into a piece of ham like some kind of slavering beast. In the bed next to him sat a wizened old man with an unkempt grey beard. His skin was stretched like paper over his cheekbones and he seemed very frail; his hand shook badly when he reached for his tea. The pink witch disappeared briefly behind the screens, pausing first to don a winning smile, and then brought a tray to the bed in on the far end of Remus's wall.

As her watched her progress he realized abruptly that there was at least one other underage patient: the far bed belonged to a rangy boy perhaps three or four years his senior. He had wild ginger hair that fell to his shoulders, and there was a hard, bitter look in his eyes. He didn't trouble to thank the witch, but snatched up the toast from his tray and held it under his nose, inhaling deeply of its smell. A thin rivulet of spittle ran down his chin as he opened his mouth to take a bite.

The bed next to Remus held a woman. She was not very old – certainly younger than his mother – but she was terribly thin. He could see the blue veins standing out on the back of her hands, and her eyes seemed enormous in her sunken face. She had one leg bandaged from ankle to thigh. The thick dressings made it seem much larger than its emaciated mate. She managed a grateful half-smile as the witch set down her tray.

Lastly the witch came to Remus, setting the bed tray over his lap.

'Thank you, ma'am,' he said, looking down at the food. There was ham and eggs, toast, half of an orange, a small glass of pumpkin juice with no ice, and a little ramekin of porridge without milk or sugar. It didn't seem very appetizing, but then Remus was not especially hungry. His desire to eat abandoned him entirely when he realized that his mother was gone.

'What's the matter with it?' the witch in the pink robes demanded crossly. She gestured at the others, who were all eating rather desperately. 'It's good enough for the rest of them.'

'Where's my mother?' Remus asked anxiously, his voice hoarse with dehydration and anxiety.

The witch wrinkled her nose as if the very notion of a werewolf having a mother was repulsive to her. 'How should I know? Gone home, I expect. Now eat up. I'll be back in half an hour for the tray, and you'll not get any more until lunch.' She pushed her cart around the corner and Remus heard the door of the ward swing closed behind her.

Quick as a flash Mr Anslow was out of his bed and towering over Remus's. 'Give me that,' he said, reaching for the breakfast tray. 'If you won't eat it I will.'

There was a greedy gleam in his eyes. Remus put both hands on the tray to hold it down. He thrust out his chin in what he hoped was a passable imitation of Sirius Black's 'stubborn face'. 'You tell me where my mother went, and you can have my breakfast,' he said as stoutly as he could.

An appreciative grin spread across the man's face, showing his two gaping rows of snaggled teeth. 'So that's your game. Fair trade. She went to get a cup of tea about fifteen minutes ago. Told that snotty Trainee Healer to let you know she'd be back.'

Remus wanted to ask where the Trainee Healer had gone and why he was not on hand to deliver the message, but Anslow's hands were tugging on the tray. He had lived up to his end of the bargain, and Remus was obliged to let the man snatch his breakfast away. Anslow hurried back to his own bed. Remus stared down at his lap while the man tore into his second meal. The harsh, hungry noises were sickening.

The woman in the next bed was watching him sadly, her enormous eyes inscrutable. Remus turned away from her, drawing up his knees despite the twinge in his side. He thought longingly of the secluded little room in the Hogwarts hospital wing.

The ward doors opened again and the young Healer from the night before appeared. His face was weary and the colour of slate, and his expression was grim. He did not even glance at the other patients as he strode down the ward and vanished behind the screens. The barriers provided some protection from prying eyes, but there was no real privacy on an open ward. Remus hear an irate man's voice saying; 'About time you turned up. I demand to be moved to a different bed.'

'Mr Townsend, as I explained to you yesterday there is no other bed available,' the Trainee Healer said patiently. 'This is the Serious Bites ward, and what that Dugbog did to your ankle certainly qualifies as a serious bite.'

'This is the _werewolf_ ward, and I'll not stand for it!' Townsend exclaimed. '_Five_ of them at once? What's the world coming to?'

'It's not uncommon in wintertime.' The Healer sounded very weary. 'When the nights are so long—'

'You don't mean to suggest you're feeling _sorry_ for those degenerates?' Mr Townsend spat. 'I demand to speak to someone in authority immediately. Where's the proper Healer? She seems a sensible sort of witch. I want to speak to her.'

'Healer Selwyn will be back on shift at ten o'clock. You may speak to her then. Until that time, may I suggest that you enjoy your breakfast and try to get some rest?' The young wizard slipped around the screens, though the other man's cross voice followed him.

'Enjoy my breakfast?' he ranted. 'This slop isn't fit for house-elves. If I weren't on a ward full of animals I suppose I could get some decent food as well…'

The Healer moved to the far end of the ward, disappearing out of sight. Remus studied his fellow patients with new eyes, wondering if they had examined him with the same thought in their heads. Five werewolves, he thought; all of them here because they had maimed themselves. His stomach was a pit of misery now, and he was very glad his tray was gone. He could not bear the thought of food.

He was roused from his stupor when the ward door opened and his mother came around the corner. Her hair was in disarray and her frock was rumpled, and a grey hue to her skin betrayed her exhaustion, but to Remus she looked absolutely beautiful. Her face was familiar, after all, and her eyes were kind. Despite his discomfort he smiled as she bent to embrace him with one arm. Her other hand held a pitcher of water. There was an empty mug looped over her thumb.

'Good morning, dearest,' she said, managing to sound almost cheerful. 'Did you sleep well?'

Remus nodded. He was eyeing the water voraciously, having only just become aware of the dreadful searing thirst that threatened to close his throat. Mother poured out a portion and held the mug so that he could drink. His stomach felt oddly distended after he drained the cup, but Remus let his head sink into the lumpy pillow with a small noise of relief.

'Where's Father?' he croaked, brows knitting anxiously together.

'He went home to clean up and to get some sleep,' Mother said. 'He needs to be back in the office tomorrow.' Her eyes grew very grave, and there was pain about her mouth as she added, 'Remus, you know that he didn't mean to leave things to the last minute, don't you?'

Remus nodded. He wanted to say what he had been thinking all along; that he ought to have stayed at school. But that would have hurt Mother terribly. He held his tongue.

'He was held up at work. It wasn't his fault.' Mother's lips twitched unhappily. The state of Mr Lupin's career was never discussed when they though their son could hear, but Remus had cobbled together a more coherent picture than they realized. He knew that his father had once been a promising member of the staff overseeing educational standards for Hogwarts and those families who chose to educate their children in magic at home. At that time he had had his own office, and a secretary, and a good deal of status in the department.

Now he worked on curriculum aids for primary students, writing guides for parents to use when teaching their children to read and write and do basic arithmetic. The work was tedious and thankless, and the pay was poor. Remus did not know precisely what had caused this change in fortune, but he could well imagine. Years of despair and distraction had surely impacted the quality of his work, and with the monthly ordeals of leaving the Ministry early and arriving late – sometimes even missing days when his ministrations at home could not be spared – of course he was no longer the model employee he once had been.

'We'll get you home soon enough, love,' his mother said, placing her hand on the crown of his head. 'Then you can rest up before it's time to go back to school. That will be nice, won't it? To get back to—'

'Hush!' Remus exclaimed, his throat grating painfully against the harsh sound. Here, where they knew that he was a werewolf, they mustn't learn that he was attending Hogwarts – any more than the students at Hogwarts could find out that he was a werewolf. 'D-don't,' he murmured, trying to explain. 'You mustn't…'

His mother looked puzzled and momentarily hurt, but she was too used to his addled post-transformation ramblings to take it much to heart. 'Just try to sleep, love,' she said soothingly, offering him another mugful of water.

~_discidium_~

Remus dozed leadenly for a while, until waking shortly after ten o'clock to the sound of Mr Townsend's upraised voice.

'—werewolf sympathizer, that's what he is! You ought to have a word with him. It's not suitable for a wizard in his position to be taking the part of dangerous Dark creatures over legitimate patients! I demand to speak to someone on the Board of Governors.'

'I understand completely, sir,' said a woman. Remus recognized the voice; it was the Healer who had closed his wound the night before. 'I'm afraid, though, that you wouldn't get much satisfaction from a higher authority today. With the holidays there's only one member of our Board in the hospital today, and he's got rather an odd view of the issue himself.'

'Well, that young upstart is your pupil, and I really think you ought to tell him that this sort of thing just isn't acceptable,' Townsend went on. 'What's his name again? I'll be writing a very stern letter about this…'

There was a rush of motion as a lime-green blur hurried past the foot of Remus's bed.

'Madam Selwyn, I must protest.' It was the young Healer, sounding waspish and agitated. 'The other patients on this ward have a right to rest and try to heal without listening to this kind of… of hateful…'

'I told you to go and get some sleep, Ferrinby,' said the woman. 'You're beginning to look quite deranged.'

The Trainee Healer snorted loudly. 'Deranged? I've been awake for two days straight trying to look after these poor people while you've been telling tales all over the hospital. What about our patients' right to privacy? How dare you discuss their cases with this man? And to say those sort of things where they can _hear_ you… it's ugly and it's unscrupulous and it's just plain _cruel_.'

'Calm yourself,' Selwyn said coldly. 'Go and get some sleep before you throw away your career. These particular patients aren't worth that, believe me.'

'I know they're dangerous,' Ferrinby was saying; 'but they're human too, aren't they? Miss Rendall hasn't had a decent meal in months, and Anslow's so desperate for a warm place to sleep that I think he gored his thigh with a rusty knife, and that sweet little boy who ripped himself almost in half because he—'

'_Silencio!_' Healer Selwyn's incantation echoed to the ceiling. 'Now, I'm aware of the absurd Mudblood notion that we should all just _love_ one another, but really, my boy, you are taking it too far.' Her voice was dripping with scorn. 'I'm going to make allowance for you this time because you're naïve and inexperienced and you've put in a long and difficult shift, but if you _ever_ speak to me in that tone of voice again you will be off my service before the ink dries on my letter of censure. Understood?'

There was a pause, during which the young man presumably gave some indication of his response.

'Fine. Now you will apologize for your lack of professional conduct and go find an on-call room to curl up in.' There was a swishing noise as she reversed the spell.

'I apologize for my lack of professional conduct,' Ferrinby said, his carefully humble tone undercut with resentment. 'I apologize, Mr Townsend. As Healer Selwyn says, I am very inexperienced.'

Remus watched as the young man came around the screen and moved down the ward. He stopped beside the emaciated woman in the next bed. 'I'm sorry you had to hear that, Miss Rendall,' he murmured. Then he tried – and failed – to smile. 'I'll speak to Healer Fitzhenri; he's on the board. I promise he won't let them discharge you until you're above seven stone.'

The woman's grateful smile was a painful rictus that made her head look like a skull. She nodded and gripped the Healer's arm in thanks, but he did not seem able to tolerate her touch for long. He slipped away and left the ward.

As the door closed, Remus heard Mr Townsend muttering; 'He ought to pick his battles more carefully, that one. The way things are going he's liable to get himself into trouble.'

'Quite,' said Healer Selwyn coolly. '_Quite_.'

~_discidium~_

Mother came back around the time the dinner trays were brought. She coaxed Remus to drink half of the tepid beef tea, but he could not manage any of the rest. Mr Anslow in the bed across the way eyed the largely untouched tray with avarice, but seemed reluctant to attempt to wrest it from its rightful owner in Mrs Lupin's presence. After the meal was cleared away, Remus lay on his good side while his mother rubbed his aching shoulders. Healer Selwyn did a brusque round of the ward, doling out unpleasant-tasting potions that turned the stomach and seemed to do nothing at all for the pain. Shortly before tea-time she returned with a burly securitywizard. The boy in the corner was discharged and removed from the ward, muttering sullen Glaswegian insults under his breath as he tugged on ragged Muggle trousers and a pair of navy surplus boots.

The old man spent almost all of his time sleeping, but the woman next to Remus did not seem to doze at all. Whenever he woke from his fitful slumber she was sitting propped up against the bedstead, staring at her skeletal hands. She wore such a look of quiet defeat that Remus could hardly bear to look at her.

Mother slipped away briefly in the afternoon, returning with her hair neatened and her hands washed. The tea tray had arrived, and she tried to help Remus eat. He had no appetite at all now, and the two mouthfuls of buttered bread that he took sat in his stomach like a stone.

'Give me that; you're wasting it!' Anslow said crossly, apparently unable to bear the sight of the untouched food any longer.

Mrs Lupin looked at him oddly. 'I beg your pardon?'

'If the spoilt little bugger doesn't want it, I do,' the man said. 'Give it here.'

Mother frowned. 'How dare you?' she said, her voice suddenly cold. 'My son isn't spoilt; he's ill. If he doesn't eat it's because he can't, and I'll thank you to mind your own business.' She placed a protective hand on the crown of Remus's head.

Anslow sneered. 'If a werewolf can afford to turn his nose up at perfectly good food, he's spoilt,' he said. 'I'd give it over if I were you, woman. You won't always be around to pamper the little anklebiter, and the time will come when he'll be glad of someone else's leavings. Pay it forward while you can.'

What little colour Mother had drained from her face. Her other hand flew to grip Remus's arm, and he could not help cringing as her fingers brushed a sore spot. 'You don't know what you're talking about!' she said breathlessly. 'My son is going to grow up to be a great wizard. He's going to have a brilliant future, and the fact that he's ill won't make a blind bit of difference!'

'Mother, don't…' Remus whispered, but Anslow's bitter laughter drowned his words.

'And who's going to teach him?' he jeered. 'How's a part-human going to get a wand? What about finding work when he's grown? Who's going to hire someone they can't even stand to look at?'

'Leave the poor woman some hope!' It was the emaciated lady in the next bed who spoke. Her voice was hoarse and harsh, as if she was unaccustomed to speaking, and her enormous eyes were tearful. 'God knows it won't last her long.'

From behind the screens came Mr Townsend's voice, loud and angry. 'If you animals don't keep it down out there I'll send for the Werewolf Capture Unit and have the lot of you hauled off to—'

'Quiet down, all of you!' snapped a voice above their heads. It was the unpleasant-looking wizard in the portrait on the wall. 'This is a hospital, not a rout. In all my days I've never seen such outrageous behaviour…' He marched out of the picture, shaking his head as he went.

Mother was on her feet now, snatching up the tray and striding across the ward. 'Take it,' she said tightly. 'Take it, you hateful man, and keep your mouth shut. My son isn't like you; he could never be like you. Don't talk about things you can't possibly understand.'

Anslow favoured her with a vicious glowering stare, but he had what he wanted and he said nothing as he attacked Remus's meal. Mother returned to her chair. She was trembling.

'It isn't true,' she whispered, leaning in to stroke her son's hair. 'Don't mind a word of it, dear heart. It isn't true.'

Remus closed his eyes, trying not to hear the half-starved noises coming from the other bed.

The door to the ward came flying open, and Healer Selwyn strode into the room, her lime-green robes billowing around her.

'What's all this about squabbling on the ward?' she snapped, surveying the four visible patients. Her eyes rested on Anslow. 'You. You malingering piece of half-breed filth. Get your things and go. You're not wanted here.'

A nasty, simpering smile touched the werewolf's craggy face. 'I'm _wounded_, Miss,' he wheedled. 'It's a serious bite and I need to rest. At least three more days, I should say.'

'It's no more a serious bite than I am a goblin,' the Healer said. 'You did it yourself with a rusty knife, so that you'd have a place to stay for a few days. Well, I'm not running a charity here, and your period of grace has expired. _Out._'

She drew her wand and levelled it menacingly at Anslow. Realizing she was quite in earnest, he got out of the bed, gathering up a dingy bundle of clothing from the table beside it. With his free hand he snatched up the remaining sandwich and the apple from Remus's tray. He retreated from the room, shooting a wicked look at Mrs Lupin as he went.

The Healer tucked her wand into her belt again, and turned on Miss Rendall. 'It seems you have friends in high places,' she said coldly, picking up the woman's chart and scrawling something on it. 'I've orders to keep you here until you weigh in at seven stone. I'm starting you on milk and eggs between meals, and I expect you to take them. This isn't a rest home for degenerates.'

She moved to Remus's bed, and without a word drew back the bedclothes. Remus gasped, shocked by the sudden burst of cold air on his bare legs, and scrambled to smooth his hospital gown over his lap. The Healer was examining the bite on his leg now. It had not yet been treated, and it was oozing clear fluid onto the sheets. She jabbed at it with her wand, and there was a warm, palpitating sensation as the skin knit together again. Setting aside the wand, she took hold of his right foot, probing the bones with her thumbs. She did the same with his left, and then touched her wand to his little toe – which was crooked and purple. It straightened with a twisting pulse of pain, but the lurid colour remained.

Remus bit the soft flesh behind his lower lip, determined to endure these indignities in silence. He thought wistfully of Madam Pomfrey, who never touched him without first explaining, gently and sensibly, what she was about to do. The cold, slender hands were moving up his legs now, feeling the muscles and searching for further contusions. She reached his thighs and pulled up his gown unceremoniously. Remus closed his eyes against the burning mortification as she probed his pelvis and checked the new knot of scars on his abdomen. She took his left arm and ran her arm along it, then did the same for his right. She touched the place on his palm where the Trainee Healer had closed a gash the night before. Then she closed her finger and thumb on his chin and tilted his head from side to side.

'Satisfactory,' she said indifferently, releasing her hold and brushing her hands on her robe as if she had touched something distasteful.

Mother leaned forward, wary eyes fixed on the other woman as she struggled to draw the covers back over Remus's lap. 'He needs a bath,' she said softly. 'There's still blood in his hair, and he's sweating with the fever.'

'Strip wash isn't scheduled for this ward until Tuesday,' Selwyn said absently. She was busy making notations. 'It can wait its turn.'

'Then give me a basin and a sponge and I can do it,' said Mother reasonably. 'He never feels quite himself when he's dirty.'

'It's not our policy for visitors to bathe the patients.'

'I don't care about your policy; my son needs a wash!' Mrs Lupin exclaimed.

'No,' Remus whispered, plucking at her sleeve and shaking his head. 'It's all right. I don't mind it. Really.'

Mother looked at him for a long moment, anguish in her eyes. Then she turned back to the Healer. 'Is he well enough to be discharged?' she asked, her voice very strained.

'Discharged? Out of the question. Far too weak.' The Healer set down the chart and studied her fingernails. 'I recommend another five days at least. Quite likely a week.'

'I'd like to take him home,' Mother said carefully. 'I feel he'd heal better in familiar surroundings.'

'Oh, that's how you _feel_, is it?' the Healer scoffed, hooding her eyes and looking down her nose in a most supercilious manner. 'I do beg your pardon. Clearly the _feelings_ of a grubby Muggle housewife carry more weight than the judgment of a highly trained expert in the field of cursed wounds.' She rounded the bed, turning her heels sharply. 'The werewolf stays until it's strong enough to walk, and that's my last word on the matter.'

To punctuate that declaration she swept off of the ward, letting the door swing to behind her.

Mrs Lupin busied herself in straightening the covers, desperately avoiding her son's eyes. 'Remus, I'm sorry,' she said, sounding dangerously near to tears. 'We'll get you out of here as soon as we can. I promise we will.'

'A-a week?' he said tremulously. He did not want to add to her worries, but he could not help voicing his fear. 'I'm meant to go back to school on Saturday.'

She swallowed painfully. 'I know,' she whispered, still staring at the blankets. 'I know. I'm going to Floo your father. Perhaps… perhaps he'll know what to do.'

A lump rose in Remus's throat. He wanted to beg her to stay with him, to implore her not to leave him alone again in this awful place, but he did not. Instead he nodded feebly and turned his head so that his cheek rested on the pillow. The thin woman was still watching him mournfully.

~_discidium_~

Remus woke up to low, grave voices near at hand.

'It isn't usually this terrible,' Mother was saying. 'Most months we can manage at home. It's always worse in winter, but even so…'

'Was there anything unusual going on at home this month?' It was the voice of the Trainee Healer, Ferrinby; low and businesslike. 'Any arguments? Anything that might have caused undue emotional strain before the transformation?'

'That was my fault.' Father scarcely muttered the words. He sounded exhausted, defeated – and so awfully ashamed. 'I was held up at the office. I very nearly didn't get home in time. He likes to have a while to himself in the cellar, to – to prepare. He must have been terribly distressed when the change came.'

'Well, I'm afraid it's an established fact that distress in the human leads to agitation in the wolf, and the most natural outlet for that agitation is violence.' Ferrinby sighed. 'But Healer Selwyn is right about one thing at least; he needs bed rest, and he needs constant care.'

'He's got a bed at home,' Mother said. 'And we'll give him constant care.'

'And medication,' the Healer added. 'I'm sorry to put it this way, Mrs Lupin, but the potions he needs to recover his strength are frightfully expensive, and if you had them made up at an apothecary they would run to – well, a good deal more than _I've_ got in housekeeping money. If he stays here a few more days the hospital will carry the costs.'

'What about the other things he needs?' Mother demanded. 'Things like gentle nursing and kind words and a place to sleep in peace without horrible hags spouting off hateful dogma and grown patients telling him he's going to grow up to be a beggar. He can't get those things here. That woman wouldn't even let me bathe him!'

'I'm sorry about that.' The young Healer's voice was weary but earnest. 'Of course I'll make arrangements to have things brought for a wash. I'll do it for him myself if you wish. But he's not well enough to leave the hospital.'

'Two of the others have been discharged,' Father argued.

'They weren't wounded half so severely,' said the Healer. 'Mr Lupin, I implore you; if you take him home like this he may not be strong enough to endure the next transformation. He needs a Healer's care.'

'He'll get a Healer's care,' Father said. 'You give us the list of potions he needs; we'll see that he gets them, too. He's not staying here another day.'

Remus opened his eyes. The three adults were shadowy shapes at the foot of his bed. 'M-Mother?' he whispered.

She was at his side in an instant, stroking the back of his hand and stooping to meet his eyes. She looked haggard and exhausted, but she smiled for him. 'What is it, dear heart?' she asked softly.

'It's all right,' he mumbled. 'I c-can stay. If my medicine is too expensive, I can stay here.'

'Oh, Remus, this isn't about money!' she exhaled. She pressed her lips to his forehead. 'We're taking you home just as soon as this gentleman agrees to sign off on the discharge.'

'I haven't the authority to sign off on the discharge, ma'am,' said Ferrinby contritely. 'I'm still in training; everything I do has to go through Healer Selwyn and she'll never approve it while he's in this condition.'

'Then we'll sign him out without her approval,' Father said. 'Just get us the forms. He's going home at once.'

Ferrinby sighed heavily. 'I'll write up a list of the potions you'll need,' he said. 'If you tell me who your regular Healer is, I'll send his records by owl first thing in the morning.'

'He's under the care of Poppy Pomfrey,' said Father with remarkable calm. 'At Hogwarts.'

The young Healer gaped. 'At…' He stared at Remus. 'A _werewolf_ at Hogwarts?'

'That information is given to you in the strictest confidence.' Father had never sounded so stern. 'You will not record that in his files, and you will not divulge it to anyone else – especially not Healer Selwyn. Do you understand me?'

'Y-yes, but…' The wizard shook himself and cleared his throat. 'At least he'll be in good hands,' he said quietly. 'Madam Pomfrey is among the very best.'

'We know,' Father said, in a voice that clearly implied the St Mungo's staff were not up to her standard.

'I'll… I'll send the documentation in the morning. And I promise I won't… does the Headmaster know?' Ferrinby still sounded flabbergasted.

'Did you study under Albus Dumbledore?' asked Father. The young man nodded. 'Do you really think there's anything transpires at that school that he does _not_ know?'

'I'll go and get the forms,' Ferrinby murmured, slipping away and vanishing around the corner.

~_discidium_~

Remus drifted in that nebulous realm between sleep and consciousness. He was in his father's arms, Mother's coat wrapped around his body in place of the ruined robes he had worn to the hospital. The wool was itchy against his bare skin. He was terribly thirsty, but it seemed too much effort to raise his head and ask for water.

They were waiting in the queue for the outgoing fireplace. The shift had just changed, and there were many hospital employees heading home for the night. Remus could hear the droning of their voices somewhere off to his right. His left ear was resting on his father's breastbone, and the low beating of his heart was very soothing.

Mother approached, one fist curled around a roll of parchment. 'These are the things he says we ought to have,' she said quietly. 'He said our local apothecary likely won't have all the ingredients; you'll have to go to Diagon Alley in the morning. What will you tell them at the Ministry? And how will we possibly—'

'We'll get him what he needs, Dorothy. I'll go tonight,' Father murmured, flattening his chin against his shoulder so that he could see his son's face. He rocked a little, unaware of how the ordinarily comforting motion churned Remus's stomach. 'Just as soon as he's back in his own bed.'

'Where?' Mother asked. 'At this hour, on a Sunday…'

'There are places in London. I'll find someone.' Father sounded grimly determined. His hold on Remus tightened.

'I knew we never should have come here,' Mother whispered after a moment. 'It's appalling, Ross. That horrible woman…'

'She has no pity. She's a Selwyn. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Just like…' He paused, but apparently decided that Remus was sleeping, because he continued, very softly. '…just like that boy he's made friends with.'

'The one who sent the trick teacup and the sweets? I've been thinking all week how thoughtful he must be.'

'Not him. The Black boy,' said Father. 'His breed is trouble. Arcturus Black has half the Ministry in his pocket. They're stinking rich and they do everything they can to maintain the old blood traditions.' Remus could hear his father's heart hammering loudly against his ear. 'I do wish Remus might have imprinted himself onto someone less dangerous.'

Mother made a sound that might have been an uneasy laugh. 'Ross, Sirius Black is just a little boy, and we've heard nothing but good about him for two weeks. Surely he can't be a danger to Remus.'

'Not now, perhaps,' Father said bleakly, shifting his arms to tighten his grip on the deadweight within them. 'But I hate to think what will happen if he ever figures it out.'

'Next,' said the bored-sounding wizard who was ushering departing patients through the fireplace. 'Discharge form?'

Mother produced it.

'Two adults, one child, two trips through – I'm assuming the lad's not up to going on his own? No, I thought not. Looks like he ought to be upstairs in bed. Two pinches of powder, six Knuts.'

Mother counted out the money carefully.

'Speak loudly and clearly, keep your limbs tucked in, and see you don't drop that boy,' the man said in an automatic voice. 'Thank you for visiting St Mungo's. Please stay well and don't hurry back.'

There was a horrible centrifugal force as Remus felt himself begin to spin. His father gripped him tightly, whirling with him. Something knocked against his foot and he stiffened a little. His head was a hurtling mass of pain and nausea, and he felt his empty stomach churning. Just when he was certain that he could bear no more, Father took a swift step forward and the world swung to a halt.

'Hardly a way to travel with a sick child,' Mother gasped as she climbed out of the fire after them. A cool hand felt Remus's brow. 'I'll get him to bed, Ross. You need to go out and find those medicines.'

'Don't be foolish; you'll never get him upstairs,' Father told her. Remus gritted his teeth against the dreadful concussing that marked the ascent to the bedroom. His head flopped to the right as he was lowered onto his mattress. He could feel gentle hands easing him out of the sooty coat and into a clean nightshirt.

'Remus?' Mother had a warm, damp cloth in her hand and she was bathing his face. 'Remus, can you hear me?'

He opened his eyes just enough that he could see the blur of her dark silhouette against the light at the top of the stairs. He was too weary to nod, but he flicked his tongue against his lower lip.

She seemed to understand. A teaspoon – an ordinary steel one – was tipped against his teeth, and a dribble of water slid into his mouth. This way he didn't need to be lifted up off of the pillow to drink. She offered him water again and again until he used his tongue to push the spoon away, indicating that his thirst was satisfied. He was so tired. Exhaustion clawed at his chest and seemed intent on closing his throat. He surrendered silently to it.


	16. The Terror of Discovery

**Chapter Sixteen: The Terror of Discovery**

Remus spent all the rest of that week in bed. It was afternoon on his third day at home before he was strong enough ever to totter from his room to the toilet and back without assistance. He read his Christmas book, and worked ahead in Transfiguration and Charms. He slept fitfully, his dreams haunted with queer disjointed images from his hospital stay and his father's dreadful words about Sirius. And as his convalescence dragged on he became terrified that he would prove be too weak and ill to go back to Hogwarts with everyone else.

On Saturday morning, however, Mother came to wake him at nine o'clock. She helped him into his school robes and took the stairs one step ahead of him, lest he should stumble. Determined to prove himself well and able for the journey, Remus placed his feet very carefully and made it down to the kitchen table without mishap.

Father was seated already, poking absentmindedly at the crossword in the _Prophet_. He smiled warmly when Remus took his usual chair. The ghosts of the full moon were gone from his eyes; Remus knew he was seeing only his son again, instead of the monster. 'Are you ready to go back to school?' he asked.

'Yes, please,' Remus said. His voice was still a little hoarse, and he drained his waiting glass of water before starting on his eggs. He glanced at the clock. 'We'll never get to London on time,' he said worriedly.

'You and I will be Apparating to King's Cross; neither you nor your mother are up for another drive across the country,' Father said. He cast a worried glance at his wife.

Mother filled Remus's glass again before she sat down. There were great dark circles beneath her eyes, and she seemed thinner than before. Remus studied his plate. She had done nothing but fret over him for days. At least when he was gone she would be able to get a proper night's sleep.

'I've packed all your new things,' she said with gentle cheer. 'I wasn't sure whether you'd want the puzzle at school, but you could take it out if you don't. It's right on top.'

'I'd like to take it,' Remus said. Mother looked pleased. He suspected it was she who had chosen that particular gift. 'Madam Pomfrey prefers me to keep busy with quiet things while I'm…' He stopped short. Both of his parents were watching him intently, searching his face for something. '…while I'm meant to be resting,' he finished awkwardly.

'Speaking of Madam Pomfrey, she's written me back,' Mother said, nodding at an envelope affixed to the icebox. Her voice wavered a little, but she managed a tiny smile. 'She wants you to check in just as soon as you arrive. Will you do that, dearest? Just to be sure that everything is healing as it should.'

Remus nodded unhappily. He was certain that no other student, in all the long history of Hogwarts, had ever been snatched right off the train and hauled away to the hospital wing for a checking-over. How could he possibly explain it to James and Sirius?

When breakfast was eaten Father went out into the back garden while Mother and Remus said their goodbyes. He was waiting when Remus, wrapped up in his cloak and wearing his new hat gloves with his scarf tied under his chin, came out to join him.

'Both hands,' Father said, relieving him of his satchel and offering his left arm for Remus to hold. 'It's a good job you didn't bring your whole trunk home. Hold tight, and we'll go on three. One, two, three…'

Remus let the air out of his lungs in a long, slow breath as he was squeezed after his father into the ether. They emerged with a pop in a grimy grey room that appeared to be some sort of disused lavatory. For a moment Remus was afraid they had wound up at the wrong location, but his father pushed open the door and the busy vault of King's Cross Station appeared before them.

They walked to Platform Ten as quickly as Remus could manage. His side still ached when he walked, the deep scar tissue tugging against the motion. But he ignored the discomfort and hurried. It was after half past ten, and anyhow Muggles were staring at them. Remus feared that the cause of this attention went beyond their clothing: their cloaks did not look so terribly different from the long, full coats some of the Muggle men wore against the winter damp, and their mufflers and woolly hats were Muggle-made. He wondered nervously how many of the strangers were pausing to gawk at the thin, sickly-looking child with the sunken eyes.

His fears seemed confirmed when they passed through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and a startled voice piped up, 'Remus! Look at you!'

Remus froze and felt his father stiffen beside him as Peter Pettigrew came scurrying up. His small eyes were wide in his round face, and his jaw was slack. Remus tried to grope for a lie, but he could not find one. Not with his father watching.

'Look at _you_!' Peter said again, and suddenly Remus realized that he was smiling and clapping his hands in delight. 'Gryffindor colours! Oh, I wish my mum knew how to knit!'

Remus let out a nervous sound that he hoped resembled a laugh, and touched the turned-up edge of his woolly hat. 'They're nice, aren't they?' he said shyly. 'Did you have a nice Christmas?'

'Really super,' Peter said, nodding vigorously. 'All the cousins came down from Birmingham and we had a grand dinner on Christmas Day. And for New Year's we went down to the village green to watch the firecrackers. I got loads of new things – but not a Gryffindor hat like yours – and Mum and Dad even bought me some chessmen! They're pewter, too; a really good set!' His brow wrinkled. 'D'you think James or Sirius might play with me sometime?'

'I don't see why not,' Remus said, hoping he spoke truthfully. 'If they don't I maybe could borrow Sirius's set.' He was quite good at chess, having been taught by his mother. As his father did not play, however, he had never used wizarding pieces.

Peter's smile widened enormously. 'They're in the last compartment already,' he said with a conspiratorial glance at the waiting train. 'I wanted to wait for you, because… well…'

Remus felt a knot forming in his stomach. Because Peter was nervous to be alone with James and Sirius. Despite his dumbfounded admiration of the two dark-haired boys, he had not forgotten what Sirius had put him through while James laughed. Peter was looking rather ashamed now, and Remus wanted to say something to alleviate his embarrassment. 'Because three's a crowd, of course,' he said. 'We'll go right away.'

He hesitated, turning back to his father. 'I really ought to go,' he said quietly.

Mr Lupin nodded. His eyes were bright and he looked almost happy. 'Run along and have fun,' he said. 'Remember what your mother said.'

'As soon as I get to school,' Remus pledged, hoping his father would not say anything about Madam Pomfrey or the hospital wing. He hastily hugged the man and took his satchel. 'Goodbye?'

'Goodbye,' said Father. Then Peter was tugging on his hand and Remus let himself be led away towards the Hogwarts Express.

There was a commotion in the corridor; a couple of fifth years were scuffling over their baggage. But the two first years reached the last compartment without a great deal of difficulty. Remus paused before reaching for the door, uncertain whether he had the strength to slide it open without struggling like an invalid. Just as he managed to screw up the courage to try, the door flew aside with the speed of a diving falcon.

'Remus!' Sirius Black roared, clapping him on the back with such force that the smaller boy stumbled forward into the compartment. 'Happy New Year! Oh, hallo, Pettigrew,' he said almost as an afterthought. Peter smiled eagerly and sat down on the seat next to James.

'Good Christmas?' asked the bespectacled boy, grinning enormously. He was still wearing his Muggle clothes, and he looked very well-tended and relaxed as he leaned with one foot up on the seat.

'Wonderful!' Peter said eagerly, although James was looking at Remus. 'I got some chessmen – really good ones. Maybe we could play?'

'Not on the train,' James said airily; 'I left mine at Hogwarts. You'll have to remind me that I owe you a match.'

Peter almost swallowed his tongue as his whole face lit up with amazement and glee. Remus glanced at James, who did not seem to have any idea how much this promise meant to the other boy. Then he turned to the luggage rack, suddenly seized by the problem of hoisting his overfilled bag onto it when he still could not lift his arms over his head.

'Aren't you _hot_?' Sirius asked incredulously, plucking Remus's knitted hat from his head and holding it up by its bobble. 'Mummy Lupin's handiwork?'

Remus watched warily over his shoulder as his treasured new hat bounced to and fro out of his reach. 'Y-yes,' he said, waiting to be mocked.

'Lucky git,' Sirius said, tossing it up onto the luggage rack and wresting Remus's bag from him so that it, too, could be stowed. 'You wouldn't catch my mother dead with a pair of knitting needles, much less wool in Gryffindor red.' He snapped his fingers and Remus looked blankly at him. 'Your scarf,' he said. 'As soon as this thing gets moving you're going to be sweated out of it anyway.'

Remus unwound his muffler and let Sirius put it up with the baggage. He took the seat by the window, across from James. Sirius glanced at Peter, who was sitting next to Potter, but did not issue the expected command to clear off. Instead he flopped down on the seat next Remus, rolling his eyes over his shoulder to look at him.

'Don't look like you slept a wink the whole holiday,' he said, his jollity sounding somewhat forced. 'D'you Cornish types get up to wild Yuletide parties or something?'

'How's your mum?' James asked, the very picture of earnest concern.

'She… she's tired, too,' Remus said. It wasn't a lie, he thought nervously, remembering her face at breakfast that morning. His stomach lurched sickeningly, and for a moment he was certain it was his conscience. Then he realized the true cause; the train had just jerked forward, gaining speed as it rolled down the track.

'Aw, I promised I'd wave,' James grumbled, getting to his feet and pressing his nose against the glass. He waggled his hand; out on the platform the distinguished-looking wizard and his wife were blowing kisses and beaming delightedly.

Remus caught sight of his father, standing near the barrier and watching wistfully as the Express pulled out of the station. He raised his hand to wave, but it was too late. They were out in the open now, King's Cross vanishing behind them.

'Well, what did everybody get for Christmas?' James asked, sitting back down and interlacing his fingers behind his head. 'Pettigrew… chess set, you said.'

Peter nodded eagerly, needing no further prompting to launch into the inventory of his gifts. James cocked a polite ear, but he was fidgeting with his wand and did not seem terribly interested. Sirius made no attempt to hide his boredom. When Peter reached the end of his list of new toys, games and sundries, James looked expectantly at Remus.

'Thank you for the biting teacup,' he said, anxious not to seem ungrateful. 'And the Peppermint Toads. They were lovely.' In truth, he had them stowed at the bottom of his satchel, as yet untouched. His stomach could only just cope with eggs and toast and milk porridge again; leaping sweets were out of the question. 'Thank you, Sirius,' he said, turning to his right.

'Huh?' Sirius sat up with a snort, looking around the compartment as if he had just popped out of the wrong fireplace. 'Oh. The teacup. Right. Have to think of a good use for it.'

'I'm sorry I haven't anything to give you,' Remus said, suddenly realizing with a rush of remorse that it had not even occurred to him to spend his Christmas Galleon – now tucked safely in a drawer at home – on gifts for his friends. That he had been in no position to do any shopping over the holidays seemed a poor excuse.

'No worries on that score,' James said contentedly. 'Pretty sure I've got half the stock from Diagon Alley holed up in my room back home. Dad bought me this really _brilliant_ set of scales – quick-taring, self-filling, Vanish your leftovers – but of course Slughorn would have a fit if I used them in class. Oh! Any of you ever seen a Sneakoscope? Mum made me leave it at home. I guess she thought it might get distracting. What was your best present?'

They would not understand, Remus knew, if he told them about the wonderful new book or the shoes that didn't crowd his toes. 'My Gryffindor scarf,' he said quietly, with a half-glance at Peter, who had made such a fuss over it.

This answer earned him a broad, approving smile from James. 'Now you can cheer on the Quidditch team in style,' he said enthusiastically. 'They're playing Hufflepuff next weekend. I hope Friessen had a good long cry over the holidays and decided to move on. Lovesick Chasers are no use to anybody.'

When no rousing agreement came from Sirius, who was slumping in his seat with his chin on his chest, James narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. 'Oi, Black!' he said. 'You awake?'

'Wha?' Sirius sat up straight, scrubbing at his jaw with one hand. 'Well, I am _now_,' he said, mildly irate. 'Whaddaya want?'

James shrugged. 'Nothing much,' he said. 'Just wondering whether you'd died or something.'

'No. No, I didn't die.' Sirius stretched out on the seat, lying down with his face to the cushions and tucking both arms under his head. ''M just knackered.' He nudged Remus's leg with the toe of his right shoe. 'Not unlike _you_.'

'You do look awfully played out,' James said sympathetically, addressing Remus as well. 'You want me to chuck him onto the floor so you can have the seat?'

'No, of course not,' Remus said, eyeing Sirius – who seemed to be fast asleep already. He moved a little nearer to the window so that his friend didn't need to curl up quite so tightly, and rested his head on the cool glass. The countryside was flashing past in hues of grey and brown. Drizzling rain beat upon the windows as the train sped north. The weather was miserable; a stark contrast to the sunny day in September when he had sat in this same compartment paralyzed with fear. Now he felt eager to be going back to school, safe and happy amid his dormitory-mates. Even Sirius Black's foot, which had somehow found its way onto his lap, served to make him feel welcome and wanted. The memory of the dreadful hospital stay and his painful recovery seemed dulled somewhat. Remus let his eyelids droop, drowsy calm overtaking him.

Still he could not help but wonder whether James was studying the hollows in his face and wondering what, exactly, had so robbed him of his strength…

~_discidium_~

Remus watched as Madam Pomfrey poured arnica spirits onto a wad of gauze and blotted at the horrible, knotted scar on his stomach. 'Sloppy work,' she was muttering. 'Careless. Could've done it better half asleep, hanging upside-down from a clocktower, with Peeves tickling the soles of my feet! Shameful what passes for standard of care these days.'

She looked at him and smiled sadly. 'We'll do our best to set it right, dear, but I'm afraid it will never look quite the same again. Why didn't your mother insist you see a decent Healer?'

'I don't think she knew any better, ma'am,' Remus said softly. 'And it took all day just to see the one we did.'

'Disgraceful.' Madam Pomfrey pulled down his school robes, smoothing them neatly for him. 'Lean forward, Remus, and let me check your head. I don't suppose she bothered to do that either, did she?'

'No,' Remus whispered as the kind, capable fingers probed his hair, checking the alignment of the plates of his skull. It was so different, being examined by Madam Pomfrey. She seemed to understand how humiliating all of the poking and prodding could be, and she did her best to make it seem easy and natural. And she cared whether he lived or died. She truly cared.

'Well, thankfully everything is where it should be. What about the other wounds?' She turned from the bed and began to measure out doses from several dark vials.

'She fixed the worst of them,' Remus mumbled. 'The others Father put right after we got home.'

Madam Pomfrey's lips jerked angrily, but she schooled her features. 'All right, then,' she said, handing him the first little cup. 'This one is to help with the pain. I daresay that wound's still smarting.'

Remus drank. It was the same horrible concoction he had been given in the hospital, but this one seemed to have an effect almost at once. The ache in his side dulled, and his stiff shoulders no longer twinged.

'This one is to help you replace all that lost blood,' Madam said, offering him another. 'And this one will work on that scar. I'm going to give you a liniment too, and I want you to use it morning and night. Rub it in thoroughly and wash your hands after you do. You don't want to be getting it in your eyes.'

'Yes, Madam,' Remus murmured.

She regarded him pensively. 'What's troubling you?' she asked. When he tried to look away she crooked her knuckle against his cheek and bent to find his eyes. 'Remus? What's wrong?'

He had tried so hard to bear it silently. He had managed, somehow, to keep from hefting the burden of his terror onto his mother. He had kept his mouth stalwartly closed in his father's presence, reluctant to drive home once more the horrible reality of his situation. But the gentle concern in the matron's voice was his undoing. Before Remus was even aware that he had begun, the whole sordid tale was pouring out in a flood of tears: the Healer's harsh words, Mr Townsend's complaints, Anslow and his scavenging, and the lady in the next bed with her great, sad eyes.

'And she was so _thin_!' he sobbed, gesticulating helplessly as he tried to explain. At some point Madam Pomfrey had got up on the bed beside him, and she was holding him, one arm curled around his shaking shoulders and the other hand gently stroking his hair. 'A-and she kept _looking _at me. Why did she do that? Why did she look at me like that?'

Madam Pomfrey did not answer straight away. She held him close, rocking gently and petting his head until the spasms of bewilderment and grief faded into hiccoughs and Remus began rummaging for his handkerchief.

'I expect it made her sad to see you like that, so very hurt and weak. She was quite likely worried about you, knowing they weren't looking after you as they ought,' she said at last, letting him withdraw a little from her embrace.

'But no one looked after her, either,' Remus protested. 'And she was so thin… why couldn't she get food? Why didn't anybody feed her?'

Madam Pomfrey sighed unhappily. 'I don't know, Remus dear. It's a hard world for some.'

'And Mr Anslow said…' Remus hung his head. It seemed appallingly selfish to think about himself when he compared his own situation to that of the lady at St Mungo's, but he could not help himself. 'He said it would happen to me, too; that one day I'd be glad of… and he said th-that my mother wouldn't always be around to look after me.'

'That last bit's true at least,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'No one has their mother to look after them forever. Someday she'll be gone, but long before that happens we'll have you educated and grown and quite capable of looking after yourself.'

Remus sniffled. 'Truly?' he asked.

'Of course!' Madam Pomfrey was smiling now, and she squeezed his arm encouragingly. 'Why else do you think we've gone to all this trouble to get you to Hogwarts? When the time comes that you need to do for yourself you'll be a fully-qualified wizard with a load of first-class NEWTs under your belt and a letter of recommend from Albus Dumbledore himself. You'll not be turned loose on the world until you're ready to make your way in it.'

Looking at her sweet, earnest face Remus found it easy to imagine the bright and wonderful future she could see for him. Daring to believe in it was harder, but for now it was enough just to know that someone did.

'Why don't you wash your face and run along now, dear?' Madam Pomfrey said. 'You mustn't miss supper; we need to feed you up. I'll have the liniment sent up to your dormitory,' she added before he could ask.

Remus thanked her and took his leave, making his way slowly towards the Great Hall and scrambling for some plausible excuse to offer his friends when they asked where he had gone.

~_discidium_~

Sirius Black's eyes narrowed in that inexorable way that meant he did not believe a word of what he was hearing.

`No one, but _no one_ gores themselves on a lamppost,' he growled.

Remus took a step backward, clutching at his side where the new scars dug their aching tentacles deep into his abdomen. 'I-I slipped,' he stammered. 'I'm s-so clumsy…'

'No one,' Sirius snarled; 'but _no one_ is as clumsy as all that.'

'It wasn't a lamppost, it was a gatepost…' he tried. 'I was climbing it and I slipped—'

'Liar!'

The grey eyes were flashing with wrath, and Sirius advanced like a wild dog closing in on its prey. Remus felt his knees tremble, threatening to buckle beneath him. He took another tremulous retreating step, and his whole body jarred as he backed into the statue of the one-eyed witch.

'There was a dragon in the alleyway,' Remus said desperately. 'An explosion. A lorry crash. I ran. I wasn't minding where I was going—'

'_Liar!_'

Remus could feel his heart hammering in his chest now. His eyes slid to his left, searching for some means of escape. Sirius was closing in on him now, arms outstretched menacingly. He seemed so much taller than usual, his rage lending him a new and terrible height. His dark hair seemed to float against the gloom of the corridor. His teeth were bared.

Hot tears spilled from Remus's eyes, coursing down his face in thick rivulets. 'I got caught in a hedge,' he peeped, the words coming very fast indeed. 'I fell down the stairs. There was a broken bottle and… and I did it with a rusty knife!'

'_LIAR_!'

'There was a man with a crossbow running down our street—'

Sirius's eyes glittered. His lip twisted horribly. 'Tell the truth,' he cooed in a false, saccharine voice.

'I was attacked by a lynx in Kimberly Park…'

Sirius shook his head. 'You did it yourself.'

'W-with a knife,' Remus tried frantically. 'I told you that.'

'With your _teeth_…'

'I was sleepwalking—'

'With your _fangs_…'

'I was hungry—'

'You're a _werewolf_!'

He lunged, hissing through clenched teeth. Just before his grasping hands could close on Remus's throat, the smaller boy darted to the right. Sirius collided with the statue and staggered backward, clutching at his nose. Blood was pouring over his fingers and his eyes blazed with hatred.

Remus began to back away, trying to force himself to run but finding it impossible to turn his back on the horrible spectacle that had once been his friend. Sirius strode towards him, slowly removing his hand from his face and shaking it purposefully. Droplets of crimson fluid spattered the walls and the floor and the front of his robes. A carmine river was pouring from his nostrils, bearding him in blood.

'_Werewolf_,' he growled.

Remus overbalanced and landed hard on his tailbone, feet scrabbling against the floor as he tried to scuttle backward. The pain shot up from his side again, blinding him.

'Beast. Monster. Lying half-breed.' The words spilled out, a vitriolic litany of hate. 'Vile, stinking creature of Darkness. _Werewolf_.'

He sprang, leaping into a run with his fingers outstretched in anticipation of a strangling grasp. Somehow, incredibly, Remus found his feet. He ran, his new shoes squeaking against the floor of the corridor. He took a corner so quickly that he almost careened into a suit of armour. A portrait on the wall – a little girl wearing a doublet and ruff – screamed shrilly as he passed. He reached the staircase and thundered down, a shivering chill coursing up his spine as he ran right through the Bloody Baron.

'Knave! Ignorant recreant!' the ghost roared. 'Black! _Black_! He went this way!'

He could hear Sirius on the stairs behind him, breath coming in thick and angry pants. Remus leapt down the last three steps, tearing up the corridor as swiftly as his shaking legs would carry him. There was a stitch in his side now, just beneath the new wound. Remus could scarcely breathe. He staggered past Professor Alfstin's office and ducked into another stairwell.

'Werewolf!' Sirius roared. He was just behind Remus now, his breath hot on the back of the smaller boy's neck. He seized Remus's sleeve, tearing the black cloth. Remus tried to wrench away. His foot slipped on the top of the great staircase and he tumbled down the dozens of steps, landing in a heap on the floor of the Entrance Hall.

'_WEREWOLF_!'

Sirius's voice seemed magnified many times its natural volume. It echoed through the vaulted chamber, resonating off the walls. Remus pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, raising his head and casting frantically about. The Entrance Hall was filled with students, all of them pressed against the walls to form a great ring around him. Their hostile faces exuded hatred and disgust. Most had their wands drawn, and one – the Slytherin prefect with the long pale hair – was brandishing a wicked-looking horsewhip.

Desperately, Remus tried to clamber to his feet. He trod upon the hem of his robes, and heard the fabric ripping again. He clutched them up about his knees and tried again, but the smooth stone floor had turned to pebbles beneath his feet – his bare feet? – and he slipped, splaying out his hands to stop his fall.

There was someone drawing near him now; costly dark shoes peeking from beneath black school robes. Remus hunched like a dog expecting a beating, turning his head to one side so that he could look up at this new threat.

'J-James!' he stammered, his ribs inundated with a hot flood of relief. 'James, help me. Don't let them hurt me…'

'Werewolf.' Sirius was coming down the stairs now, strolling lazily with his wand drawn. 'Werewolf!'

'J-James, please!' Remus sobbed, clutching at the hem of the other boy's robes with fingers that were slippery with blood. '_Please…_'

The round spectacles glinted and James smiled – a horrible, hateful smile that seemed to transform his whole face. He squatted down, head cocked to the left as he leered at Remus, still cringing wretchedly at his feet.

'_Werewolf_,' he hissed.

'No!' Remus wailed. 'No, James, _please…_'

Sirius Black's hands closed on his throat at last, fingers digging into the sinews, cutting off the flow in his jugular vein. Remus let out a harsh, strangled scream that shook the very foundations of the castle.

~_discidium_~

'Cor blimey!'

'Bloody hell!'

Remus launched himself forward over his knees, clutching at his chest and struggling desperately for air. He could feel the racing of his pulse behind his eyes, and his nightshirt was drenched in sweat. Disoriented and still trapped in the throes of the night terror, Remus let out another smothered cry as the draperies to his right and his left were pulled aside at exactly the same instant.

'Hey, are you all right?' A hand closed on his right elbow and Remus shrank away, kicking blindly in the direction of his attacker. He would have propelled himself backward off the bed, but long arms grabbed him.

'Remus!' It was Sirius's voice, close in his ear. It was anxious, urgent. Remus tried to wrench himself free, but the other boy had an arm across his chest now, pulling him into a tight hold. 'Remus, wake up! It's only a dream!'

'Sodding nightmare, more like,' James muttered. His hands closed on Remus's flailing ankles, holding his legs still.

Remus struggled for a moment, but then went limp, his weight sagging backward against Sirius. 'That's it,' the familiar, bracing voice said into his hair. 'Just take a deep breath and let yourself wake up.'

He drew several shallow, ragged inhalations, his left hand clutching reflexively at the arm pressed over his ribs. He was in the dormitory, he realized belatedly. It was his first night back at Hogwarts after Christmas. No one had asked where he had disappeared to before the evening feast. No one had guessed that he'd gone to see Madam Pomfrey. No one knew about the new scar on his belly. No one _knew_.

'That's it,' Sirius said soothingly. James released his hold on Remus's legs. 'There we are. Just a bad dream.'

Remus nodded convulsively, still unable to sit himself up. The frenetic staccato of his heart was slowing now into a disjointed thumping in his chest. 'A dream…' he gasped.

'That's right, yeah.' Sirius let go of him, hefting his body forward a little so that Remus was no longer propped against him. The taller boy crooked up his knee and settled on the edge of the bed behind Remus. One palm traced a broad, consoling circle on his damp back.

'D'you want to talk about it?' James asked kindly, climbing up to sit cross-legged amid the disarrayed bedclothes.

Fresh terror seized Remus. 'Did I say anything?' he asked anxiously. 'Was I talking in my sleep?'

'All I heard was a dirty great scream,' Sirius said. 'Were you being eaten by a dragon or something?'

'I had a dream once where I was swallowed whole by a tiger,' mused James. 'It tickled.'

'It was nothing,' Remus said. 'I was running and I fell… I fell down some stairs…'

'Ah. The falling dream.' Sirius nodded wisely. 'I know it well.'

Remus scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to drive back the images. His cheeks were slick with tears, and he attempted to wipe them on his sleeve. His nightshirt was sticking to his arms and his spine. He began to shiver.

'You're soaking wet, mate,' said Sirius, getting up and moving to the cupboard. He returned with Remus's spare nightclothes. 'Let's get you changed.'

'No!' Remus cried as the other boy took hold of his garment and tried to lift it over his head. He scrambled up onto his pillow, pressing himself against the headboard. 'No, don't touch me!'

Sirius's silhouette drew back half a pace. 'All right,' he said, sounding rather hurt. 'I was just trying to help.'

'I know,' Remus said miserably, clutching at the other nightshirt and tugging it up by his ankle. 'I know that.'

James had moved back towards his own bed. '_Lumos_,' he said, and his wand began to glow. It illuminated the tangled bedclothes and the red-eyed boy huddled on top of the cushions. Remus glanced down at his legs and tugged the hem of his nightshirt to cover his ankles.

'D'you want a glass of water or something?' Sirius asked. His highborn features were etched with helpless distress. 'Should we go and get a teacher?'

Remus shook his head frantically. His panic was subsiding now, but in its wake came nauseating humiliation. He kept his eyes fixed on his lap, wishing with all his heart that he could sink through the mattress and out of sight.

There was a knock at the door. 'What's going on in there?' It was Aeolus Andrews, sounding shaken and rather annoyed.

'It's Remus!' Peter Pettigrew's voice piped up from the corner. 'He's had some kind of fit.'

'It wasn't a fit, it was just a nightmare,' Sirius said in annoyance. He marched around to the door and yanked it open. 'Go back to bed,' he snapped at Aeolus. 'It's none of your business. Who died and made you Head Boy?'

'What he means,' James said diplomatically; 'is that we're all fine here, and thank you for your concern.'

Aeolus was craning his neck, trying get a glimpse of the cause of the disturbance. Remus clutched at the bed hangings in an attempt to hide his tearstained face.

'I said _go back to bed_,' Sirius growled. It was exactly the tone he had used in the dream to intimate that no one was clumsy enough to gore themselves on a lamppost. Remus shuddered.

Aeolus withdrew and Sirius shoved the door closed. He turned, leaning against it with his arms crossed. 'Thinks because his grandfather's Minister for Magic he can go about poking his nose where it's not wanted,' he muttered, stomping back to Remus's bed. His scowl morphed into tender concern. 'Why don't you go and wash your face?' he suggested kindly. 'You can change out of those wet things in private, and James and me will make up your bed.' When Remus did not move, Sirius repeated; 'I said _James and me will make up your bed_.'

'J-James and I,' Remus whispered, venturing a tiny smile as he realized what was wanted.

Sirius grinned. 'That's right,' he said, reaching over to light the lamp. 'Come on, now. Go and get changed.'

Remus left the room, trying not to hear the way that anxious, murmured voices sprang up in the dormitory the moment the door was closed. He stood still for a minute, straining to listen. But James and Sirius fell abruptly silent when they did not hear the sound of the sink. Remus washed with trembling hands, knowing that as he did the clandestine conversation was continuing in the next room.

When Remus emerged from the water closet, feeling rather more human now that he was clean and warm again, he found his bedclothes neatly spread, tucked in at the sides almost as smoothly as the house-elves could have done it. The others had plumped up his pillows and straightened the bedcurtains, and there was no tangible sign of his panic.

Nor, indeed, was there any indication that they had been discussing him. Peter's hangings were drawn, and a faint snoring issued from within. James was lying on his side, one arm holding his curtain open. He smiled. 'Better now?' he asked.

Remus nodded. James let the curtains fall back into place.

Sirius, who had been sitting on the edge of his own bed with his long legs stretched out across the floor, stood up. He closed the curtains at the right side of Remus's bed, and then tugged back the covers so that the smaller boy could slip between the sheets. 'You want me to sit here 'til you fall asleep?' he asked, his voice very low and gentle.

Remus shook his head. 'I'll be all right,' he whispered. 'It was just a dream.'

'That's the spirit,' Sirius said stoutly, reaching down to pat him on the shoulder. He drew the remaining hangings to, and a moment later the glow of the lamp disappeared. Remus could hear the other boy climbing back into bed, and after a while the only sound in the dormitory was the slow, level breathing of his roommates.

Remus curled onto his side, his right hand creeping down to press against the knot of scar tissue where he had ravaged himself. He lay awake until dawn, unable to shake the sound of Sirius's voice in his ear, hissing _werewolf._


	17. Back at School

**Chapter Seventeen: Back at School**

The castle grounds were a fairyland of snow and ice. The eaves of the Forbidden Forest were a delicate tapestry of hoarfrost. Tall drifts of snow dotted the landscape. The lake glittered in frigid crystal splendour and the Quidditch pitch was dusted with snow. Hagrid, the groundskeeper, had built a shallow pond on the grass near his hut; it had frozen into a smooth pane of ice, and students glided around upon it on transfigured skates. The fourth year Ravenclaw and Slytherin girls had coordinated an ice sculpture competition, and the grounds were dotted with fantastic beasts of every description. There were snowmen – and indeed snow goblins and a large snow crocodile – lining the paths, and a complex system of trenches and parapets occupied the terrain just south of the Whomping Willow. These fortifications were intended for lively snow battles like the one in which James and Sirius were currently engaged.

Remus stood off to one side, not too near the tree. He watched the crowd of Gryffindor boys as they squared off against first and second year Hufflepuffs, hurling snowballs and using their wands to levitate large showers of snow on their opponents. Everyone was laughing, and a group of older boys stood on the sidelines, egging the little ones on. Sirius had taken it upon himself to be a sort of general, and his dark head popped up from time to time as he shouted commands to his troops. James, who was obliged to spend a good deal of time adjusting his spectacles, kept using some kind of charm to make his snowballs loop around like boomerangs and catch his targets in the back of the head. Even Peter Pettigrew was in on the fun, though his efforts were largely squandered in trying to duck behind the bulwarks to avoid being hit.

A snowball came whistling through the air, and Remus was obliged to duck. When he raised his head he tried to pick out the Hufflepuff who had targeted him, only to see another projectile flying straight for him from the hand of Sirius Black.

'Get over here and help us, Lupin!' he called, laughing uproariously as a globe of snow exploded against the side of his head. 'They've got us outnumbered two to one!'

This was something of an exaggeration, but Remus appreciated the invitation. He mustered the energy to hurry onto the battlefield, ignoring the ache in his side as he sprinted across No Man's Land. A Hufflepuff snowball grazed his shoulder as he scrambled over the fortifications and tumbled down amid the Gryffindors.

'About time!' James shouted, scuttling to the edge of the trench and standing up to send another snowball flying. 'You don't need to wait for an engraved invitation, you know. Just join in.'

'Come on,' Sirius goaded. 'Give Morant hell: he almost hit you.'

Remus stared at the other boy's hands. They were flying with accomplished ease, packing snow tightly into spheres and hurling the balls into the air. He tried to emulate Sirius's practiced motions, gathering up a handful of snow and trying to compress it into a ball. For a moment it seemed as if he would succeed, but then it crumbled to powder. Awkwardly he tried again, but with the same result.

Sirius chuckled. 'You're not much of an asset, are you?' he asked good-naturedly. 'Haven't you ever made a snowball before?'

Remus shook his head. 'We don't get much snow in Falmouth,' he confessed.

'Well, don't keep your palm flat like that.' Sirius popped up above the fortress of snow, arms whirling as he hurled several balls in rapid succession. He dropped back onto one knee, holding out his arm to demonstrate. 'Cup your fingers like you're testing its weight. Take a good mittful of snow and pack it in tightly. Don't worry about the bits that break off; just take some more and pile it on. You can – Oi, Jones! Cover that gap to the left!' Sirius looked down, surveying his friend's handiwork. 'That's good enough,' he said charitably. 'Now go ahead and throw it.'

'At whom?' asked Remus.

'It doesn't matter _whom_!' Sirius laughed. 'Just so long as it's somebody on the other team!'

Remus looked down at the orb in his hand, and then got up on his heels to peek over the top of the trench. He ducked down swiftly to avoid getting a face full of flying snow.

`Just throw it!' Sirius elbowed him in the ribs.

Gnawing his lower lip, Remus drew in a deep and bracing breath. Then he shot to his feet, pitching his snowball with all of the strength in his skinny arm. It sailed over the opposing bulwark, and there was a startled squeal from among the Hufflepuffs.

Remus stood motionless for a moment, startled by his own bold spontaneity. A surprised smile was creeping over his face, and he almost gave in to the urge to laugh aloud.

Then something wet and icy exploded against his chest, and he crumpled into the snow as Sirius seized his arm and dragged him into the shelter of the trench.

'You're meant to take cover!' he howled, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

Remus rubbed at his face with snow-caked gloves, still grinning enormously. 'I think I hit someone!' he exclaimed.

Sirius didn't seem able to speak; he was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his cold-flushed cheeks. He pointed one gloved finger at Remus and then doubled over, clutching at his side.

'I really do…' Remus said, not sure whether to laugh or take offence. He let out a small, experimental chuckle, which prompted Sirius to slap his palm against the wall of snow with such force that a large piece broke off and rolled down the other side.

James came scuttling over, moving like a crab with his head bowed low to avoid offering a target for the flying missiles above. He cast a queer look at Sirius, who now appeared to be incapable of breath, and then prodded Remus.

'Bet you can't hit _him_,' he hissed, nodding off towards the path.

Remus followed James's gaze. Walking down from the castle was a small, angular figure that moved with an awkward twitchy gait. He looked isolated and cold amid the throngs of happy students. His head was bare, his lank hair falling forward to curtain his face, and his hands were rammed into the pockets of his robes. He shuffled through the snow, ungainly and obviously unhappy. It was Severus Snape.

'Oh, no, James…'

'Go on. He'll be in range in a minute.' James gathered up a handful of snow and packed it tightly, offering the resulting ball to Remus.

'But he's not playing,' Remus protested, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd of boys still happily bombarding one another.

'So? Sirius threw at you, and _you_ weren't playing.'

'But I wanted to,' Remus said softly.

James looked at him quizzically. 'So why didn't you just jump in?' he asked, momentarily distracted. 'We're not exactly chucking snowballs for England here.'

Remus opened his mouth, groping for some way to explain, but he could not find the words. His jubilation was melting away now, and his knees were beginning to feel rather damp and cold against the ground.

'Here,' James said, taking his hand and closing it around the snowball. 'Go ahead. It'll be fun.'

Remus looked again at the approaching Slytherin. He would be an easy target, even to someone with precious little throwing experience. He was approaching slowly, on a straight trajectory, and he wasn't watching his surroundings at all. Another ten paces would bring him easily within range, and Remus was almost certain that he would be able to hit him. It was another chance to prove himself worthy of the attentions of James and Sirius – a chance to redeem himself in their eyes after his shameful performance the night before. But it seemed rather cruel to attack an unsuspecting victim, especially one who was not really dressed for the cold.

'Ooh, are you going to hit him?' Sirius asked, sitting up and massaging his flank. He was still chuckling, but his eyes glittered maliciously as he looked at Severus. 'Go on. I'll lob one right after you do, and we'll see if we can't knock him down.'

'I… I can't,' Remus said. 'He's not playing.'

'So?' Sirius said. 'I threw at you and you weren't—'

'Said that already,' James told him.

'Oh.' Sirius held Remus's eyes. 'It'll make you feel better,' he said earnestly. 'I promise.'

'I really don't think…' Remus cast his eyes away.

James was looking at him now with good-natured disgust on his face. 'You're too soft, that's what you are,' he said, retrieving his snowball from the smaller boy's hand. He touched the tip of his wand to it, and suddenly it was glazed with a crust of ice.

Sirius let out a barking laugh, scrambling to form his own missile. 'Do mine!' he urged.

James complied then crept forward, arm poised to throw.

'No, don't—' Remus tried to protest, but it was too late.

'Oi! Snivelly!' James called, springing to his feet and hurling the ball.

Severus turned, raising his head in wary alarm. The orb of ice struck him squarely on the jaw and he stumbled. A moment later, Sirius's projectile whistled towards him, catching him below the left eye.

James bent down to scoop up another fistful of snow, but Severus had other ideas of retaliation. He drew his wand and slipped into a frighteningly adult duelling stance.

Remus couldn't make out the incantation he shouted, but the hex hit James in the ribs. He tumbled backward, landing hard against the snow rampart. His jaw worked as if he were going to be sick, and something frothy and green began to issue from his mouth.

'_Immobilus_!' Sirius roared, jabbing with his wand hand. The spell went wild, narrowly missing Snape's heel as the other boy retaliated with some kind of jinx that caught the edge of Sirius's cloak. The costly wool sputtered with sparks before extinguishing itself harmlessly. Sirius tried to fire off another hex, but Snape blocked it.

'What is the meaning of this?' an outraged female voice demanded. The Head Girl was running down the hill from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Her auburn hair was coming loose from its careful chignon, and she looked rather like a fire-spirit descending in wrath. '_Expelliarmus_!' she cried. The wands flew from the hands of Sirius and Snape, and Thalia Smythe caught them deftly.

'Duelling is _strictly _prohibited!' she said. She had reached Severus now, and she seized his shoulder and shook him. 'Shame on you!'

Dorcas Meadowes was hurrying away from her knot of friends, and by the skating pond Edgar Bones and a muscular Hufflepuff classmate could be seen blasting the blades of enchanted ice from the soles of one another's shoes.

The Head Girl strode towards the three Gryffindor boys, dragging Snape with her. The other snowball-throwers had all stopped, and were standing like stoats amid the warren of trenches, watching avidly. She cast an appraising look at James, who was bent double now, retching as he tried to expel whatever it was that was coming from his mouth.

'Somebody get him to the hospital wing,' she ordered. She jerked her chin at the Hufflepuff who was trotting up with Bones. 'Ted. Hospital wing. Now.'

James struggled as the bigger boy bent down, hefting him over one shoulder. He could hardly put up a decent fight against the indignity, however, when he was struggling just to breathe. His flailing arm knocked his spectacles off of his face, but the Hufflepuff did not seem to notice. Thalia watched until they were well on their way towards the castle, and then turned on Sirius.

'Duelling,' she said again; 'is _strictly_ prohibited!'

Edgar Bones had a hand on Sirius's shoulder now. He looked very stern, but he did not speak, clearly waiting for his female counterpart to mete out her chosen punishments.

'Twenty points each from Slytherin and Gryffindor,' the Head Girl declared. She fixed each of the two culprits in turn with an angry glare. 'Who threw the first hex?'

'Who do you think?' Sirius spat, looking daggers at Snape. 'The craven little Slytherin.'

Smythe locked eyes with the boy in her grip. 'Is this true?' she demanded.

Severus hesitated for a moment, dark eyes flicking at Sirius. 'Yes,' he said sullenly.

'Right.' The Head Girl adjusted her hold and began to march toward the school. 'You and I are going to have a little word with Professor Slughorn. Duelling…'

'…is _strictly_ prohibited,' Edgar Bones said, frowning down at Sirius. 'I don't care if he fired first; you don't retaliate. Report him. That's what the prefects are here for.'

'Hard to report him when he's hexed you into next Tuesday,' Sirius retorted, thrashing his shoulder in an attempt to free himself. 'Geroff.'

'Black, not _again_!' Dorcas Meadowes had reached them now, her face flushed with cold and exertion and her spectacles fogged with her breath. 'What did I say about losing Gryffindor points?'

'You're meant to be impartial,' said the Head Boy, looking amused.

'He hexed James first!' Sirius snapped. 'And in case you didn't notice Snape was the only one who actually landed a spell.'

'That's no excuse,' Bones said. 'If I catch you duelling again, you'll be the one hauled off for a heart-to-heart with your Head of House. And I promise that McGonagall's got a sterner streak than Slughorn.'

He released his hold on Sirius, who took two steps back and began to brush the snow from his robes in a most indignant fashion.

The Head Boy looked at Remus, who was still crouched on the ground. 'What's your part in all this?' he asked.

He did not know how to respond. Fortunately, Sirius was on hand. 'He had nothing to do with it. D'you see a wand? We were just playing.'

Bones gave him a long look, but then shook his head. 'No more duelling,' he said firmly. Then he turned to walk off toward the castle.

Dorcas Meadowes wagged a finger under Sirius's nose. 'If you lose any more points this term, Black, I'll Switch your ears for lily pads.'

'Duelling is strictly prohibited,' Sirius said saucily, smirking at her.

Dorcas sputtered for a moment, then pursed her lips in an admirable impression of Professor McGonagall. 'Very well,' she said curtly. 'You may present me with a hundred lines; _I will not be an impudent little git_. First thing tomorrow morning.'

So saying she strode off before Sirius could come out with another snappy retort.

'I'd say that went rather well,' he said, offering Remus his hand. 'Should we go see what Matron can do for James?'

'You lied to the Head Boy,' Remus said softly. 'Severus didn't start that fight.'

'I most certainly did not lie!' Sirius sniffed, tossing his head. 'I was asked who threw the first hex, and I answered. And he couldn't contradict me, either, in case you didn't notice.'

Remus was just about to protest that Snape had probably been scared of retaliation if he snitched, but he held his tongue. After refusing to join in the other boys' sport Remus was afraid that his place among them might be jeopardized if he pressed the matter. Meekly, he followed Sirius back towards the school, stooping to gather up James's glasses as he went.

~_discidium_~

Madam Pomfrey had no difficulty setting James right, though he was complaining of a lingering unpleasant taste in his mouth as the three boys went to supper together that evening. Remus, who had been pulled aside by the matron and surreptitiously dosed with the concoctions ordered by the Trainee Healer at St Mungo's, had nothing but empathy for that particular affliction. As they sat down Remus noticed that Severus, sitting at the Slytherin table, was sporting a black eye and a lurid purple bruise on his jaw. He left the meal before anyone else had finished – doubtless going off to serve detention for instigating the incident on the grounds.

James was more subdued than usual as they ascended to the Gryffindor Tower together. He had a drowsy, dopey smile on his face – doubtless a side-effect of his treatment. He undressed as soon as they got upstairs and climbed into bed. Peter, who arrived shortly after the other boys looking satiated and content after his meal, followed suit almost immediately.

'C'mere,' Sirius said, scooting onto his mattress and patting the counterpane. 'We need to talk.'

Warily, Remus moved to the other boy's bed, perching on the very edge with his feet still firmly under him. 'I'm sorry,' he said, the words tumbling out all at once. 'I know you and James think it's all in good fun, but I just couldn't – he wasn't even playing, and didn't you see what the ice did to his face? I'm sorry.' He stared down at the toes of his shoes. 'I just couldn't.'

Sirius regarded him quizzically for a moment before he deciphered the penitent rambling. He rolled his eyes. 'Not about that,' he said dismissively. 'I guess it's your business who you throw snowballs at. No, we need to talk about _this_.'

He gestured broadly. Remus swallowed hard and drew his arm across his middle. 'I don't know what you mean,' he said feebly.

'Yes you do.' Sirius's eyes were grave now. 'You went home for the holidays, and now you look like a corpse.'

Remus looked up, shocked by the garish comparison. 'I don't,' he protested.

'You do. Or haven't you checked a mirror lately?' The bigger boy's brow knit into crevices of concern. 'Your eyes are all sunken in, and you've lost _pounds_ in weight.' His voice dropped very low, and he didn't seem able to meet Remus's eyes as he added; 'Didn't they feed you over the break?'

Remus thought of his mother, producing all kinds of dainty things to tempt his uneasy stomach. Cucumber sandwiches and sweet porridge with new cream and endless mugs of hot chocolate – all of it scarcely touched. 'Of course they did,' he said. 'Why wouldn't they?'

And then he thought of the terribly thin lady at St Mungo's, who Healer Ferrinby had said hadn't had a proper meal in months. A shiver of dread ran up his spine.

Sirius was watching him again, a pained look in his eyes. 'Then what happened?' he asked softly.

'I just… I think…' Remus hung his head, unable to dream up a single lie.

'Is it catching?' Sirius asked. The question was half-heartedly, posed by an investigator ruling out remote possibilities. 'What your mum has, I mean. Have you got it, too?'

'That's it. I was ill,' Remus said, far too quickly. 'Influenza. It's a sort of a Muggle thing that gets in your chest. I didn't have much of an appetite for a while there, and that's why I'm thinner.'

There was a long silence, during which Remus did not dare to look at his friend. At last Sirius spoke.

'You can tell me, you know,' he said, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible. 'Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'll understand.'

'It was the 'flu,' Remus said, his words leaden. 'That's all. I had a very happy Christmas.'

His voice was not at all convincing, but Sirius forced a smile. 'Me too,' he said hollowly. He reached out to squeeze the other boy's hand. 'It's good to be back, though, isn't it?' he whispered. His voice trembled a little.

Remus managed to nod. 'Very good,' he breathed earnestly.

They sat in silence for a minute or two before Sirius withdrew his fingers. 'I need a wash,' he said, hefting himself off of the bed and rummaging in his cupboard. He grinned, banishing the shadows in his eyes. 'I was sweating like a Hippogriff in that heavy cloak.'

Remus watched as the other boy left the room. He covered his mouth to stifle an enormous yawn as he slipped off of Sirius's bed. He was tired and he was sore. He glanced at the other two beds, their curtains drawn. Then he looked at the door to the water closet, behind which he could already hear the shower running. Deciding that he had privacy enough, Remus caved to the urge to undress with his feet firmly on the floor instead of struggling in the confines of his bed. He changed as quickly as he could, pausing only for a moment to study the marks on his side. By the time Sirius returned, clad in his nightshirt and rubbing his hair on a towel, Remus had his clothes tucked away and was just crawling between the sheets.

'D'you think you'll be all right?' Sirius asked cheerfully. 'I mean, no more dreams tonight?'

Remus wished desperately that he could make that promise. 'I hope not,' he said.

Sirius seemed satisfied. He turned back his covers and climbed into bed. He stretched out on the mattress, spreading his arms and legs toward the four corners of the bed and gazing contentedly up at the canopy above.

'It's _so_ good to be back!' he sighed happily.

~_discidium_~

The three friends left the Great Hall later than usual on Monday morning; Sirius had dashed off his lines in a mad rush at the breakfast table, and the other two remained stalwartly with him until he was finished. The Entrance Hall was nearly empty when they emerged, but leaning against the low wall at the top of the stairs and obviously lying in wait was Andromeda Black.

Sirius stopped dead when he saw her, casting about for some route of escape. But she crooked her index finger authoritatively and he shuffled to within an arm's length of her.

'If this is about duelling on the grounds,' he said, rolling his eyes expansively; 'I know. _Strictly prohibited_.'

'It's not.' Her voice was short and her lips were tight. She reached out to touch her knuckle to his chin, tilting his head up and studying his features carefully. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

'Course I am,' Sirius said crossly, jerking his head away. 'James was the one who caught Snape's hex.'

Andromeda's eyes flicked to the other two boys still standing by the door. She looked as if she rather wanted to chase them off, but James had his arms crossed over his chest and he was wearing a very bored, entitled look. She returned her focus to her cousin.

'You know that's not what I mean,' she said softly.

'I'm fine,' said Sirius. He was scowling now, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. 'I don't need you minding me.'

She reached as though to grip his arm, but thought better of it. She checked her fingernails instead. 'Of course you don't,' she drawled boredly. 'I was looking for a little closure, that's all.'

'It's closed,' Sirius said, very curtly. 'If you'll excuse me we've got to get to Charms.'

'Naturally.' Andromeda locked eyes with her cousin again. 'If you need anything, you know where to find me,' she said.

'What was all that about?' James asked as the trio left the young woman behind.

'Drommie's got it in her head that you're leading me down the road to Perdition,' Sirius said, rather too swiftly. 'That was her checking you hadn't Imperiused me into squabbling with Snivellus.'

His tone made it clear that the matter was not to be raised again.

~_discidium_~

With the return to the daily routine of lessons came the temptation to test the disciplinary limits of Hogwarts. Sirius and James had a taste for chaos, and the occasional mischief in class did not satisfy it. On Friday afternoon when most of the school was out in the snow, the three friends lingered in the Gryffindor common room.

'I think we ought to try to find Dumbledore's office,' Sirius said, flopping down across an armchair and kicking his feet idly in the air.

'Why?' asked James. 'You're not thinking of slugging it out with the Sorting Hat or something, are you?'

'Course not. I just don't like not knowing where the Headmaster's office is.' Sirius lolled his head backward to grin at his friend. 'Doesn't it bother you that there are whole wings of this castle we haven't seen yet, and we've been here for months already?'

'Oh, I know your sort,' James said, clicking his tongue. 'You're that kid at the big country weekend who drives everybody mad poking into each and every corner of the McKinnon manor, scaring all the ghouls and upsetting the house-elves. Then when you finally get caught rifling through Great-Aunt Dahlia's bottom drawer, all the rest of us get to feel smug and superior while you're told off right proper behind the library doors.'

'Actually it was the Lestrange estate in Lincolnshire,' Sirius said. 'And I had to do _something_ to get out of Sunday tea with the cousins.'

James snorted. 'Naturally. But what are you trying to get out of this time? It's Quidditch tomorrow.'

'So then _tomorrow_ I won't be bored,' said Sirius. 'Today I am.'

'We really ought to have a lie-down before Astronomy,' Remus suggested, earning himself an amused look from the other boys.

'Go right ahead,' said Sirius. 'I'm going to look for Dumbledore's office. Potter? You coming?'

'I'm game if you are,' James said. 'Remus?'

Of course, Remus took very little convincing when he knew that he was wanted. He followed the others out into the corridor.

'You never did say if you got anything good for Christmas,' James remarked, looking sidelong at Sirius as they turned a corner.

'Oh, yeah, loads of stuff.' Sirius rolled his eyes. 'I got this new set of dress robes, all silk brocade with silver cufflinks. They weigh about thirty pounds and they must've cost as much as a small island. Don't know why they think I'll need them. I'm bound to grow out of them by summer.'

'Dress robes? Lore, that's a boring present. Why didn't they just get you a nice _book_?' James said sarcastically.

'Actually, I did get a really amazing book – all about Muggle motorcars,' Sirius said. 'Uncle Alphard gave it me; full of specs and diagrams and loads of photographs. The Muggle sort, obviously, but all in colour.' His face fell. 'Mum confiscated it.'

'Talking of motorcars,' Remus said, trying to cheer his friend up. 'I asked Mother about ours. It's called a Morris Minor.'

Unfortunately, Sirius seemed to find this gloomy news. 'Drat. I was hoping for a Lotus or a Roller or something. D'you think she'd let me drive it?'

'I don't know…' Remus said hesitantly. 'Even Father doesn't drive it.'

'You'd probably crash it anyhow,' James said.

Sirius glowered at him. 'If you're just going to naysay everything, I'm going back to the dormitory,' he said glumly.

'This was your idea in the first place!' James laughed.

'Don't tease,' Remus murmured. He dared to put a hand on Sirius's arm. 'I don't know if she'd let you drive it, but I'm sure she would take you for a ride sometime.'

Sirius brightened considerably at this prospect. 'On one of the dual carriageways with the windows down?'

Remus shrugged, not quite understanding the question. 'Like as not.'

'Huh. Wonder if I could spend a week this summer or something. Cornwall's not so bad, is it? There's cliffs and beaches and things. And sky. Lots of sky.' Sirius took a sharp left and strolled down the next corridor, clearly lost in a daydream.

'I think he just invited himself to stay,' James cautioned. 'Your parents might not thank you for that.'

'I'm sure he'll change his mind by summertime,' Remus said wistfully. He would have been so terribly glad to have a friend come and stay for a week, but he could not afford to think so far ahead. His father's words rang in his ears with the full force of a nightmare. _I hate to think what will happen if he figures it out…_ It was entirely possible that long before the holidays Sirius would discover the truth, and then—

Remus couldn't bear to think about it. He quickened his pace despite the tugging in his flank. He was determined to enjoy this dream of normalcy for as long as he possibly could.

They wandered around for nearly two hours, discovering several disused classrooms, a number of broom cupboards, and a room that looked as if it had once been used to house some sort of very large animal. They did not, however, find any sign of the Headmaster's office. They were up on the sixth floor, in a corridor that appeared to have stood untouched for generations, when James sat down on the plinth of a pillar.

'Can we just give it up, already?' he asked. 'I'm starving, and we're going to be late for supper.'

'The great James Potter, a quitter?' Sirius ribbed. 'I'm not going down to supper until I find what I'm after. Right, Remus?'

Remus was exhausted, and he knew precisely what Madam Pomfrey would say if she could see him at this moment. 'It does rather seem like the room doesn't want to be found,' he ventured.

'Exactly,' James said. 'Face it, Black. The only way you're going to find Dumbledore's office is if you do something naughty enough that McGonagall hauls you off to be expelled.'

Sirius grinned wickedly. 'Why can't we do that, then?' he asked.

James chuckled, but Remus felt a cold fist of horror closing on his heart. 'We couldn't!' he cried. 'After Dumbledore's been so kind and let me come to school, I simply _couldn't_! What would he think of me? What would he say?'

'Settle down there, Lupin,' Sirius laughed, flinging an amiable arm across his shoulders and leaning in conspiratorially. 'Are you angling for Head Boy or something? Of course I don't mean actually do something that might get us expelled. I've no wish to become a wall ornament on the Noble and Most Ancient Third Floor Staircase of Black. But I mean… one of us _could_ ask McGonagall to show us to the Headmaster's office.'

'Why don't we go one step further and just ask Dumbledore?' James said wryly. 'Or better yet, write to the Minister for Magic and see if _he _knows.'

'I keep telling you to lengthen that imagination, Potter,' Sirius said. 'All we need is a plausible pretext.'

'Do you do this professionally or something?' asked James. 'I mean, I dabble, but you've got all sorts of adages and things. Have you written a book on the subject?'

'When you're raised in the upper echelons of London wizarding society,' Sirius intoned, hooding his eyelids in a way that made him look remarkably like his cousin Andromeda; 'you either go native, like my kid brother, or you learn to make your own fun.' He grinned. 'Professional prankster. Now there's a career I could get behind.'

'Looking for the Headmaster's office isn't exactly the caper of the century,' James pointed out. 'Can we please just go and get something to eat?'

'Aw, ickle Potter's never gone to bed without his supper,' Sirius cooed. 'Fine. You win. But we're going to finish this if it takes us all night.'

He shambled off down the corridor, vanishing around the corner as James stood up. The other two started to follow, but a moment later he came back, brushing past them at a double pace.

'Dead end,' he said obliquely, hurrying back down the corridor. 'C'mon; let's go!'

James shot a questioning look at Remus and shrugged. They hurried off after Sirius.

~_discidium_~

'I nominate Remus,' Sirius said, reaching for a second helping of pudding.

'I had a feeling you would,' remarked James. 'Why Remus?'

'Because he's got that _face_,' said Sirius. 'And because Dumbledore already knows him. You could go and ask if he's had any news about your mum or something. Play the scared-and-vulnerable firstie. Get him to take you up to his office so the bigger students don't see you blubbing.'

'That's hardly a plausible pretence though, is it?' James said. 'Seeing as he hasn't even been away from home for a week yet. Besides, you can't take advantage of a bloke's sick mother. It's just not on.'

'I don't think we should bother with it at all,' Remus said quietly. 'What does it really matter where the Headmaster's office is?'

'If we keep going this way we're sure to end up there eventually anyhow,' James sang.

'It's the principle of the thing!' Sirius exclaimed, gesticulating in frustration. 'It's useless to try to explain it to you two. Doesn't it bother you? Not _knowing_?'

James shrugged. 'There's plenty I don't know,' he said. 'I can't see that Dumbledore's office makes the short list.'

Sirius shook his head so that his hair whipped in every direction. He looked at Remus, flicking his fringe artfully out of his eyes as he donned an imploring expression. '_Will_ you do it?' he begged. 'Please? I'd go, but I think he'd spot me a mile off.'

'I'll do it!' an eager voice piped up. Peter Pettigrew stood at Sirius's elbow, bouncing eagerly on the balls of his feet. 'Just tell me what to do and I'll do it! Uh… what is it you want Remus to do, anyway?'

Sirius turned like a bristling mastiff, fixing a withering glare on the plump little boy. 'Will you _ever_ go away?' he demanded.

'Aw, let him do it,' James said. 'There's nothing at stake but your curiosity.'

Sirius looked ready to retort that his curiosity was worth rather more than Peter Pettigrew's desire to be included, but then he shrugged. 'All right,' he said. 'I'd buy him as a scared-and-vulnerable firstie.' He wagged a finger under Peter's nose. 'But if you muck it up I'll hang you out the dormitory window overnight.'

'I won't!' Peter pledged fervently, though he looked rather terrified. 'I won't muck it up.'

'Well go ahead!' James egged. 'Here's your big chance.'

Peter paled. 'I-I— you haven't told me the plan,' he said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. James snorted into his milk. Remus was left to explain.

'Sirius wants to find out where the Headmaster's office is,' he said. 'You're going to be the scout. You need to go to talk to Professor Dumbledore, and you need to get him to take you up to his office.'

'Pretend to cry,' Sirius suggested. 'Or actually _do_ cry; you look about ready for it.'

'Then when you're done, you come back and tell us where the office is,' said James. 'Simple enough for you?'

Peter did not look as if he thought it was in the least bit simple.

'Succeed,' Sirius decreed grandly; 'and you will be richly rewarded. Fail… and you will die.'

'You don't have to do it if you don't want to, Peter,' Remus assured him.

'It's only a stupid notion Black's got himself stuck on,' added James.

'I don't need to speak to you ever again, either,' Sirius pointed out sunnily, grinning at Peter. 'I rather fancy getting stuck on _that _notion.'

Peter squared his shoulders. 'I'll do it,' he said stoutly. 'Just you watch me; I'll do it.'

Without further ado he marched off down the length of the Gryffindor table. The other boys watched him as he mounted the dais and timidly approached the half-empty staff table. Momentarily flustered, he started towards Professor Flitwick before realizing that Dumbledore was in fact seated three places down. He began to speak to the Headmaster, his hands flapping very quickly as he did so. A moment later Dumbledore rose, nodding gravely, and began to walk towards the side door behind the staff table. Peter scurried along, talking all the way, until he was able to round the table. He followed Dumbledore through the door and out of the hall.

'Well, that's it,' James said. 'D'you reckon he'll actually pull it off?'

Sirius lolled his eyeballs towards the enchanted ceiling. 'D'you reckon he'll leave us alone after this?'


	18. The Caretaker's Cat

_Note: Bonus points if anyone recognizes the Regency in-joke! No, really. Maybe even a prize._

**Chapter Eighteen: The Caretaker's Cat**

Sirius was drumming impatiently on his bedpost. James was lying on his stomach in the middle of the floor, shredding his copy of that morning's _Daily Prophet_ with single-minded resolve. Remus was poring over his Astronomy notes in preparation for that evening's lesson. It was after nine o'clock, and there was still no sign of Peter.

'Two Galleons says he choked, and he's too scared to come back and admit it,' Sirius said.

'Five Galleons says Dumbledore sussed him out, and he's in detention right now for wasting the Headmaster's time,' James countered.

'I've got twenty-three Knuts that say he'll pull it off,' Remus said softly, daring to enter their game.

Sirius snorted. '_That's_ confidence! I'll take that bet.'

Remus did not argue. It was better to let the others to think he was mocking Peter than to admit the truth. 'I'll win,' he warned, keeping his eyes on his parchment.

'We'll soon find out,' James said, tossing aside the rags of the newspaper as heavy footfalls approached on the stairs. All three boys looked up as Peter Pettigrew came into the room.

He was very red in the face, and his small eyes were glittering. He was short of breath and he stood there for a moment, clutching his knees and looking rather bilious as he took several panting gasps. Then he smiled enormously.

'I did it!' he huffed. 'I said I was all worried about next week's test in Transfiguration, and I started to cry, and I said I wanted to go home and that my friend's mum was sick and she might die and that the Slytherin prefects are _ever_ so mean, and he took me to his office! The password is _liquorice allsort_ and then the stairs come out and up you go, and it's full of portraits and there's all kinds of funny things on the shelves, and he gave me a handkerchief and a sherbert lemon and we talked for a while and I _did_ it!'

Sirius was staring at him, slack-jawed in the wake of this avalanche of words. 'Well, then,' he said presently. 'That's fine. Knew you could do it. You can show us after Astronomy.'

Peter looked flummoxed. 'S-show you…'

'Of course!' Sirius said. 'What's the point of being the advance scout if you're not going to share your findings with the rest of the troops? You wanted to do this, remember. You'd better finish what you started.'

'It's the fun part, Peter,' James told him. 'After we're done we'll swing by the kitchens for a late-night raid.'

Peter seemed mollified by this promise, and he shuffled over to his bed. 'Will you wake me up when it's time to go, Remus?' he asked.

'What is he, your blinking valet?' Sirius snorted.

'Of course I will,' said Remus, as if the other boy hadn't spoken.

Peter made a sleepy noise that was probably an expression of gratitude and buried his face in his pillow.

'Pay up, Black. You owe Lupin twenty-three Knuts,' said James.

'We'll see,' Sirius cooed. '_Pulling it off_ involves successfully finding the way back, and between you and me I don't think he'll manage it.'

'You're trying to wiggle out of the wager on a technicality,' James teased.

This earned an expansive shrug. 'You set the precedent.'

'Just don't think you can welsh because Remus is too nice to press the issue,' warned James. He perched his glasses on his nose and regarded Remus critically. 'Are you trying to memorize those pages?' he asked.

'I want to do well,' Remus said. 'It's easier to think down here where it's warm.'

'Too right.' Sirius rolled onto his back and let his head hang off the edge of his bed. 'You're looking a lot better, you know,' he remarked, not quite nonchalant.

'I'm pleased to hear it,' said Remus. Sirius had been watching him like a hawk all week, gauging his appetite and monitoring him so closely that Remus was quite sure that the other boy could average his breaths per minute. What Sirius was looking for Remus could not guess, but he hoped desperately that he would lose interest soon. The moon was new now, but tomorrow it would begin to wax again. Sirius had a little over two weeks to find something else to pursue relentlessly.

~_discidium_~

'I think we're going in circles,' James whispered, leaning over Peter's shoulder so that the smaller boy jumped.

'It's up here somewhere,' Peter squeaked. 'Or maybe on the fourth floor.'

'You don't even know which _floor_ it's on?' Sirius groaned. He turned on Remus. 'This is your fault, you know. You're the one with the bloody impeccable sense of direction; _you_ should have gone.'

Remus was almost certain that Sirius was only teasing, but he bowed his head anyhow. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'Not half as sorry as _he's_ going to be.' Sirius jerked his thumb at Peter. 'How hard can this be?'

'We started in the Great Hall, not the Astronomy Tower,' Peter protested, sounding rather tearful. 'It's so easy to get turned around i-in the dark.'

'It's not that dark,' James said crossly, brandishing his glowing wand. He looked up at the wall to his left and his arms fell to his sides. 'Oh, we are _definitely_ going in circles,' he said. 'How many sconces shaped like a pregnant rhinoceros can there be in one castle?'

Sirius held up his wand. 'I think it's more of a fairly corpulent sea lion,' he said. 'Or maybe an emaciated Slughorn.'

'Architectural foibles aside,' James said; 'I'm certain we're back where we started.'

'Well, actually, if we were back where we started we'd be up in the Astronomy Tower…' Sirius quibbled.

'Keep your voice down,' Remus hissed. 'We don't want to disturb anyone.'

'Too late,' Sirius said. '_I'm_ disturbed. It disturbs me that I let you lot talk me into delegating to Pettigrew. We could be nicking Dumbledore's nightcap right now if it weren't for his incompetence.'

'You didn't say anything about nicking nightcaps,' James said shrewdly. 'When exactly were you going to let the rest of us in on this little scheme?'

'Nightcap, tea cosy, bedroom slippers, I don't care,' Sirius said. 'Why sneak into the Headmaster's office if you're not going to nick something?'

'It's that kind of attitude that makes one run afoul of Great-Aunt Dahlia,' James warned.

'_Hush!' _

The others whirled to look at Remus, who was pointing down to the end of the corridor. 'Someone's coming,' he whispered.

They could all hear the footfalls now; heavy, shuffling steps that echoed off the stone walls. Sirius whipped his head around, searching for somewhere to hide. James extinguished his wand and slipped it into his belt. Peter seemed petrified with terror.

'Come on!' Remus hissed, moving up the passage away from the oncoming feet. Sirius bolted after him, and James followed – but not before seizing Peter's arm to drag him along.

The first three doors they tried were locked, but the fourth opened, and the boys piled inside. Sirius drew it to, but did not let the latch click.

Breathless they waited as the footsteps drew nearer. A sliver of torchlight appeared beneath the door, fanning out over their feet as the bearer approached. They could hear the low, angry muttering, and they recognized the voice at once. Remus felt his stomach flop anxiously.

It was Mr Filch, the caretaker.

'Voices indeed,' he was grousing as he drew nearer their door. '_Hearing_ voices, more like. Old man's losing his marbles. Retired Hit Wizard gone paranoid, that's what it is. Time he were put out to grass, if you ask me. _Voices_ in the third-floor corridor…'

Sirius clapped his free hand over his mouth, stifling a snort of laughter. James glared at him and Sirius wiggled his eyebrows helplessly.

The light had stopped moving. In the corridor there was silence. Sirius's shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter now, and his hand on the door handle quivered dangerously. Peter opened his mouth as if to cry out, and James threw his palm over it. Remus reached out very slowly and curled his fingers over Sirius's, steadying the door against the percussions of mirth. He tried not to look at the other boy's face. Sirius's brow was contorting horribly with the effort of keeping silent, and Remus was afraid that if he met the other boy's eyes he would not be able to help himself.

They could hear the caretaker's heavy breathing just on the other side of the door. For an awful moment Remus was certain they were going to be discovered. But then there came a derisive snort and the footsteps resumed, bearing the light away as Filch grumbled; 'Hauled out of bed at all hours. Work my fingers to the bone for these ingrates, and they treat me like their personal servant. I'd like to show him _voices in the third-floor corridor…_'

When silence had reigned for a good three minutes, James released his hold on Peter and cuffed Sirius playfully on the side of the head.

'You berk!' he snorted. 'You almost got us caught!'

Sirius was still giggling breathily. 'I couldn't help it,' he huffed. 'Alfstin "hearing voices"… I always knew he was a few currants short of a bun.'

'He wasn't "hearing voices"; that was _us_!' James exclaimed. 'We must be just above his office.'

'We should get back to bed before we get caught,' Remus suggested mildly.

'What about the kitchens?' Peter looked frightfully disappointed.

Sirius glared at him. 'What about Dumbledore's office?'

'We _could_ stop by the kitchens before heading back to the dormitory,' said Remus. 'I could do with a mouthful of something. And we can always look for the Headmaster's office another time.'

Sirius gave him a very stormy look, but he shrugged. 'Fine,' he said. 'I could murder a chicken sandwich. Let's go.'

They moved out into the corridor very carefully, not daring to light their wands. As they shuffled up the corridor Remus felt podgy fingers closing on his hand. He squeezed them reassuringly; Peter was afraid of the dark.

Quietly and cautiously they found their way to the stairs, and moved along the second-floor passage that did, indeed, run by the Defence Against the Dark Arts office. Eventually they reached the subterranean corridor that housed the entrance to the kitchens.

Sirius sailed into the room with his customary air of instinctive authority. 'Chicken sandwiches,' he commanded, even before the eager house-elves could muster themselves to meet the visitors. 'Pumpkin juice, cucumber, and something sweet. Preferably cake.'

'Roast beef for me, please; not too much mustard,' James added pleasantly. He looked at the other two boys. 'Remus? Pettigrew?'

'Chicken would be lovely,' Remus said.

'Fish paste,' said Peter. Sirius snorted, and he added defensively; 'I like fish paste. With cheese.'

Very shortly they were presented with three enormous plates of sandwiches, most of a chocolate cake, a dish of neat cucumber slices, and a big pitcher of iced pumpkin juice. Most of the house-elves disappeared, likely returning to their beds, but a few hovered about the margins of the room, looking on eagerly lest they should be wanted again.

Remus ate eagerly. With his returning health his appetite was positively burgeoning, and the savoury sandwiches were just what he wanted. Sirius was similarly intent upon his food, while James ate with lazy contentment. Peter, who looked quite overwhelmed to be included on the late-night escapade, was bolting down the fishy sandwiches almost manically.

At last Sirius sat back, patting his stomach and yawning enormously. 'Well, I'm for bed,' he said. 'A full stomach takes the edge off the sting of failure.'

'It's not my fault,' Peter said, his voice very tiny and quavering. 'I told you; Professor Dumbledore went up from the Great Hall, not down from the Astronomy Tower.'

'So then you could find your way if we started in the Great Hall,' James said shrewdly.

'Oh, I don't know…' Peter began, looking rather nervous.

'No, no, that's what you said.' James jerked his thumb at the ceiling. 'We're right under it now. It's worth a try, isn't it? What do you say, Black? Care to postpone the homeward march?'

Sirius was upright again, grinning eagerly at his friend. 'Absolutely,' he said. 'Sleep is for old women, babies, and Hufflepuff prefects.' He sprang to his feet and grabbed a last slice of cucumber. 'C'mon Pettigrew: time to redeem yourself.'

They moved off towards the door, Peter pausing to snatch up two more fish paste sandwiches. He munched nervously on the first one as they ascended to the Entrance Hall and approached the big double doors.

James hauled one open, just wide enough for the four boys to slip through. He seemed to consider easing it back, but decided against it. 'Might make a terrible bang,' he whispered, leading the way between the long House tables to the dais at the end of the room.

The hall was lit as if with starlight; the enchanted ceiling reflected the clear winter sky above. The silver glow cast the room into strange relief, rendering the House banners in variant shades of black and grey. There was something eerie about the empty room that Remus had only ever seen brightly adorned and burgeoning with students. A shiver passed down his spine.

'What is it?' Sirius asked, watching him worriedly.

'Nothing,' Remus said, one of his mother's Irish axioms coming to his mind. 'Just someone walking over my grave.'

They reached the little side door, and James opened it. Behind, a little curling corridor bent around to a narrow staircase. James stood back, gesturing for Peter to take the lead. 'Onward, good sir,' he said, bowing sardonically.

'And put that foul-smelling thing away,' Sirius grumbled, looking down his nose at the remaining fish paste sandwich.

Nervously, Peter crammed it into his pocket, much to Remus's dismay. The plump little boy ascended the stairs, and the others followed him.

They reached a long corridor with several branches, and Peter smiled eagerly. 'This way!' he said, moving to the second arch on his left. 'I know it's this way!'

James and Sirius exchanged an amused look, but followed silently. Peter had just led them up their fifth staircase in less than ten minutes when Sirius finally broke the peace.

'Merlin's beard! You dragged us all the way down to the main floor just to take us back up to the sixth?' he exclaimed. 'Are you _really_ that hopeless?'

Peter's apologetic reply was cut off by a hostile spitting noise. The four boys turned, looking back down the hall. There, in a puddle of starlight that poured from a high window, stood the caretaker's cat.

_~discidium_~

Mrs Dashwood was a rangy beast, ugly and unkempt and of a most unpleasant disposition. The popular notion among the students was that she was at least half Kneazle, for she had an uncanny instinct for sniffing out mischief. In appearance, however, she was a perfectly ordinary – if exceedingly ugly – alley cat with a ginger tabby coat that was always arrayed in unattractive tufts. She was a nasty, bullying creature, and the students who kept cats of their own were careful to keep them well away from her. Rumour had it that, since her arrival in autumn with the new caretaker, she had eaten two pet toads and Elsie Appleby's kitten.

She was widely known to be the eyes and ears of Mr Filch; where she roamed he was never far behind with his grim loping gait and his grumbled threats of violence.

And here she was now, back arched and coarse fur standing on end, as she bared her pointed teeth and hissed threateningly at the four Gryffindor boys.

'What d'you think?' James muttered out of the corner of his mouth. 'Run?'

'So she thinks we're her midnight lunch and pounces?' Sirius asked incredulously.

Remus realized with a sinking feeling that after months of eluding punishment for his part in the exploits of James Potter and Sirius Black, he was about to be caught. He could already imagine the anger and disappointment in Professor McGonagall's eyes – and he could not bear to think about what the Headmaster would say.

'You reckon we could get off a hex before she shrieks for Filch?' whispered James.

Sirius reached for his wand, and Mrs Dashwood bolted up onto her toes, her tail bristling. 'Not a chance,' he hissed, letting his hand fall to his side.

Then Peter, who had been cowering behind the other boys, darted out between Remus and Sirius, tossing something soft and lumpy down the corridor so that it sailed right past the cat's shoulder. Mrs Dashwood leapt into the air, whirling around as she tried to catch it. It landed with a squishing sound behind her, and she pounced upon it, horrid noises issuing from her throat as she began to eat. The smell of fish paste lingered on Peter's hands.

Sirius and James stared at the little boy, shocked and obviously impressed. But the cat was well into the sandwich now, and they had no time to waste. 'Run!' Remus hissed, seizing Peter's arm and bolting down the corridor. Sirius and James followed, the latter quickly outstripping the two smaller boys while the former brought up the rear – turning now and again to look behind him. They reached the stairs to the seventh floor before they heard the cat yowling, raising the alarm.

Down the hall they darted, past drowsing portraits and suits of armour. They passed a stone gargoyle, and Peter pointed at it, attempting to gibber something eagerly. The other boys did not heed him; they herded him along until they reached the portrait-hole that led to the Gryffindor Tower.

'_Spattergroit!_' James gasped, giving the password. The Fat Lady was sleeping, hands folded on her ample belly, and she did not appear to have heard him. '_Spattergroit_, sod it! _Spattergroit_!'

'Oi! Wake up!' Sirius shouted. The Fat Lady snorted and blinked her eyes. 'Let us in, you lazy old sow!'

She bristled. 'I don't like your tone, young man,' she said crisply. 'And you'll not get in without the password. What are you doing abroad at this hour, anyhow? First years ought to be in bed.'

'Please let us in, ma'am,' Remus said, nudging between Sirius and James. 'The password is _spattergroit_.'

'Why, hello dear!' she said, smiling enormously at him. 'Yes, do come in.' The portrait swung aside and the four boys piled into the common room. As James swung the door closed they could hear Filch's heavy footsteps in the corridor, barrelling towards Gryffindor Tower.

They huddled against the portrait-hole, listening intently as he approached.

'Who went through this door?' he demanded, huffing and struggling to catch his breath.

'Good evening!' said the Fat Lady, feigning a yawn. 'My, it's dreadfully late to be running around the castle, isn't it? Oughtn't you to be in bed?'

'Not when there are students sneaking about in the dead of night! _Who went through this door_?'

'I don't know what you mean,' the portrait replied sweetly. 'All I ever get through this door are my young Gryffindors. And they've all been abed for hours now, since the little ones' Astronomy lesson let out.'

Sirius and James were grinning enormously. Peter, who had collapsed into a puddle against the nearest armchair, was gnawing on his thumbnail as he listened.

'Don't you play that game!' Filch snapped. 'My Fanny caught 'em; they ran this way; an' there's nowhere they would've run to but here! I want names, d'you hear me? Or I'll send for the Headmaster!'

'Well…' the Fat Lady mused; 'I've had the whole first year class through tonight, but that was almost two hours ago…'

The caretaker stamped his foot. 'I know they went through here! You tell me who it was, or else let me in! I'll roust 'em out myself!'

'Password?' she said in a sugary voice.

'How would I know the bloody password?'

'Well, I'm afraid I can't let anybody in without the proper password,' the Fat Lady told him primly.

Filch let out an angry howl that made Sirius snigger. 'Damn your eyes; who went through this door just now?'

'Just now?' said the Fat Lady, sounding suddenly very sly. 'Oh, just _now_? Why didn't you say? It was that tall boy in first year. The one with the beautiful dark hair and the handsome nose. You know. The _rude_ one.'

'Sirius Black,' Filch growled. 'Fine. Fine. We'll see about this.'

He stumped off down the corridor, muttering morbidly as he went.

Sirius was beside himself. His jaw was working and his mouth was agape. He wore an expression of astonishment and disgust that made Remus feel rather nauseous.

'She sold me out!' he yelped, looking helplessly at the back of the portrait. 'She sold me out to Filch! My own House portrait… she sold me out!'

'Shouldn't have called her names,' James said, shrugging indolently and adjusting his glasses.

'But what about you three? Why _me_?'

'I did mention that you called her names?' asked James.

'It's not fair,' Sirius said numbly, setting his back against the portrait-hole and sliding to the ground.

'Oh, I dunno,' said James. 'It seems fair to me. After all, this whole ridiculous scheme was your idea. And you ought to know better than to go around insulting portraits.'

'What do you suppose he'll do?' Remus asked, eyeing Sirius worriedly.

The tall boy grinned. 'Detention,' he said. 'I'll live. Frankly, I can't believe we almost got away with it. When that cat stopped us I was sure the jig was up.'

'Me too.' James turned to look at Peter, who was now looking rather dopey and long overdue for bed. 'Quick thinking, Pettigrew,' he said generously. 'Good work.'

Peter was suddenly wide awake, small eyes brimming with tearful joy. 'It was just luck,' he said eagerly. 'I mean, I thought "she might be nasty, but she's still a cat". And cats like fish paste, don't they?'

'Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head,' said Sirius sourly. 'You still didn't manage to lead us to Dumbledore's office.'

'But I tried to tell you!' Peter said, bouncing happily. 'It's behind that gargoyle we passed. You just say the password and stairs appear and up you go!'

James laughed. 'There you are, Black. Satisfied? Was it worth all the headache?'

'I'll let you know when I find out what Filch sets for detention,' said Sirius, glowering at his friend. He hauled himself to his feet. 'I've had enough of this. I'm going to bed.'

He ambled up the stairs and out of sight.

'Well done, Peter,' Remus said, turning back to his plump companion. 'I think you're really one of the group now, don't you?'

'We'll see,' James said, offering Peter his hand and helping him to his feet. 'You're not bad.'

Peter looked as though he had just been awarded the Order of Merlin. 'Oh, thank you!' he bubbled. 'Thank you, thank you!'

'Sure. Now off to bed, huh? Maybe you and I can get to that chess game tomorrow while Black's off scrubbing windows somewhere.' James grinned and ruffled Peter's fine blond hair. 'Now scoot.'

Peter obeyed, scurrying away. James watched him go with patronising amusement.

'Not a bad kid at all, really,' he said.

'I knew he could pull it off,' said Remus softly.

James grinned. 'Don't tell me; tell Sirius. He's the one who owes you twenty-three Knuts.'

_~discidium_~

The following morning at breakfast, the four boys sat together. Peter chattered happily about the upcoming Quidditch game, and James even took the trouble to engage with him on the favoured topic. Remus was too tired to be much of a conversationalist; if he had had his way, he would still be abed sleeping off the previous night's adventure. Sirius seemed reconciled to his fate as the scapegoat of the whole affair, and he was in a good mood as he sprinkled walnuts and dates over his porridge.

The post was coming in, and James reached eagerly for his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. As usual he turned straight for the sporting pages, passing over the front page headline that proclaimed _Whereabouts of London Entrepreneur Still Unknown_. Remus pocketed his mother's letter for later perusal. Peter had a little packet of caramels from home.

Sirius stiffened as a guttural hooting sounded off above his head. The large, imposing-looking owl that always carried his mother's correspondence was circling in for a landing. Its wicked talons clutched a large, flat parcel wrapped in brown paper tied with what looked like green silk ribbon. Sirius watched the bird descend, its usual grim grace disrupted by the weight of its load. He looked very uneasy as he took the package.

'What's that?' James asked, peering over his newspaper. 'I've never seen you get anything but letters.'

'And Howlers,' Peter added tactlessly.

'Dunno…' Sirius turned the parcel in his hands and peeled off the envelope Spellotaped to the paper. It was addressed in the fine, freehand lettering that usually sent him into a strop. He broke the wax seal and opened it gingerly.

Remus found that he was holding his breath, and he forced himself to let it out slowly. Sirius was reading the note now, a furrow of puzzlement forming on his brow. Dropping the letter carelessly next to the sugar bowl, he pinched the ribbon between finger and thumb and untied the parcel. As he peeled away the paper he let out a tremendous whoop of delight, almost upsetting a pitcher of milk as he leapt up from the bench.

'I can't believe it!' he cried, gleefully tossing the wrapping aside and holding up his prize. 'It's my book! My motorcar book! Look! See? I said it was brilliant, didn't I?'

He was waving it at James, who regarded the large Muggle volume with its glossy cover tolerantly. 'Very nice,' he said. 'Did your mum have a change of heart?'

Sirius shook his head, reaching for the letter. 'It was Regulus,' he said, looking almost fondly at the neat calligraphy. 'Says he's sorry he couldn't send it sooner, but it took him a while to find where she'd stowed it. Says I'm not to let on that I've got it, and would I give his love to Narcissa and Drommie?' He sniffed disdainfully. 'Well, he can forget about that last bit. Let the little blighter write 'em himself if he wants to send love so badly.'

He looked at the letter one last time, and then smoothed it carefully and tucked it into the back cover of the book. 'Snuck it out right under her nose,' he said smugly. 'Sometimes it's not so hard to believe he's related to me after all.'

He began leafing through the book. 'Oh, see, look, look!' he said eagerly, opening to a page midway through and pointing at some sort of schematic. 'That's an A-series four-cylinder. That's the kind of engine your mum's car's got, Remus.'

Remus studied the complex series of lines and circles, but he could make no sense of it. 'That's very interesting,' he said politely.

'And here's the one I want.' Sirius found a picture of a sleek black automobile with a very long bonnet. 'The Silver Shadow.'

James sniggered. 'Sounds like a racing broom,' he said. 'Speaking of brooms, we should be getting out there if we want decent seats. You're sitting with us, aren't you Peter?'

The little boy's joy at this invitation put to shame Sirius's delight over his book.


	19. Portraits of Headmasters Past

**Chapter Nineteen: Portraits Of Headmasters Past**

Remus awoke with a start, biting down on his tongue so that he would not scream. His heart was hammering and the pounding in his temples seemed deafening. He stared wide-eyed into the dark, trying desperately to calm himself as hot tears trickled from the corners of his eyes. When at last his pulse slowed a little he curled onto his side, drawing up his knees and shivering in his sweat-drenched nightshirt. His lower lip trembled with despair.

It was the fourth time this week that he had been roused like this, yanked out of a nightmare when the horror grew too great for his unconscious mind. Every time the memory of the dream lingered, clinging like tar to the edges of his mind. It would have been bearable, save that the terrors were so complete, so vivid and detailed and visceral that it took every scrap of his will to convince himself that the events within had not actually occurred. And without sufficient sleep, his will was weakening.

He huddled in a ball, clutching his ribs and rocking against the mattress as he tried to shake off the nightmare. But on the back of his eyelids was blazoned the image of Sirius and James, standing shoulder to shoulder with their wands drawn. Sirius tossed his head haughtily and James stared down through his spectacles as they…

A sob shook his shoulders, and Remus rammed his fist between his teeth to stifle it. Seized by an intractable urge to move, to run, he crawled to the foot of the bed and tugged aside the hangings. Climbing down over his trunk, he fled for the dormitory door. His hands were quaking, but he managed to get it open without a sound. He slipped into the hall, drawing it closed and cringing as the latch clicked audibly.

The stairs seemed to ripple under his feet as he hurried down to the abandoned common room. There were still embers glowing in the fireplace, and he crouched down on the hearthstones, drawing as near to the red warmth as he could. He wrapped his arms around his legs, hugging his knees to his chest so that he could rest his chin upon them. His back was cold, the damp cotton clinging to it, but at least his toes and face were warm now, and with the faint carmine light on him the nightmare seemed somewhat more distant.

Removed from the earshot of his classmates, he allowed himself a long, shuddering sigh that echoed in the empty room. His tears were drying into a salty crust on his cheeks, and slowly his panic ebbed. He was chilled now despite the dying fire, and he wished that he had thought to grab his cloak before leaving the dormitory. He could not go back upstairs in this state; if the others awoke he would be forced to admit that he had once again been roused by a bad dream – and that prospect was too humiliating to contemplate.

James and Sirius were so brave; it was impossible to imagine them quivering with terror in the wake of a dream. Even timid little Peter had never roused them all with screams in the night. The memory of his disgraceful performance on the first night of term filled Remus with a gnawing mortification that almost two weeks had done nothing to ameliorate. He felt certain he would die of shame if anyone found out that he was still having the dreams. And of course, it would raise suspicions. They would want to know _what_ he was dreaming about, and his pitiful excuse about "the falling dream" would not satisfy them long.

His back was beginning to ache, so he lay down on the hearth, stretching out flat and crooking one knee so that his spine was pressed against the warm stone. It wasn't so bad down here, he reflected, turning his face towards the dying fire. It was peaceful, and the novelty of his surroundings was just distracting enough that he didn't need to dwell on the lingering ghosts of the nightmare – or the very real fears that had lent it its terrible force.

It was not until the fire sputtered loudly, a piece of charcoal breaking away, that Remus realized he had been dozing. He picked himself up hastily. It would never do to fall asleep on the common room floor. His knees were weak with fatigue, but somehow he managed the winding stairs to the dormitory. He slipped silently inside, holding his breath until he was certain the other three were still unconscious. Then he crawled back into his bed to snatch a few hours' sleep before lessons.

_~discidium_~

That afternoon Remus composed a long letter to his mother. He wrote about the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff – and about the Hufflepuffs' celebrations at supper that night. He wrote about James's chess match with Peter. James had – very graciously, Remus had thought – offered to let Peter play White. But he had also checkmated him in eight moves. They were attempting a rematch as Remus worked, and from time to time he paused in his epistle to offer suggestions.

'No, not your pawn,' he said helpfully. 'See James's bishop? Move your knight before he can take it.'

Peter relayed the command to his pieces, and the knight leapt out of the way.

'It's not fair, coaching him like that in the middle of a game,' James said crossly, prodding his rook when the piece refused to move. 'If you want to play, you should play.'

'I'm writing,' Remus said. 'Peter, keep an eye on that queen…'

'Why do you write her, anyway?' Sirius asked, looking up from his book on motorcars. The question was innocent enough, but the casual tone was forced.

'She worries when I don't,' Remus told him.

'But every week? It's none of her business what you get up to at school.' Sirius sounded rather vicious now.

'I like to write,' Remus said.

'If you like writing so much you could do my lines,' James offered. He and Sirius had been acting out in History of Magic – and had finally raised enough of a ruckus to make Professor Binns look up from his lecture notes. They had each been set two hundred lines; _Textbooks are not for throwing._

'Aw, Potter, take your punishment like a man!' Sirius jeered.

'Easy for you to say; you've finished yours. No, you stupid little beggar. _Left_!' The offending bishop obeyed grudgingly. 'There. Checkmate.'

'Drat,' said Peter, studying the board perplexedly. He looked up, propping his chin on his palm. 'How'd I do this time?'

'Well, we made it into double digits,' James allowed. 'I'd say you're improving.'

'Don't worry, Peter; we'll work on it,' Remus said. 'You'll beat him yet.'

'Big talk from the boy who won't play,' said James.

'I haven't any pieces,' Remus pointed out.

'Use mine,' said Sirius. 'Though I should warn you they're inclined to be rather bad-tempered. Uncle Alphard picked them up in Gibraltar, and I think they're a bit bitter about the British damp.'

'Or you could use mine,' Peter offered. 'They're quite sweet.'

'Lucky for you,' said James. 'A self-respecting set would heckle you mercilessly.'

Remus put away his quill and blew delicately on his parchment. Then he folded it and climbed off the bed. Peter rolled out of his way and he eased himself down onto the floor, managing not to flinch when the scar in his side twinged. He lay down on his stomach and reached out to set up the board.

'Don't do that!' James snorted. 'They're perfectly capable of arranging themselves. Well, snap to it!' he said, rallying his pieces.

'Uh… everyone onto the board, please?' Remus said. Although he was expecting motion he still jumped a little as Peter's captured pieces crowded into place.

'You want White?' James asked.

Remus smiled and shook his head.

James ordered his king's pawn forward.

'Pawn to queen bishop four,' Remus instructed, watching delightedly as the piece obeyed his instruction.

James looked at him quizzically. 'You sure about that?' he asked.

'I'm sure,' said Remus.

James shrugged and moved his queen's pawn one space. Remus pulled out his king's knight, earning the hearty approval of Peter's pieces.

'They like you,' Peter said, looking pleased. He was leaning over the side of the board now, watching avidly.

James advanced his leftmost pawn.

Peter examined the centre of the board eagerly. 'Take his pawn! Take it!'

Remus shook his head, pointing at the ivory pieces. 'He'll take my knight if I do,' he explained. 'A knight is much more valuable than a pawn. Pawn to king's knight three.'

'What are you doing?' James asked, ordering another pawn forward.

'Bishop to king's knight two,' Remus replied.

Two moves later, the pewter bishop swooped in to take James's left-hand knight. 'Check,' said Remus.

James gawked at the board. 'Already?' he said, moving his finger through the air as he tried to retrace the steps that had led them to this pass. 'You cheeky devil.'

'Isn't that _checky_ devil?' Sirius asked from the corner.

'Your move,' said Remus sweetly.

James inched his king out of harm's way and grimaced as Remus took his rook. Peter squealed delightedly. There was some minor shuffling of the pawns, and then Remus took James's second knight, sacrificing his own to the ivory king.

'We're winning!' Peter cheered.

James grinned. 'Not yet,' he said.

But four minutes later he was in check again as a pewter pawn moved forward. James made a valiant effort to advance his bishop onto Remus's half of the board.

'Check,' said Remus for the third time, shifting his own bishop. With two more shrewd moves he drew James's queen into the middle of the board. He moved a pawn. 'Check.'

He waited breathlessly for the king to take his bishop, but James didn't seem to see the opportunity amid the tangle of hostile pawns. He drew back one space.

Remus advanced with his queen, and James took a pawn. Peter covered his eyes as the pewter queen swooped down to pummel the ivory bishop with her sceptre. 'Check,' said Remus.

Sirius was watching now, perched on top of Remus's trunk. He saw the move before it was made, and rubbed his hands gleefully as James pulled back his king. 'Bishop takes queen,' said Remus. 'Check.'

James howled in frustration. 'You… that was a dirty trick!'

'What trick?' asked Remus innocently. 'He's been sitting in that corner for ten minutes; it's not my fault you forgot about him.'

Remus had a pawn one square from promotion, and James moved his remaining bishop to cover it. This provided an opening for Remus's queen, and the sputtering cleric was dragged from the board. James had only two choices now, and neither was good. He retreated to the edge of the board with his king, grimacing as he braced himself for defeat.

'Pawn to queen eight,' said Remus. 'Pawn promoted to queen, checkmate.'

James collapsed forward, striking his forehead on the edge of the board. 'Five pieces,' he said. 'You only lost _five pieces._' He raised his head to look at his own row of ten captured chessmen. 'Well, you're not allowed to play anymore,' he said dryly.

'Speak for yourself, Potter,' Sirius said, nudging James aside and sliding to the floor in his place. He opened the mahogany box that housed his pieces, and swept James's remaining men off the board. The obsidian chessmen marched to take their places. 'You'll not beat me that easily,' he warned.

He was right, but inside of half an hour the game was over anyway, Peter's pewter pieces preening delightedly on the board while the dark stone chessmen grumbled and cursed. James and Peter were both laughing uproariously at Sirius's discomfiture as he stared at his penned-in king. Remus allowed himself a pleased grin.

'Inconceivable,' Sirius muttered. Then he turned stern eyes on each of the other three boys. Peter stopped laughing, looking rather nervous, and even James managed to tone it down to a low chuckle.

'No one,' Sirius said, enunciating carefully; '_no one_ breaths a word of this outside this room, d'you hear me? Not until we work out the best way to exploit this. There's a way to turn this to our advantage, and we need to decide what it is before anybody finds out.'

He pointed a finger at Remus, shaking his head in disbelief. 'You're good. You're very good.'

'I've had a lot of practice,' Remus demurred, though he was glowing with the compliment. In most respects he knew he was not even his friends' equal; it was delightful to have something in which he exceeded them.

'It's our secret, you hear?' Sirius said, again surveying the room. 'A conspiracy of silence.'

'Oh, super!' Peter said, clapping his hands happily. 'And I'm part of it, right?'

Sirius did not dignify that with comment. He snapped his fingers at his chessmen and ordered them to line up. 'We're playing again,' he said, regarding Remus fiercely. 'Be prepared to defend yourself.'

_~discidium_~

On the last Tuesday in January, Professor Dumbledore was absent from the staff table at breakfast. He did not appear at dinner, either, and when he was also missing at supper a rumour began to circulate that he had been called away to London at the request of Orpheus Andrews, the Minister for Magic himself. Many of the older students seemed to think this a portent of some kind, but for Sirius Black it meant only one thing.

'Tonight's the night we sneak into his office,' he said as the four of them left the Great Hall.

'Are you still on that?' James asked in disbelief.

'He won't be there; it's the perfect opportunity.' Sirius looked rather proud of his own cleverness. 'Besides, if we don't do it soon the password will change.'

'How d'you know the password hasn't already changed?' James argued, but he followed Sirius up to the seventh floor anyhow.

It took a bit of doing to find the corridor they wanted, but eventually they were standing in front of the great gargoyle Peter had identified.

'The password's _liquorice allsort_,' said Peter; 'and the—'

The gargoyle leapt aside and the wall behind it opened to reveal a spiral staircase, revolving slowly upward.

'_Brilliant_!' Sirius breathed. 'C'mon, let's go!'

He hopped onto the nearest stair and beckoned to the others. James stepped forward, tugging Peter after him, and Remus sprang onto the next step just as the gargoyle's opening began to close behind them. They rode the moving stairs until they reached an imposing door of polished oak with an ornate brass knocker. There was no sign of a handle or a lock.

'What now?' asked Sirius, looking disappointed.

'Knock?' James suggested, reaching to do just that. The door swung inward, and he grinned. 'Simple solutions to simple problems,' he said smugly.

They shuffled forward as a unit into the grand circular room beyond. The setting sun poured through the tall windows, staining the contents in rosy hues. Remus looked around in awe at the beautiful furnishings – the great claw-footed desk, the tables of mysterious silver instruments, the dozens of heavy, leather-bound books.

'There's the Sorting Hat,' James said, pointing at a shelf over the Headmaster's desk. He elbowed Sirius in the ribs. 'Sure you don't want to ask for a second chance at Slytherin?'

Sirius swatted him. 'Don't be such a berk,' he chuckled. 'You know I'm every bit the Gryffindor you are and – oh, bloody _hell_!'

His roaming eyes had fixed on the nearest portrait, and with the speed and agility of a greyhound he vanished beneath Dumbledore's desk, leaving the other three standing, looking around in puzzlement.

James shambled over to the desk and knocked on its top. 'Uh, Sirius…' he said.

'Shut up!' hissed a frantic voice from somewhere beneath the heavy piece of furniture. 'Don't use my name!'

'What's wrong?' Remus asked. The portrait Sirius had been looking at portrayed a pretty witch with masses of silver ringlets. She was watching the boys, looking every bit as baffled as they were.

'Damn you, Pettigrew; you didn't mention the portraits!' Sirius whispered wrathfully. 'Now what am I supposed to do?'

'I did,' Peter protested, sounding rather hurt. 'I said there were pictures—'

'You didn't say they were pictures of the sodding former Heads!' Sirius yelped. There was a sound as he cracked his head on the underside of the desk. Another muffled oath came from very near the floor.

Remus looked at the kind-faced witch again. She was studying him thoughtfully.

'We've met before, haven't we?' she asked.

'I don't think so, ma'am,' he said.

'Yes, yes we have – and quite recently, too…' She frowned pensively. 'It seems to me you clean up rather nicely.'

'Thank you, ma'am,' Remus said, wondering uncomfortably what on earth she meant.

'Lupin!' Sirius's voice issued from under the desk. 'Stop flirting with the portraits and get down here!'

Obligingly Remus knelt down and crawled under the enormous desk. Sirius was curled against the right side, and he held out a hand to stop the other boy's advancement. 'Look up there and tell me if any of the portraits are empty.'

Remus got up on his heels, steadying himself by gripping the edge of the desk. 'Yes, three,' he said.

'Which ones?' asked Sirius anxiously.

Remus couldn't read the nameplates from where he was squatting. 'James? Read me the names on those empty pictures,' he said.

James looked askance, but he moved around to the nearest one. 'Dexter Fortescue,' he read. 'Huh. Who would've guessed? Caroline Smythe. Ah. Now it makes sense.' There was a knowing lilt to his voice as he read the last one. 'Phineus Nigellus Black.'

'Thank _my_ lucky stars!' Sirius said, scooting out from under the desk so quickly that he almost bowled Remus over. 'Quick, let's get out of here before he decides he wants to check his other portr—'

'Well, well. If it isn't _the shame of my flesh_,' an unpleasant voice said silkily. A wizard with keen eyes and a pointed beard slipped into the frame. Remus got up, keeping one eye on the portrait. Sirius, halfway to the door, was frozen where he stood, his shoulders hunched and his back rigid with tension.

'I thought I recognized that impudent cadence. What are you doing in the Headmaster's office? Have you been caught doing something you oughtn't? _Look at me when I'm speaking to you, boy!_'

Sirius turned slowly. His mouth was set in lines of misery and his eyes were hard with hatred.

'Is that any way to greet your illustrious ancestor, you ungrateful little brat?' Phineus Nigellus demanded. 'Say _good day, Great-great grandfather_.'

James smirked, clearly expecting Sirius to make some kind of snappy retort. His smile vanished into perplexity when the other boy muttered, 'Good day, Great-great-grandfather.'

'Stand up straight and put those shoulders back,' the portrait griped. 'You're cringing like a Mudblood. Show a little pride, you sad remnant of a once mighty line.' As Sirius adjusted his posture, still keeping his eyes cast down and away from the frame, Phineus Nigellus curled his lip. 'Gryffindor,' he spat, looking disdainfully at the badge on Sirius's robes. 'The shame of it; that a scion of my house might be found unworthy of the great legacy of Salazar Slytherin. How you've distressed your poor mother.'

Peter was edging around to hide behind James, watching the portrait as if it might explode. James had a pained, closed look on his face as though embarrassed to witness what should have been a private encounter. Remus was watching Sirius now. He was blinking very rapidly, and his jaw was locked.

'It will quite likely be the death of her to learn you've been called up before the Headmaster,' cooed the wizard, flicking some invisible speck from his green and silver robes. 'I wonder what punishment old Dumbledore will set. He's far too lenient. In my day it would've been the cane at the least for an offence too serious to be dealt with by the perpetrator's Head of House. Though I daresay whipping's too good for you, isn't it?'

A horrible spasm contorted Sirius's face. His expression hardened. 'You just mind your own business!' he snapped. 'I haven't done anything wrong.'

Phineus Nigellus clicked his tongue. 'You need to learn how to respect your elders,' he said. 'No wonder you were found wanting. What was that mischief you were up to on the sixth floor last fortnight? Most disrespectful to turn tail and run like that. And I thought Gryffindors were meant to be _brave_. Perhaps you should've been shunted into Hufflepuff.'

'We don't have to stand here and listen to this,' said James tightly, taking hold of Sirius's arm and trying to herd him towards the door. Sirius shrugged him off.

The wizard in the picture sneered spitefully. 'Perhaps you do know your place after all,' he cooed. 'I shall be sure to mention your attempt at obedience when I speak to your mother…'

'No, don't!' Sirius cried, taking one step forward as his eyes widened. He remembered himself an instant later and tossed his head indifferently. 'You do what you have to,' he said, turning his back on the portrait. He jerked his chin at the door. 'Let's get out of here.'

'Yes, yes, run away from your problems. Young people have no backbone; no staying power. No proper sense of dignity…'

The four boys hurried down onto the stairs, James drawing the oaken door to behind them. He looked like he rather wanted to say something, but Sirius – unwilling to wait for the rotating stairs – was bolting down the steps, and the others had to hurry to catch up.

When they burst out into the corridor, the vitriolic voice of Phineus Nigellus issued from a nearby portrait as he strode past a young couple sitting by a lake.

'…puts me to shame, my noble brother's namesake creeping about like some kind of half-breed thief. You're a poor specimen if ever I saw one; sometimes I wonder if you were switched at birth…'

'He's got a nerve,' James muttered as they moved to a stretch of corridor blessedly bereft of paintings. 'Being you two have _exactly_ the same nose.'

'Shut up. Just shut up,' Sirius said, doubling the pace of his long strides. His hands were rammed into his pockets and he was staring doggedly at the floor as he hurried ahead.

'…and when I think of the high hopes we all had for you!' They were passing a portrait of a plump old man now, who squawked indignantly as Phineus Nigellus elbowed him out of the way. '_Gryffindor_. It's pathetic. Ravenclaw I might have respected; at least that might be construed as evidence of an academic mind, but _Gryffindor…_'

A pair of Slytherin girls were coming down the corridor towards the four boys. They paused, taking in Sirius's scarlet face and the angry Headmaster in the portrait.

'…I always said no good would come of spoiling you two. I only hope your brother has more sense. In the name of Merlin, boy, will you _straighten that spine_! You look like a hump-backed troll.'

The girls tittered. Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, unable to move as the tirade of abuse continued.

'Deficiencies of the spine speak to deficiencies of character,' Phineus Nigellus went on. 'Stooped shoulders indicate a lack of self-respect – though of course, when there is so little to be desired about the object at hand that's hardly surprising. That curve at your thorax, though; that indicates a deceitful nature. That is far more troubling. Small wonder you couldn't be even be relied upon to break the disgraceful news to your mother yourself—'

'Stop it!' Remus cried, unable to bear it any longer. 'Go back to your portrait and leave Sirius alone!'

The wizard stopped, his mouth shrivelling and his eyes growing narrow. 'Well,' he said haughtily. 'I should like to know who you think _you _are, you sickly little whelp. A Mudblood, I'll warrant. Shocking, the creatures Dumbledore will tolerate at Hogwarts. In my day you would have been up a chimney!'

'Perhaps I would,' Remus said quietly, trying to pretend he had not heard the word _creatures_; 'but at least I should hope that the portrait of the peaky sweep wouldn't hound his great-grandson with hateful insults.'

Phineus Nigellus let out a startled huff, squaring his shoulders and smoothing his robes. He fixed murderous eyes on Remus – in a look disturbingly reminiscent of his young descendant – and then turned up his nose. 'Disgraceful,' he muttered, striding out of the old man's frame; 'what passes for manners among young people today…'

'Thank you!' James exhaled when the corridor was silent again. He turned to Sirius, eyes anxious; 'Is that how they talk to you at—'

'Not here,' Remus murmured, nodding his head at the two Slytherins, who were giggling and straining to hear every word. He put his hand on Sirius's elbow and steered him around them. Peter shuffled after them, and James brought up the rear, drawing his wand and watching the girls until they moved around the corner.

With unspoken accord they navigated the crowded Gryffindor common room and retreated to the safety of their dormitory. James lit the lamps and Peter closed the door.

'I don't want to talk about it,' Sirius said, his voice hard and very tight.

James seemed at a loss for words. He was staring at his friend with mingled horror and pity.

'What an awful man. I s'pose there's a portrait of him at your house?' asked Peter. He shrivelled under the glare that Sirius shot him.

'Why don't we just get ready for bed,' Remus suggested calmly. He was burning with questions, but Sirius did not want to talk about it. He could not violate his friend's wish for privacy; not when he was hiding his own secrets many times more dreadful.

Sirius shot him a tiny glance overflowing with abject gratitude. 'I'm going to have a wash,' he said, hurrying to his cupboard to collect his nightshirt, and then moving from the room. The others stood in silence until the rush of water began. Remus sat down on the edge of his bed to untie his shoes.

'D'you think that's the way they talk to him at home?' James asked hoarsely.

'We shouldn't talk about Sirius behind his back,' Remus said. 'If he doesn't want to talk about it then we should respect that.'

'Yeah, but—'

'It isn't very nice,' Remus said softly; 'to gossip about your friends just because you know they can't hear you.'

James looked suddenly rather embarrassed, confirming Remus's suspicions that he and Sirius made a regular habit of discussing him. 'Well, what are we supposed to do, then?' he asked.

'Stay out of the Headmaster's office, for a start,' said Remus. 'And pretend this never happened, if that's what Sirius wants.'

Chaffing his jaw with his palm, James sighed. 'You're a good mate, you know that?' he said.

Remus felt a tiny thrill of warmth in his chest. He was accepted. He was wanted. For the time being, at least, he belonged. He savoured the moment, locking it away to treasure forever. When it all went wrong, at least he could look back and remember.

'Shouldn't we get ready for bed?' Peter asked, moving to collect his flannel pyjamas. 'I mean, so it looks like we've been busy.'

Remus smiled and nodded. 'That's a good idea.' His approval was not what Peter craved, however, so he added; 'Isn't it, James?'

'Absolutely,' said the bespectacled boy. Peter beamed happily.

When Sirius emerged, a studied smile on his face, the other three were clustered on the floor, Remus advising Peter as he tried again to match James at chess. Sirius climbed onto Remus's trunk, one leg drawn up against his chest while the other foot grazed the floor. The hot water, it seemed, had washed away most of his foul mood. He sniped only occasionally when Peter made an especially ill-advised move, and his tone was far more ribbing than cruel.

_~discidium~_

The following morning Sirius was his usual cheerful self, laughing as James rousted Peter out of bed, and good-naturedly helping Remus when he dropped an armload of parchment all over the dormitory floor. He was even humming tunelessly as they walked down to breakfast, and he passed Peter the honey pot without needing to be asked. It was as if the previous evening's misadventure had never happened – until the post arrived and he was forced to relive the entire degrading experience in horribly amplified detail.

'You could try to make a run for it,' James suggested as the owl dropped the Howler and rose swiftly away.

'I'll do it if you want,' Peter said, reaching timidly for the crimson envelope.

Sirius swatted his hand away. 'I can take my medicine,' he said tersely, though he was very pale and his fingers trembled as he broke the seal.

Remus resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the wrathful roars filled the Great Hall. The least he could do, he felt, was to sit in solidarity with Sirius, who had his arms under the table and his eyes fixed on his plate as the hateful voice spouted all the same invectives Phineus Nigellus had used – and a great deal worse. If the situation had been less appalling, Remus might have been impressed by the wide range of hateful images conjured up by the deranged woman's voice. As it was he sat stoically, trying not to listen, until at last the letter burst into flames.

As conversation resumed throughout the room, the three boys remained motionless, waiting to take their cue from Sirius.

'Eat, damn it,' he hissed, gripping his fork in his fist and stabbing at his scrambled eggs.

'Uh, Sirius…' James mumbled, jerking his head toward the staff table.

'_Eat_!' Sirius snapped.

'_Sirius_…'

'Sod you, will you shut your mouth and _eat_?'

'I rather think that might prove a challenge,' a mild sonorous voice remarked. 'Though of course good manners dictate that one must _chew_ with one's mouth closed, it is difficult to get any food inside without opening it at all.'

Sirius swallowed painfully as he looked up into the startling blue eyes of Professor Dumbledore. 'I…'

'When you gentleman are finished your meal, I would like to have a word with you,' the Headmaster said. His expression was inscrutable, but Remus thought he saw a strange glint about the eyes.

'We're finished,' said James, getting hastily off the bench. 'Sir.'

Sirius nodded spastically, clambering to his feet. Remus did the same, taking care not to overbalance.

'You too, Master Pettigrew,' said Dumbledore. 'We'll just step outside, if you don't mind. I think there's been quite enough of a spectacle for one morning.'

The four Gryffindors followed him out into the Entrance Hall, where Dumbledore halted at the top of the stairs.

'I understand I had some visitors in my office yesterday while I was away in London,' he said.

'Yes, sir,' said James. Peter nodded, wide-eyed. Sirius shrugged. Remus was too ashamed to do anything more than stare down at his shoes.

'May I ask what you wanted?' said Dumbledore. 'I regret that I was not available yesterday, but perhaps I may still be of assistance.'

The others looked away now, too. 'It was me, sir,' Sirius said miserably. 'I was curious. I just, well, I don't like not knowing things, and it seemed…'

'…like a good idea at the time, sir,' James finished.

'I see,' said the Headmaster. He looked at Peter. 'I suppose that was the aim of your little visit earlier this month? You were, shall we say, the advance guard?'

'Yes, sir,' Peter squeaked. 'Are you going to punish me, sir?'

Dumbledore smiled. 'Not this time,' he said. 'You didn't touch anything, and no harm was done. It's inconvenient to have to change the password and inform all the staff, but I daresay I'll manage it.' His eyes rested on Sirius. 'And I daresay your ringleader has paid a dear price for his curiosity.'

Sirius flushed. 'I s'pose that lousy painting told you all about it, didn't he?' he muttered.

'Even if he had not, I would have surmised as much from your mother's correspondence this morning,' Dumbledore said mildly. Incredibly, the crimson cast of Sirius's face deepened. 'We'll let the matter rest here, but I'm sure you all appreciate that I value my privacy, and would much prefer that visitors announce themselves in the proper fashion in future. Agreed?'

'Yes, sir,' James said, looking enormously relieved.

'Yes, sir! Thanks,' said Sirius, trying to grin despite his chagrin.

'Y-yes, sir! Yes, sir!' Peter peeped.

'Fine. Now off you go; breakfast will be breaking up directly and if you hurry you can have your pick of seats in Charms.'

The four boys began to move away, but Dumbledore caught Remus's sleeve. He halted, watching wistfully as the others walked off without him. Hanging his head, he turned, determined to face the consequences of his actions with what dignity he could – to _take his medicine_, as Sirius put it.

'I'm sorry, sir,' he whispered. 'I know I've let you down. I… I wasn't thinking. I just… they _like _me,' he finished helplessly.

Dumbledore touched his cheek. 'No harm was done,' he said; 'and I am neither angry nor disappointed. Remus, look at me.'

Remus raised his head, gnawing on his lip as he gazed up at the Headmaster's kind face.

'I know what happened over the holiday,' Dumbledore said gently. 'Your mother has written me to ask that special care be taken this month. If there is anything you wish to talk about, my door is always open.'

Remus managed a wan half-smile. 'Not if you're changing the password, sir,' he tried to quip.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. '_Peppermint wafer_,' he said. 'It's only for times of need, mind. If I find you've been paying any more impromptu visits to Phineus Nigellus I shall be quite put out.' He smiled. 'Do try to keep from getting into too much mischief, Remus.'

'Yes, sir,' the boy murmured. Dumbledore paused for a moment, studying his face, and then swept away down the staircase. Remus watched him go, wondering how the four of them had managed to escape without punishment.

At that moment, Phillip Avery and his gang of first year Slytherins came out of the Great Hall, laughing and mimicking the Howler in nasty nasal voices. Remus hurried out of their way, anxious to elude their notice. As he listened to them revelling in Sirius's humiliation, he realized unhappily that once again only three of them had actually managed to get away with it.


	20. Now We Are Four

**Chapter Twenty: Now We Are Four**

On Thursday afternoon, Remus was obliged to stay behind after Potions let out. He had scorched the bottom of his cauldron, and he didn't know the proper scouring charms to remove the caked layers of charred sludge. James lingered for moral support, leaning on the counter and watching as Remus scrubbed at the mess with a ball of wire wool. His sleeves kept getting in the way, and as much as he appreciated his friend's attentiveness Remus wished the other boy would just leave so that he could bare his scarred forearms.

'You need to pay closer attention to what you're doing,' James was saying boredly. 'If you take your eyes off of it for too long, of course it's going to burn.'

Remus closed his eyes and applied more pressure. It would never do to snap at James. He was exhausted, having been up most of the previous night in the wake of another dream, and he had been down in this cold, horrible room for two and a half hours now, nauseated and dizzy and unable to breathe properly. Now his hands were raw and his robes were damp, and it was only three more days until the full moon and he was cross and he was sore…

'Well, I think you've suffered enough,' said Professor Slughorn, bouncing back into the classroom and shooing Remus away from the cauldron. '_Scourgify_,' he said, pointing his wand at the mess. There was a frothing of soapy bubbles, and the cauldron was returned to its normal state. 'I hope this will teach you to keep your mind on your work.'

'Told you,' James said as the teacher moved off. 'Come on; the day's a-wasting.'

Remus gathered up his bag and shuffled after his friend. They stepped out into the low corridor, where Sirius was waiting for them, leaning against the wall making smoke-rings with his wand.

'About time,' he said, grinning broadly. 'I was just about to send out search parties.' He frowned at the sight of Remus's sore hands. 'Didn't Slughorn give you gloves?' he demanded.

'I didn't think to ask,' Remus said, withdrawing his fists into his sleeves and wishing that he had had the presence of mind to do so earlier. 'It's nothing, really.'

Sirius did not look convinced, but James wrinkled his nose. 'Relax, Black. I was there the whole time. He's just not used to that sort of work. Needs to spend some time in detention.'

'Oh, no, I couldn't…' Remus said worriedly.

James laughed. 'You know, I'd put money on your reactions, but where would I find someone thick enough to bet against quiet and jumpy? And talking of quiet and jumpy, where's Pettigrew?'

Sirius shrugged. 'He left about fifteen minutes ago. Got hungry, probably. No staying power, that one.'

'You ought to be kinder to him,' Remus said. 'He's one of us now, isn't he?'

'Who says there's an "us"?' asked Sirius.

Remus stiffened as if he had been slapped. He had presumed too much, and now the other boy was putting him in his place. He had had no right to behave as if he were on equal footing with Sirius and James. He should have been content just to linger on the fringes of their friendship, feasting on whatever crumbs of camaraderie they deigned to offer him. That had been more than he had ever dreamed of before coming to Hogwarts, and he cursed himself for tossing it so carelessly away.

Sirius saw the hurt in his eyes, for his face crumpled repentantly. 'I don't me there isn't an _us_ us,' he said, gesturing to encompass the three of them. 'I'm just saying there isn't really an us-and-Pettigrew us.'

'I dunno about that,' said James. 'We put him to the test, and he passed – eventually – and he's been pretty much a fixture in the group for weeks. I'd say that makes him _one of us_, don't you?'

Sirius peered down the length of his fine patrician nose. 'I wouldn't be too sure,' he said. 'We're a very select team, you know. Can't be throwing open the membership to all and sundry.'

'Peter's hardly the Great Unwashed,' James said. 'He's proved himself a useful accomplice, and he lives in our dormitory, and he's a Gryffindor.'

'Oh, well, if _he's a Gryffindor_ is the prime criterion, why don't we just ask Dorcas Meadowes to join?' Sirius scoffed. 'I think—'

'What's that?' James asked, cocking his ear and holding up a hand for silence.

'What's what?' said Sirius.

'_Shh._'

It was a low chattering noise, coming from the left-hand corridor. Sirius frowned as he listened. 'It's laughter,' he said.

'Not very nice laughter,' Remus added softly.

James loosed a wicked grin. 'Slytherins.'

'Super,' Sirius said, a rather hungry look in his eyes as he rolled up his sleeves. 'I could do with a little fun.'

Remus was just about to point out that they had been in quite enough trouble already this week when a squeal of distress rose above the droning and the laughter redoubled. 'That's Peter,' he said, horrified.

James shot an accusatory glare at Sirius. 'You said he went to get some supper!'

'I said he was probably hungry,' Sirius argued. There was another cry from the next corridor, and he stiffened. 'Let's go!'

He bolted off in the direction of the noise, and James moved with him as if in practiced battle formation. Remus hurried on their heels, rummaging in his robes for his wand.

They came upon the conflagration almost at once. A circle of black robes, all trimmed to various degrees with the silver and green of Slytherin House, occluded the corridor. There was a great deal of variation in the age of the students; the oldest were at least third or fourth year, and Remus recognized several of his own classmates.

'Look at the little piggy!' Phillip Avery was sneering. 'Doesn't he look like a piggy, Evan?'

Evan Rosier cocked his head to one side, considering the question. 'Dunno,' he said. 'He looks more like a mouse to me. One of those nasty little white mice with the repulsive red eyes.'

'Try to run, ickle mouse,' jeered an older boy, thin and shifty-eyed. He kicked out into the centre of the circle.

'Well, well, well,' Sirius said, a vicious scowl on his face as he levelled his wand at the one who had just spoken. 'What's this, Rodolphus? Shouldn't you be off pulling the wings off house flies or torturing gnomes or something?'

The bigger boy looked up, startled at the interruption, and a nasty smile spread across his angular face. 'It's the hump-backed troll!' he announced. The Slytherins laughed, and several of them turned. From within the circle, Peter's panicked breathing could be heard. 'Straighten that spine, Black. Deficiencies of the spine mean deficiencies of character.'

'Deficiencies, is it? That's an awfully big word for you, Lestrange,' said Sirius lazily, though the tips of his ears were turning pink. 'Can you spell it? Do you know what it means?'

'Oh, don't be unpleasant,' sneered Lestrange. 'Have you decided to claim your birthright after all? You're welcome to join us; go on, we don't mind sharing.'

On cue, Avery and the boy next to him withdrew a little, opening up the circle so that Peter was visible. He was cowering on the floor, plump face buried in his hands, and he was trembling.

'You know,' said James, squaring his chest and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Sirius; 'there's a word for great Slytherin gits who go around ganging up on firsties. _Coward_.'

'Ooh, it's little Lord Potter!' Evan said, elbowing aside Idwal McKay. 'Shall we kiss his feet? Reckon _you'd _like to kiss his feet, wouldn't you?' he sneered, prodding Peter with his shoe. Peter whimpered and tried to cover the back of his head.

'I'd keep those toes to yourself if you don't want to lose them,' James said.

'The ickle firstie's going to _hex_ somebody!' one of the older boys taunted. '_Please_ don't hurt me, Potter. _Please_ don't hex me!'

'Let him go, and I won't have to,' said James calmly.

Peter made a grateful sound deep in his throat and tried to scuttle through the gap next to Avery, but the Slytherin brought his foot down on the small of Peter's back.

'Back off, Avery,' Sirius warned. His wand was beginning to glow ominously.

'Or what?' sneered Phillip. 'Who's going to stop me? The two of _you_?'

Sirius grinned. 'That's right. The two of us.'

Avery sniggered and drove down with his foot. Peter let out a tiny cry of pain as the pressure on his spine increased. It was more than Remus could bear. He squared his slight shoulders and moved up next to James. Abreast the three of them almost filled the corridor. Almost.

'And me,' he said timidly.

The Slytherins roared with laughter. A trio of first years – one of them the object of public ridicule, another wiry and bespectacled, and the third small and peaky – clearly did not make a very impressive exhibition of strength. There were nine Slytherins, and half of them were older than the Gryffindor boys. James, however, turned a brief smile upon him, and for a moment Remus felt only the joy of belonging. Sirius was still eyeing Avery like something he would rather like to tear into tiny pieces.

'If any of you want to leave now,' Sirius offered graciously; 'we'll be prepared to overlook your part in this little debacle.' He did a swift sweep of the group, his wand and his uncompromising grey eyes hovering over each Slytherin in turn.

Idwal McKay, looking rather pale and anxious, backed away from the circle, trailing one hand along the wall of the corridor as he began to retreat.

'Smart lad,' James said, nodding at him. 'Go on, get out of here. And tell your little friends that Peter Pettigrew is off limits.'

Idwal turned tail and ran. The remaining Slytherins sniggered, and Remus took a count again. Strangely, it still came out to nine.

'Look who it is!' Sirius crowed, his wand training upon the slight figure that had been concealed between McKay and a burly third-year. 'Hallo, Snivellus. Found some friends at last, have you? Not a very intelligent choice of associates, but I'd hardly expect more from you.'

Snape pushed his lank hair out of his eyes. He glanced side to side at his companions, clearly trying to gauge whether he had the right to speak. Apparently deciding that he did not, he set his jaw and adjusted his hold on his wand.

'Last chance,' James said. The bravado in his voice was very convincing, but Remus was standing near enough to hear the anxious hammering of his heart. It was oddly comforting to know that James, too, thought they were in rather above their heads. 'We can all walk away from this right now.'

'I've got a counter-offer,' Lestrange sneered. 'We keep the little mouse until we're good and done with him, and you throw in the pride and joy of the Black family for good measure – and we'll let you and the little one go this time. You might want to consider it carefully; it's a very generous proposition.'

'Reckon you could manage ears and a tail, Snape?' Avery chortled, prodding at Peter again. 'A nasty long pink one, to match his fat little cheeks.'

James and Sirius exchanged a swift glance, apparently drawing courage from one another's determination. James looked at Avery. 'Like I said,' he intoned in a very condescending voice; 'Peter's off limits.'

It happened so quickly that afterward Remus had difficulty sorting it all out in his mind. James shot a hex at Avery, catching him in the wand-arm. Sirius shouted something very loud and unintelligible, and Lestrange discharged a Shielding Charm that clipped Evan Rosier in the back of the head and made him stumble. Several wands trained on James and Sirius at once and Remus, who did not know any hexes at all, tried to remember the incantation for the Disarming Charm that he had seen the Head Girl use on the second day of term.

'_Expelliarmus!_' he cried. It was more effective than he had dared to hope. Five of the Slytherin wands shot into the air, ricocheting off of the low ceiling and flying in every direction. As they clattered to the floor their owners dropped to their knees, fumbling in a mad scramble to find their own wands.

Remus dropped into a crouch as Snape – who with Lestrange, Rosier and a jaundiced-looking second year had managed to keep hold of his wand – shot off a hex aimed at his head. Sirius countered with a jinx that missed Snape, but caught the husky third year in the backside. He crashed to the floor, legs twitching and jumping furiously.

James and Lestrange were duelling now, each trying to land a spell while the other did his utmost to block it. Sirius sprang out of the way as Snape sent a bolt of yellow light in his direction, and fired off a hex that shot low over Peter's back.

Realizing abruptly that his friend was still helpless in the midst of the affray, Remus scurried forward on hands and knees, narrowly avoiding a hand snatching at his wand. He grabbed Peter's arm and tugged at it. Peter squealed and tried to pull away, but then he realized who had hold of him and scurried along as Remus pulled him out of the middle of the action. He dragged Peter behind him, and let the plump boy sit there, digging for his wand. Remus scooted back amid the dancing feet of the duellists. Four of the Slytherins he had disarmed were now kneeling in a knot, still trying to sort out which wand was whose.

With a sharp, predacious motion of the sort he usually hated in the waxing gibbous week, Remus snatched up two of the fallen wands and dove out of the way before the owners could grab him. He ducked between Sirius and James, who were standing almost back-to-back now as they tried to keep up with the Slytherins. Rodolphus Lestrange spied Remus with the stolen wands in his hands, and swooped down to seize them. Abruptly he stumbled, yowling loudly as he clutched at his ankle.

Peter, on hands and knees with his wand drawn, ventured a tiny smile at Remus as the latter scooted backward away from Lestrange. 'Stinging Hex,' he said proudly.

'Do it again!' Remus urged, pointing at Avery. Peter obliged, catching the Slytherin in the thigh.

There were only five combatants still on their feet; James and Sirius, who were working wildly as they tried to gain the upper hand, Evan Rosier, Severus Snape, and the cruel-looking second year. Remus set his sights on the fifth boy, sending off another Disarming Charm. He was more focused this time, and the wand arced through the air so that he could catch it.

The second year hollered wordlessly, lunging towards him, but Peter was ready. This time the hex struck its target in the shoulder, and the two Gryffindor boys were able to scramble out of his reach.

James and Severus were engaged in single combat. They were remarkably well-matched, and neither seemed able to land a spell as they skirted around the Slytherins still scrabbling on the floor. Sirius and Evan, on the other hand, were moving in a slow, tight circle together, each with his wand at arm's length and trained on the other's nose.

'Go ahead and try it,' Sirius twitted, glaring avariciously at the Slytherin. 'But I should warn you Auntie's not here to pull me off of you this time.'

'Who says I needed her to?' Rosier yelped. 'I'm perfectly capable of taking you, and you know it!'

'Do I really?' Sirius sneered. 'I seem to remember a scared ickle boy crying for his mummy 'cause he couldn't work out how to get his robes untangled.'

'There's no rotten Muggle fence here,' snapped Evan. 'I'd like to see you actually do anything useful with magic. You know that's why you weren't good enough for Slytherin, don't you? 'Cause you're more than half a Squib.'

Before Sirius could respond a dark mass slammed into his knees and he fell backward with a tremendous _crack_. Rodolphus Lestrange was on top of him now, wand forgotten as he groped for the younger boy's throat. The injustice of this manoeuvre filled Remus with indignant fury. He was just about to dive in and try to fight off the bigger boy – for all that he knew he didn't have a chance – when James whirled around and shot off a hex that sent Lestrange reeling. Horrible wheezing noises issued from his nose as something yellow and slimy oozed from his nostrils, expanding rapidly. As he kicked out he tripped Rosier, who fell backward on top of Avery.

Sirius wriggled out from under him, snatching up his wand and getting up on one knee to point it at Severus, who was now the only one of his group still standing. 'I'd run if I were you,' he growled, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

Severus looked around at the chaos that had been the gang of Slytherins, and took a long step backward, wand at the ready.

'It's our corridor,' he said coldly. '_You_ run.'

The sallow second year was getting to his feet, and two of the boys whose wands Remus still held began to advance. Lestrange was incapacitated, still struggling to breathe as the engorged mucous began to attack him, but the others all seemed to be well on the way to recovering. James looked at Sirius. 'Time to scarper?' he asked.

Sirius nodded. 'You first; I'll keep Snivelly off our heels.'

James turned around and swooped to drag Peter to his feet. 'C'mon, move your legs!' he exclaimed. Peter struggled to obey.

Sirius stood fast for a minute with his wand held out threateningly, but he couldn't hex four boys at once.

'I'll cover you,' Remus said, catching upon what seemed like an absurdly simple idea. 'On three. One, two…'

Not waiting for the count, Sirius launched himself to his feet and bolted. The moment he turned the Slytherins tried to lunge forward and grab him, but Remus was ready. With a flick of his wrist he flung the three pilfered wands at the heads of the two foremost boys, who threw up their hands to protect their eyes, and then bent to scramble for their wands. The moment of chaos was enough for Sirius to double back and seize hold of Remus's arm. The two Gryffindors to sprinted off down the corridor after James and Peter.

The four of them ran, clambering up the stairs so swiftly that Remus slipped, barking his shin on the edge of a step. Sirius didn't even pause in his stride as he grabbed his friend's shoulder with his free hand and hauled him back onto his feet. There was no sound of pursuit, but they ran as swiftly as if Lestrange and the others were right on their heels. They did not stop until they reached the relative safety of the Entrance Hall, where students making their way to supper provided the security of a public place.

They collapsed at the foot of the great marble staircase, breathless and shaken. Peter looked ready to faint dead away. James, panting thickly, had a lurid gash on his neck that was bleeding profusely onto his collar. The right sleeve of Sirius's robe was torn, and there was an apricot-sized lump appearing behind his ear where Lestrange had knocked his head against the stone floor. Remus's leg was burning from its encounter with the stairs, and every joint in his body ached from exertion too great for the days before the full moon. He closed his eyes and let his cheek rest against the cool stone of the step above him, trying to compose himself.

'You all right?' Sirius asked, addressing Peter. 'What did they do to you before we got there?'

'N-nothing,' Peter stammered. 'Nothing 'cept knock me down. They were arguing about – about what they _ought_ to do.'

'All right,' Sirius said, sounding rather as if he was trying to calm himself as much as Peter. 'All right. You're not hurt. That's good.'

'James is bleeding,' Peter said worriedly. He rammed his hands into his pockets. 'Oh, I forgot my hankie in the dormitory!'

Remus found his and held it out, still unwilling to raise his head. Now that the moment of panic was passed he could feel his meagre reserves of strength ebbing away. James took the proffered cloth and began to dab at his neck.

'It was Snape,' he said bitterly. 'What kind of a first year knows curses that leave real wounds?'

'I don't know,' Sirius said; 'but clearly we need to brush up on our jinxes. I think I only landed three. What about you?'

'Four at least, not counting Lestrange,' said James. 'But we got lucky. They weren't organized and they kept tripping over each other – and disarming them like that was inspired, Remus. I'll bet they're still trying to get those wands back to their rightful owners.'

'Peter did a really super Stinging Hex,' Remus said, finally picking himself up and leaning heavily over his lap. He rubbed at his sore calf. 'Really super.'

James grinned at Peter. 'Well done,' he said earnestly.

The plump little boy smiled timorously. 'Thank you for coming to help,' he said. 'I don't know what they would have done once they finally made up their minds…'

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. 'Don't mention it, mate,' he said. 'All part of the service; you're one of us now, after all.'

Remus smiled.

~_discidium_~

After dinner on Saturday the four boys went up to the Owlery to visit Hermes. Remus was already feeling the pull of the moon, and his whole body pained him. He sat down with his back to the wall and watched the other boys admiring the majestic black owl. He knew that it was wicked, but Remus could not help feeling just a little envious of Peter. After months of struggling just to be noticed by James and Sirius, he seemed to accept their hard-earned approval without question. He was one of the gang now, pure and simple, and it never seemed to cross his mind that the arrangement might be temporary. He did not go to bed each night wondering if tomorrow might be the day when the cup of happiness would be dashed at last from his lips. He did not have to worry; for he had passed the test and they were prepared to take him as he was.

He was standing with them now, chattering enthusiastically while Sirius, with a look of deliberate patience on his face, lowered his arm so that the owl was eye-to-eye with Peter. How wonderful it would be, Remus thought with an ache that sank deeper than any pre-transformation pain, to live such a simple, happy life. How wonderful it would be to enjoy only the worries of a normal boy.

He wondered if Sirius felt the same way.

'What're you doing way over here?' James asked, moving away from the others to crouch in front of Remus. 'You've been awfully quiet today.'

'I'm just tired,' Remus said. 'I'm always tired after Astronomy.'

'You had a good long lie in,' James remarked, clearly feeling that the excuse was a feeble one. 'You're not fretting, are you?'

'Why would I be fretting?' asked Remus. Answering a question with a question was never a strong defence from unwanted advances, but he lacked the energy for a more spirited story.

'About Lestrange and the Slytherins. I told you; they won't say a thing. They were the ones picking on a helpless firstie. What we did was purely in defence of our friend.' James grinned, tilting his head so that the healing wound on his neck rippled. It was mending nicely, already shedding its scab. Remus felt a tiny pang of jealousy. Human children healed so quickly.

'I'm not fretting,' he said quietly. 'I'm tired.'

The scar on his right side was itching again, but he did not dare to scratch at it. It was the little details, he knew, that would betray him. Alone no single act pointed to the door marked _werewolf_, but strung together a hundred little clues wrote the truth in letters ten feet high. James and Sirius were intelligent, brilliant even, and they were relentless. It would never do to fuel their suspicions.

'We'll head back to the Tower soon, I promise,' said James, glancing over his shoulder. 'I don't know how much more fawning that owl is going to take.'

Remus smiled faintly. Hermes did indeed look rather put out by Peter's attentions. The feathers around his throat were bristling, and now and again he nipped in the direction of the boy's podgy fingers. Sirius had given up tapping his beak punitively when he did so, which meant that he, too, was growing tired of the diversion.

'It's a beautiful bird,' James said, his voice dropping very low. 'Must've cost forty or fifty Galleons at least. He's got everything he could want, right? I mean, they mustn't be _bad_ parents if they give him presents like that.'

Remus thought about his own mother and father, who cared for him as if he were as precious as any normal child, who looked after him when he was ill and hurting, who cleaned up after him when he was sick all over his bed. He thought of Mother, reading aloud for hours when he was too weak to hold a book himself or spending her free afternoons knitting him a scarf in Gryffindor colours; and of Father, who worked such long, dreary days at the Ministry just to pay for school robes and second-hand textbooks and costly potions. They had never bought him a gift worth forty Galleons, or even ten, but he knew that they were very good parents.

'I think,' he said slowly; 'I think there might be other things he wants. Things they can't buy for him.'

James chuckled. 'Like a Muggle motor?' he joked.

Remus tried to laugh, but his stomach was heavy within him. James didn't understand at all.

There was a flurry of smoky feathers as Hermes took flight. Sirius watched him spiral upward to his perch, and then came strolling over to James and Remus.

'What's all this?' he asked. 'Are we hatching some elaborate scheme for world domination? Why such a solemn face?'

Remus tried to smile, hoping that no one noticed that it did not reach his eyes. 'I'm just tired,' he said.

James shot a sharp look at Sirius, whose eyes narrowed a little. Just then Peter came up, grinning happily.

'What are we going to do now?' he asked. 'We could go out and play in the snow. James, you said you knew how to make skates out of ice, didn't you?'

'I don't think we're going to go outside, Peter,' James said mildly, looking sidelong at Remus. 'Maybe we should just head up to the dormitory and play cards or something.'

'Or chess,' Sirius said, grinning wickedly at Peter. 'I still haven't had a chance to trounce you.'

'Would you really play with me?' the small boy asked, all thoughts of ice-skating usurped by this prospect.

'Sure,' Sirius said. 'Of course you realize I'm bound to win…'

Peter was already at the door, waiting impatiently for the others to follow. James straightened his legs and moved off. Sirius held out a hand to Remus. For a moment he considered declining it, but he was so stiff and sore that he doubted he could have stood by himself without obvious effort. Remus took the taller boy's hand and swallowed the urge to groan as he was pulled smoothly to his feet.

They spent the balance of the afternoon in the dormitory, James and Sirius taking it in turns to beat Peter at chess. Remus watched drowsily, curled up on the foot of his bed with his coverlet pulled down over him. When at last it was time to go down for supper, he felt almost well enough to eat. There was roast with all the trimmings, and Remus managed to get a slice from the very middle of the shoulder that was rather on the pink side. He went to bed that night almost certain that he would not dream.

~_discidium_~

There was a disadvantage to having three friends, as Remus discovered on Sunday. With Peter now firmly entrenched in his social sphere, he now had yet another person around to keep an eye on him. He could not say whether the others had planned it amongst themselves, but he found it very difficult to slip away to the hospital wing.

'Where're you headed?' Sirius asked as they left the Great Hall after the noon meal.

'Nowhere,' said Remus, doubling back to join the others.

'What happened to your gargantuan appetite?' asked Sirius. 'It's been ages since I've seen you pick at your dinner like that.'

Remus tried to shrug, but the pain that shot into his neck stopped him. 'I suppose I'm not very hungry,' he said. 'The pie didn't taste right.'

'I thought it was delicious,' James said. 'But if you're craving something we could always try to sneak into the kitchens and get it.'

'Not in the middle of the day,' Peter protested. 'We'd get caught for sure.'

So they returned to Gryffindor Tower. James and Sirius joined a group of second years playing Exploding Snap, and Remus managed get up to the dormitory to change without raising any questions. He took the stairs quietly, hoping that no one would notice as he slipped out the portrait-hole.

'What are you _wearing_?' James asked incredulously, tossing down his hand and getting up to gawk at his friend. 'You look like the rag-picker's child.'

Nor was he the only one staring; several other students looked up from their games or homework or wands to see the cause of the excitement. Remus studied the carpet, trying not to feel the staring eyes on him and wishing desperately that he had worn his next-to-worst robes instead of these. His mother had done her best to mend them after Healer Selwyn had cut them off of him, but despite her neat stitching and her careful piecing there were now several crooked new seams; one down the middle of the front panel, one on the left sleeve and two on the right. They still covered him, and they would likely do for a few more transformations, but it had not really occurred to Remus that anyone would notice.

'They're just play robes,' he mumbled, trying to hide his embarrassment and tugging his cloak closed so that the tatty garment could no longer be seen. 'My school things want washing.'

James seemed satisfied with that answer, and he returned to his game – but of course getting away quietly was now out of the question. Remus went to sit on the hearth, keeping himself well wrapped. One or two of the bigger students who occupied the best chairs gave him odd looks, but thankfully no one said anything.

After about half an hour, when the game of Snap had turned into a competition to see who could build the largest house of cards before it exploded, Remus decided to try again. His joints were very stiff, and he tottered a little as he struggled to his feet. Dorcas Meadowes shot him an uneasy glance, but promptly returned to her book. James and Sirius were engrossed in erecting the fifth floor of their pagoda, and Remus made it almost to the portrait hole when Peter looked up and chirped; 'Where are you going? Can I come with you? Just let me get my cloak.'

Sirius and James were watching him now, too, obviously about to invite themselves along on whatever adventure they thought he was taking. 'Oh, no, I wasn't going anywhere, honestly,' Remus said hastily, moving to the other side of the common room in what he hoped was a suitably nonchalant manner. 'I only wanted to stretch my legs a little.'

After a while Sirius grew tired of cards, and announced that he was going upstairs for his motor book.

'Good,' James said. 'I've got some of Mum's toffee in my cupboard. Bring that down, too, won't you?'

And, mercifully, Sirius tossed his head and affected an attitude of offence. 'I'm not your minder, Potter,' he said; 'get off your spoilt behind and fetch your own toffee.'

So James went upstairs as well, ribbing Sirius all the way. That left only Peter to care where Remus went, and he was busy watching the boys' staircase, doubtless anticipating a piece of Mrs Potter's homemade toffee. Heart hammering with relief, Remus at last managed to get through the portrait-hole unnoticed.

Madam Pomfrey was sitting in her rocker, poring over what appeared to be a Muggle medical journal, when Remus came into the hospital wing.

'Hello, dear. I was expecting you three-quarters of an hour ago,' she said. There was not a hint of reproach in her voice, and for that Remus was grateful. 'I had hoped you might have a nice hot bath – your mother wrote to say you like them at home – but I'm afraid there isn't time. Here, now, take this—' She gave him a little cup filled with the potion for his fever. '—and if you like perhaps we could see about a nice mug of chocolate.'

Remus shook his head, bolting down the unpleasant-tasting fluid. 'It wouldn't taste right,' he confessed.

They left the castle and walked together across the grounds to the Whomping Willow. The sun was low and the snow glowed golden around them. Instead of walking silently as she usually did, Madam Pomfrey seemed intent on making conversation.

'How are your lessons, Remus?' she asked. 'Professor McGonagall was saying just the other day what excellent work you're doing in Transfiguration.'

'I don't know about that, Madam,' said Remus humbly. 'I'm nowhere near the top of the class, and I'm very slow with my spells.'

'But very precise, she says,' the matron told him. 'Minerva appreciates a keen eye for detail. Taking the time to do something properly is more important than a flashy show of power.'

They had reached the tree now, and Remus climbed down into the tunnel. He looked up at the matron.

'You don't need to come down to the house with me,' he said softly. 'It's such a long walk both ways. I can manage myself.'

She smiled. 'Don't be silly. You'll not get rid of me that easily. Come on now, get out of my way before the tree wakes up.'

As they moved through the tunnel by the light of Madam Pomfrey's wand she continued to talk happily. Remus found it strangely comforting. It was pleasant to be able to think about something other than his impending torment, if only for a short while, and soon he found himself telling her about Peter's attempts at chess and his own little victories. He knew Sirius would disapprove, but if Madam Pomfrey could be trusted with Remus's terrible secret surely she wouldn't gossip about chess.

When they reached the house, Remus moved towards his customary chair, but the matron held out her hand. 'Come along, dear. I think we'll settle you upstairs tonight. It's so terribly cold in here; wouldn't you rather bundle up while you wait?'

Remus followed her, puzzled and not at all certain what she meant. He mounted the narrow stairs carefully, trying not to mind the throbbing in his limbs. Madam Pomfrey led him to a room furnished just like a bedroom; night tables, four-poster bed, blankets, hangings and all.

'There, you see?' she said, turning down the covers. 'You can undress and curl up under here while you wait. It doesn't matter what happens to the bedclothes, and at least this way you'll have something warm about you. What do you think of that?'

Remus, who was already shivering convulsively, looked longingly at the thick bedclothes. 'But the wolf… the wolf will spoil them,' he stammered.

'I tell you it doesn't matter,' Madam Pomfrey said kindly. 'They're just shabby old things; if they get spoiled it's no loss to anyone. Do you want me to help you undress, or would you rather I leave you some privacy?'

'Privacy, please, ma'am,' Remus mumbled, flushing a little. She would come to collect him, naked and bloody after moonset – but at least he could cling to the fragment of dignity that came from stripping down without an audience.

'Very well, love.' Madam Pomfrey bent to draw him into a warm embrace. She rested her cheek briefly on the crown of his head. 'Best of British luck, Remus dear.'

He thanked her and she left him to undress. He did so quickly, tucking away his clothes on top of the tall chest of drawers. He was quaking with cold now, and it felt wonderful to climb into the bed, drawing up the heavy blankets and hugging them to his aching body until the trembling began to abate. He found himself growing calm and drowsy as he waited for the change to begin.


	21. A Headline in the Paper

_Note: And now, a brief anecdote from the life of Stoplight Delight. When I was seven years old, I sent a homemade card to my idol on the occasion of his ninety-second birthday. He wrote me back. He also wrote the title to this chapter. Thank you, Mr. Carter. Thank you._

**Chapter Twenty-One: A Headline in the Paper**

For a single ghastly moment, Remus thought that his cries had awakened his mother. The door flew open and someone in a soft dressing gown sat hurriedly down on the edge of the bed, drawing him into a tight embrace. Tender, capable fingers cupped the back of his skull and a soothing voice made low shushing sounds as the midnight visitor rocked him gently in the bed.

But instead of rosewater he smelled clean linen and Pepper-Up Potion, and as the voice shifted from hushing to murmuring, 'There, there, Remus dear. There, there;' he realized that it was Madam Pomfrey.

He relaxed into her hold then, letting himself be comforted. His battered body surrendered to the support of the matron's arms, and he let his head rest against her shoulder. Presently, when his heart was no longer trying to leap out from between his ribs, she loosed her hold and let him sit up as she lit the lamp.

'Thank you, Madam. I'm sorry,' Remus mumbled, taking the handkerchief she offered and scrubbing the tear-tracks from his face. 'It was a nightmare.'

'That much I surmised,' she said softly, flicking her wand so that a glass of water appeared on the table.

She held it out, and Remus took it. He was terribly thirsty, and he drank too quickly – spilling the water down his front.

Without even a pause, the matron used her wand to dry his gown and blanket. 'I'm sorry, dear,' she said. 'I wasn't thinking. Let me help you.'

She reached out to steady the glass, waiting for Remus to tip it again. Instead, unable to master himself in time, Remus burst into tears. It was a very good thing that Madam Pomfrey had her hand on the glass, for Remus's flew to cover his face. He pressed his open mouth to the heel of one palm, struggling desperately for control.

In her sympathetic way, Madam Pomfrey waited patiently until the sobs died away. When at last Remus let his arms fall into his lap, she was waiting with the handkerchief in hand again. He took it and used it, then balled it up in his fist and stared miserably at his hand.

The matron was working circles on his back now, still waiting for him to decide that he was ready to speak. Not until he was certain that he could get the words out without choking on them did Remus say; 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're so good to me, and – and I woke you up.'

'I'm more concerned about what woke _you _up,' said Madam Pomfrey, straightening the neck of his gown and checking the bandage wrapped around his upper arm. 'It must have been a terrible dream. I've never known you to make such dreadful sounds.'

Remus thought bitterly that she ought to hear what he got up to when he was transformed, but he muttered instead, 'It was just a stupid nightmare.'

The matron studied his face gravely. 'It helps,' she said; 'to talk about such things. You'll find it's much less frightening once you let it out in the open. Then it won't come back, either.'

'Yes it will,' Remus said miserably. 'It always does.'

Madam Pomfrey's eyes were sad. 'How long have you been having nightmares?' she asked.

'Since…' Remus felt his face burning. 'Since I got home from the hospital.'

She curled her fingers around his hand, squeezing reassuringly. 'No one could fault you for that, poor dear,' she said. 'Such a dreadful thing to suffer through. You must try to forget about it, Remus. We'll do our very best to keep you away from there from now on.'

'It's not that,' he whispered. 'It's… I wasn't meant to hear; he thought I was sleeping. B-but my father said…'

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying desperately not to start weeping again. He could feel Madam Pomfrey watching him, and he knew she wanted him to go on, but he couldn't.

'Remus, I'm sure your father loves you very much. Whatever he might have said I'm sure it was only because he was exhausted and half-sick with worry…'

'He said terrible things would happen if Sirius ever found out that I'm a… a…' The horrible word stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him. 'A _werewolf_,' he spat, the sounds coming out harsh and poisonous.

'Sirius?' Madam Pomfrey sounded puzzled. 'Oh, your friend, dear, of course. I'm sure you just misunderstood.'

Remus shook his head convulsively. 'He's right. I know he's right. Sirius and James… they'd never understand. What will I do if they find out?' he cried, turning wide, desperate eyes up to her. 'They'll hate me. They might even hurt me. What will I do?' A fresh horror occurred to him. 'Where will I sleep? They'll never allow me in the dormitory again.'

'Nonsense,' said Madam Pomfrey firmly. 'They couldn't turn you out of your dormitory even if they wanted to.'

'B-but I couldn't even really blame them if they did,' Remus said wretchedly. 'Would you want a werewolf in the next bed? At St Mungo's there are Healers and securitywizards on duty around the clock, and they didn't even let me share a ward with the other children. I had to be off with… with my kind.'

'That was ridiculous and it was wrong,' said the matron, rather fiercely. 'There's no reason at all you shouldn't mix with other children. You're not a danger to anyone.'

Remus could not meet her eyes. He looked around the small, windowless room. 'Could I live here?' he pleaded, his voice very small. 'If they ever found out, I mean. I… I wouldn't have to go home, would I? Not if Professor Dumbledore agreed.'

'Remus…' His name was a sigh, heavy and heartsick. Madam Pomfrey's grip on his hand tightened.

'Or I could sleep out in the house, the transformation house,' Remus went on. He was rambling now, his panic surging back with sundering force. 'It wouldn't be so bad if… if maybe I could have a fire on the really cold nights. And I could take my meals in the kitchens and I could sit apart in class. Nobody would have to talk to me or work with me in lessons… if only I could stay at Hogwarts. I-if I don't become a proper wizard…' The memory of Mr Anslow's ravenous, gape-toothed rictus filled his mind and a tremor shook his slight frame. 'I _need_ to get my OWLs,' he whimpered, his chest heaving with shallow gasps of anxiety. 'Please, at least my OWLs…'

'Remus!' The matron sounded stern now. She put a hand on each shoulder and shook him ever so slightly. 'Remus, calm down! You'll do yourself an injury if you don't. There, now,' she said as he drew in a deep shuddering breath. 'Calm down. That's it.' She shifted her position on the bed so that she was facing him head-on. 'Remus, listen to me.'

He tried to look away, but she laid her palm along his jaw and guided his head back.

'You're not talking sense, child,' she said softly, her thumb stroking the side of his nose. 'There's no reason in the world that your friends should find out, and even if they did neither the Headmaster nor myself would possibly allow you to be turned out of your room. You certainly would not have to leave school. We're here to help you, Remus. What do we have to do to let you trust us?'

'I do trust you, ma'am,' Remus whispered, tears prickling in his eyes. 'But Sirius and James…'

'I don't understand why they would ever find out,' said the matron. 'They're only children.'

'They're clever,' Remus said. 'They're so clever, and they never give up on anything. They always ask where I've been when I'm away.'

'And what have you told them?' asked Madam Pomfrey.

Remus felt his ears burning with the shame of admitting to his horrible lies. 'I s-say Mother is ill and I have to go visit her,' he confessed.

Incredibly, Madam Pomfrey did not seem horrified. 'And do they believe you?' she queried.

'I think so,' Remus mumbled. 'Mostly.'

'Well, there you are. Why should they pry any deeper into the matter?' Madam Pomfrey sounded so reasonable, so self-assured, that Remus ached with longing to believe her.

'When I come back looking ill and tired…' He sighed despairingly. 'It doesn't fit, you see, and Sirius is starting to get suspicious. He thinks… I'm not quite sure what he thinks, exactly, but he knows it doesn't fit.'

'I see. And if Sirius went away for a few days every now and then, and came back looking ill and tired, would you think he was a werewolf?' asked the matron.

Remus shook his head. 'He hasn't got any scars. He gets dressed in the dormitory, right out in the open, and he's got no scars at all.' He could not help the note of envy that crept into his words.

'And have they seen yours?' Madam Pomfrey asked. Her eyes flicked involuntarily to the crest of his right hip, and Remus found his hand flying to rest over the place he had gored himself.

'No,' he whispered. 'I always change in bed with the curtains drawn, or else when I'm done washing. They think I'm just shy.'

'A good many boys your age are shy,' Madam said gently. 'That's no reason to suppose there's anything amiss.'

'And the moon,' Remus mumbled. 'Astronomy class…'

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. 'Remus,' she said dryly; 'we've talked about that. You have Astronomy every week, regardless of what the moon is doing. You're just being foolish, working yourself up into a state over nothing. No wonder you've been having nightmares if you keep scaring yourself with this kind of talk. I won't allow it. You're burning the cake before you've even bought the ingredients.'

She sighed and leaned nearer to his face. 'You're a sensible boy, Remus. Surely you can see you're only going to make yourself sick with all this worrying.'

'Yes, ma'am,' he whispered, his eyes flicking briefly away. He could see it, of course he could. But he didn't understand why she couldn't see what a real and present danger it was. Still he knew that he owed it to Madam Pomfrey, who was always so good to him, to try at least to calm down – if for no other reason than his night terrors had roused her from her bed.

'Good boy. Now, what about that cup of chocolate? Then I can fetch you some Sleeping Draught and we'll hear no more of this nonsense.' She patted his hand fondly and slipped from the room.

Remus twisted in the bed, struggling to arrange his pillows so that he could prop himself against them. His legs were burning from the previous night's contortions, and his thumbs were very stiff. He managed to make a clumsy bolster, and he leaned back against it. Again his thoughts began to stray toward the horrific scenario he had been building, but he forced it from his mind. He focused instead on the letter he would send his mother. He would tell her about Peter's new place in their little group, and the visit to the Owlery, and he might even tell her about the bed in the house.

Madam Pomfrey returned, a frothy mug of drinking chocolate in one hand and a vial of Sleeping Draught in the other. She gave the mug to Remus, careful to keep her fingers lightly on the bottom lest he should need her support. Remus took a long swallow, letting the sweet cocoa taste roll over his tongue. The warmth spreading down his ribs and into his stomach did something to drive away the apparitions of the nightmare. He took another sip, a small one this time.

'Madam?' he said softly, when the mug was empty and the matron began to measure out his potion. She smiled at him, waiting expectantly. 'You won't tell my mother, will you?' Remus whispered. 'That I've been telling lies about her, I mean. Please?'

Madam Pomfrey studied him sadly. 'Oh, Remus, I'm sure she wouldn't mind,' she said. 'She would understand that you're just trying to protect yourself.' She held out the little medicine cup. 'Drink up now. No more dreams tonight.'

Remus drank, and almost at once felt a leaden weariness seeping into his limbs. His head began to nod, and he was only dimly aware of Madam Pomfrey patting down the pillows and easing him onto his back. As she began to draw up the bedclothes he slipped away into cherished oblivion.

_~discidium~_

When Remus appeared in Charms on Wednesday morning, his three friends clustered around him with kind words and anxious faces.

'How is she?' James asked. 'Did she take a turn for the worse?'

Remus nodded. 'It was sudden,' he said; 'but she's doing a little better now.'

'I picked up your History of Magic paper yesterday,' Peter said, producing a crumpled length of parchment and attempting to smooth it over Remus's desk. 'You didn't get nearly as many red marks as I did.'

'You look exhausted,' Sirius said. His expression was one of amiable concern, but his grey eyes were very hard. 'D'you have to wait on her or something? Where's your father in all this?'

'Could we please not talk about it?' Remus asked, hoping that Sirius – with his own unpleasant secrets – would feel some sympathy. 'What did I miss in Defence?'

'We talked about Disarming Charms,' James said dismissively. 'Nothing _you_ need to worry about. He glanced at Sirius as he added, 'Where _is_ your dad in all this?'

'At home of course. Where else would he be?' Remus flinched. He had done it again: answered a question with a question and thereby invited further speculation.

'Then why do you need to go charging off at the drop of a hat?' asked Sirius. 'I mean, you could go home at weekends or something; at least that would make sense. But disappearing on a Sunday afternoon? Why do you have to do things like that?'

'I don't have to; I want to,' Remus said. It was strange, but the more they questioned him the more naturally the lies came. 'It's easier for her when I'm there.'

'Not easier for you, though, is it?' Sirius muttered, throwing one long leg over his chair and flopping down.

James put a hand on Remus's arm. 'If there's anything we can do to help,' he said kindly; 'you know you just need to say, right?'

Remus managed something vaguely like a smile. 'Thanks, James,' he said. 'It's good to know that, truly.'

Professor Flitwick came into the room and the lesson began. Afterward the four Gryffindor boys walked together to Transfiguration, Remus struggling to carry his heavy satchel without letting on the tremendous effort required to lift it.

Professor McGonagall had them changing oranges into pincushions, with mixed results. James produced an elegant silk creation covered in couched spirals in Gryffindor red. Sirius made a grey one that looked exactly like the head of an elephant: trunk, tusks, ears and beady black eyes included. Peter managed to get something that looked rather like a woolly tomato, but when he squeezed it orange juice oozed out. Remus took almost twice as long as any of them, but the end result was a perfect replica of his mother's simple flannel pin cushion, complete with blue blanket stitch on the edges and the little emery strawberry that she used to sharpen her needles.

Professor McGonagall moved around the classroom collecting the most impressive specimens to show her pupils. She collected Lily Evans's cushion, which had an appliquéd petunia on top; and Betta MacFusty's, which looked to be made of dragonhide. From Athena Andrews she took one shaped like a very portly owl. She took from James and Sirius, of course, and then she paused over Remus's desk, studying his handiwork before plucking it up as well.

His first though upon seeing his humble offering amid the intricate work of his classmates was that she had chosen it as an example of what _not_ to do. But the teacher lined up the six cushions and surveyed the class.

`Very good work,' she said, looking at each of the first five contributors in turn. 'Showy, certainly, and you've all managed the transfigurations neatly. I can only assume,' she added, picking up the severed elephant head and studying it through her perched spectacles; 'that the various appendages are intentional, Mr Black; and they certainly make for a whimsical product. Nevertheless,' she said as she felt the dragon leather of Betta's creation; 'I have one question. Have any of you actually _seen_ a pincushion?'

James and Sirius looked at each other and shrugged. Athena seemed perplexed by the question. Lily nodded her head, but seemed to understand where McGonagall was headed with this question, for she did not look happy. Betta MacFusty tapped her quill on her desk, apparently rather bored.

Professor McGonagall picked up the little flannel pillow, weighing it in the palm of her hand. 'Simple,' she said; 'functional and hard-wearing. Appropriate texture and mass.' She plucked at the felted strawberry with finger and thumb. 'Attention to detail. Very nice work, Lupin. Full marks and five points to Gryffindor.'

Remus was still grinning in delighted surprise when they reached the Great Hall for dinner. He had never achieved full marks in Transfiguration before, and having his work upheld as an example of _very nice work_ was a little intoxicating.

'Look who's the new favourite,' Sirius chaffed, elbowing Remus amiably in the ribs. He had no way of knowing that he struck a tender place, where a livid purple bruise was hidden under the school robes; so Remus bit down on the inside of his cheek and managed to keep his smile from wavering too badly. 'Don't let it go to your head. Personally I think McGonagall's got a secret horror of elephants.'

'It's only that I followed the directions more closely than you did,' Remus said diplomatically. 'Your wandwork was actually much better than mine.'

'You're supposed to rest on your laurels, you know, not eat them,' James laughed as he slid onto the bench and began to fill his plate. 'You're entitled to boast a little when you come out top of the class.'

'Oh, no.' Peter slumped in his seat as he saw the contents of the pitcher in front of him. He looked down at his hands, only just rinsed of their stickiness. 'Not orange juice…'

_~discidium~_

On Thursday at breakfast Remus had a letter from home. As always he pocketed it, uncomfortably aware that Sirius was watching him shrewdly as he did so. James had a box of cream cakes from home, and he handed it over to Peter to share out as he unrolled his morning _Prophet_. As always, he went straight for the Quidditch results, but Remus – seated across the table – found himself staring at the front page, where a familiar face smiled out of what looked to be a matriculation photograph.

The face was not so haggard or weary as he remembered, and the thin lips were parted in a proud and happy smile as the photo looked from right to left, but it was unmistakeably Trainee Healer Ferrinby who had helped Remus during his dreary hospital stay. There was a happy squirming in his stomach, and he looked at the headline, expecting to see the announcement of some kind of accolade or award for the kind young wizard.

Instead his heart fell down into his viscera as he read the dark lettering:

_ST MUNGO'S JUNIOR REPORTED MISSING_

Remus reached for the paper unthinkingly, stopping only when James let out an annoyed yelp. 'I'm sorry…' he stammered. 'The front page. Can I have the front page?'

James peeled it away, not taking his eyes from the match highlights he was reading. Remus folded back the paper and clutched it with a trembling hand as he read.

_Authorities from St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries contacted Magical Law Enforcement on Monday for assistance in locating Neil Ferrinby of Hoxton. Ferrinby, a Trainee Healer in the department of Creature-Induced Injuries, is believed to be missing since Thursday last, when he left the hospital for his place of residence and did not return._

_A search of Ferrinby's flat revealed no clues as to his whereabouts. No sign of forced entry or unusual activity was found; nor was there any indication that a significant volume of personal effects had been removed. Authorities questioned Mrs Wendy Ferrinby, Muggle telephone operator and mother of the missing Healer. Mrs Ferrinby was unable to shed any light on her son's disappearance and added; 'It's most unlike him. Always been a good boy; he wouldn't skive off work.'_

_Ferrinby's supervising Healer-In-Charge, Cordelia Selwyn, told reporters that she was not at all surprised by her pupil's absence. 'He has never been particularly interested in his profession,' she announced. 'He exhibits little regard for his patients, and has even discharged unwell persons from the hospital without approval from a fully qualified Healer.' Madam Selwyn also remarked that it was likely that Ferrinby had opted to abandon his 'rather unpromising' career and 'lacked the backbone' to make such an announcement publically. _

_At the request of Adrian Fitzhenri, St Mungo's Healer and Governor, Magical Law Enforcement is continuing to investigate the disappearance of Neil Ferrinby. Any information regarding his whereabouts may be reported to the Ministry of Magic._

'Something interesting?' Sirius asked, looking over his shoulder. 'A missing Healer? D'you know him or something?'

Remus did not really hear his friend's words. He was staring at the third paragraph, anger and confusion welling up within him. Lies, such horrible lies. He didn't understand how the _Prophet_ could print such abominable lies.

His eyes flicked to the end of the article. He had no information about Ferrinby's whereabouts, but he felt that the Ministry really ought to know that Healer Selwyn was twisting the truth so awfully. He had to do something, to tell someone what he knew. He thought about writing to his father, who would at least know who to talk to at the Ministry for Magic. But perhaps Remus was mistaken, and the hateful words were of no consequence. He wished that someone could advise him.

Sirius and James were chattering happily about the latest defeat of the Chudley Cannons. They scarcely seemed to notice when Remus got to his feet, almost falling when his shoe snagged on the bench. 'I have to… I have to go…' he mumbled, still fixated on the paper. They glanced at him briefly before returning to their conversation.

He was halfway to the staff table when he realized that he couldn't approach Dumbledore like this, in front of the whole school. He couldn't admit within earshot of the other teachers – Alfstin and Arachne and Flitwick and Binns, all safely ignorant of the truth – that he had met the missing wizard on the Serious Bites ward following his disastrous New Year's transformation.

He turned and hurried in the opposite direction, toward the hall doors. Sirius tried to grab his sleeve, barking out some iteration of _where are you going_, but Remus ignored him. His legs were trembling and his side was aching by the time he reached the gargoyle on the seventh floor, but he choked out the password and ascended to Dumbledore's office.

He waited for what seemed like hours, now perching anxiously on the edge of the visitor's chair, now pacing until he was too exhausted to continue, now trying to sit again. When at last the door swung inward, Remus sprang to his feet.

If Dumbledore was startled by the presence of a fretful werewolf in his office, he gave no sign. He closed the door carefully and stood near it with a serene expression on his face. 'How can I help you, Remus?' he asked.

'Headmaster, look at this!' Remus cried, holding out the newspaper. Dumbledore took it and glanced at the headline and the photograph.

'Ah, yes. It's not very happy news, I'm afraid,' he said. 'Neil was a good man; he had a very promising future ahead of him.'

'Was, sir?' Remus echoed anxiously. 'Had?'

Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed on him, very grave now. 'I suppose you met him during your recent hospital stay,' he said.

'Yes, sir,' Remus said. 'And—'

'A moment, please,' said Dumbledore. He crossed the room and drew his wand. A heavy velvet drape appeared over the empty frame belonging to Phineus Nigellus. 'There. Go on.'

Remus paused, his mission momentarily forgotten. He looked at the covered portrait and his stomach churned. So Dumbledore, too, worried what might happen if Sirius learned the truth.

But he had a more pressing concern. He pointed at the _Prophet_, his mind filling with the spiteful lies. 'It isn't true!' he said. 'She can't say things like that; that he doesn't care about his patients. He was good to me, Professor. Better than anybody there, anyhow. And he let me go home. Discharging unwell patients without her approval – that was me, Professor. My parents begged him to let me go; Father insisted and he signed me out. She can't say things like that, Headmaster. She can't!'

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'Sit down, Remus,' he said at last, rounding the desk to take his own chair. 'Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? Milk, perhaps? Or pumpkin juice?'

'No, sir,' Remus said, bewildered. How could the Headmaster talk about pumpkin juice when he was faced with this kind of horrible slander?

'Water, then, at least.' Dumbledore took out his wand, and a glass appeared. Another flick filled it with water, and a third added two cubes of ice. 'Remus, I need you to tell me everything you heard and saw concerning Neil Ferrinby. Think carefully now, and don't leave anything out. It may be very important.'

It was nearly noon by the time Remus finished. He worked through the hellish days slowly, trying to do his best for the Headmaster. Dumbledore listened intently, nodding now and again and occasionally posing a question to clarify some point or other. At last Remus reached the end of his story and reached out to drain the last of his water.

'And that is all?' asked Dumbledore.

Remus nodded. 'So you see, sir; it's not true. None of it is true.'

'Of course.' There was a strange, strained look in Professor Dumbledore's eyes, but he mustered up a kind smile. 'Thank you for coming to me, Remus. I will ensure that this information reaches the proper people. Now, I need you to wait here for a few minutes. I'll send someone to come and collect you shortly.'

He rounded the desk, pausing to pat Remus's shoulder approvingly. Then he moved swiftly from the room, his robes sweeping behind him.

Remus sat uneasily in the heavy chair, looking around the room. Most of the portraits were empty now, but the silver-haired witch was watching him thoughtfully.

'I knew we'd met before,' she said; 'I saw them bring you in past my portrait in the hospital. Poor dear. You're far too young for such troubles.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said reflexively. 'Thank you, ma'am.'

The former Headmistress did not seem to have anything more to say, and Remus looked around the room again. His eyes fell on the piece of _The Daily Prophet _where it lay on Dumbledore's blotter. He reached across the desk, obliged to tilt forward onto his toes in order to grab it. He smoothed the newsprint carefully, studying the smiling young wizard on the cover. The caption beneath the picture read _Recent Photograph of Neil Ferrinby, Missing in Mysterious Circumstances._

There was a knock at the door and it swung open. Professor McGonagall came into the room. She held out her hand. 'Come with me, Mr Lupin,' she said. 'You're rather late for lunch.'

Remus went to her, unsure whether she really wanted him to take her hand. He was spared the awkward question, however, when she took hold of his shoulder and steered him toward the stairs.

'Where's Professor Dumbledore?' he asked timidly.

McGonagall's lips grew thin. There was a drawn look about her eyes. 'He was called away,' she said shortly. 'He asked me to see you down to the Great Hall.'

As they stepped out into the corridor she looked left and right as though to make certain they were alone. She looked down at him gravely.

'Lupin, I must ask that you keep all this to yourself,' she said. 'This business with young Neil Ferrinby… until it is resolved secrecy is of the utmost importance. Professor Dumbledore instructed me to ask you, please, to hold this in the strictest confidence. As, I might add, we have done for you.'

'Of course,' Remus said breathlessly. 'But Professor, what is going on? I just wanted… the paper shouldn't print lies like that. But why is it important?'

She seemed to consider her answer carefully before she spoke. 'The truth is always important, Lupin,' she said. 'I am sure the information you shared with the Headmaster will prove useful. We are all very grateful for that.'

Remus wondered fleetingly who she meant by 'we', for surely the staff as a whole had no interest in a missing Trainee Healer in distant London. But he did not dare to ask. He followed Professor McGonagall meekly as she made her way down to the Great Hall.

'I have spoken to your teachers, and your absence from this morning's lessons is excused,' she said. 'Now, as to what you will tell your friends, I would suggest that you simply say that Professor Dumbledore wanted a quiet word with you, and that you are not allowed to discuss it.'

'They won't be satisfied with that, Professor,' Remus said softly. 'They're insatiably curious.'

'Very well,' said McGonagall as she reached for the large door and hauled it open. 'Then I shall speak to them.'

_~discidium~_

Remarkably, James and Sirius waited until that evening, when the four of them returned to the Gryffindor Tower for the night, to try to wring more answers out of Remus.

'All right, spill it,' said Sirius. 'What happened this morning?'

'And none of that rigmarole that McGonagall fed us about private talks with Dumbledore and it's none of our business,' James put in. 'You nicked four pages of my paper, you know. I deserve some answers.'

'It was nothing interesting,' said Remus. 'I just needed to talk to Professor Dumbledore, that's all.'

'About what?' Sirius demanded. 'You can trust us; you know that.'

'It wasn't important,' Remus said. He hesitated, and then fixed upon the one thing likely to make Sirius think twice about asking awkward questions. 'It was about my family.'

'Oh, Merlin!' James cried. 'Your mum's not… she's not… is she…' He swallowed hard. 'Is she dying?'

Remus shook his head. 'It's nothing like that,' he said. 'I just can't talk about it.'

'You aren't _related_ to that missing Healer you were reading about, are you?' asked Sirius. 'I snagged Drommie's copy; he's got a Muggle mum.'

'Not all Muggle mums are related, Sirius,' James said wryly. 'Remus, if it were anything important you'd tell us, wouldn't you?'

'Of course I would,' Remus lied.

Peter moved over to pat his arm. 'She'll be okay,' he said solicitously. 'She'll get better someday.'

Remus tried to smile. 'Thanks, Peter,' he said. 'It's nice to hear somebody say it, even if it isn't necessarily true. People don't always get better.'

There was a pained look in James's eyes. 'You can't think like that, Remus. I'm sure your mum will be fine.'

_~discidium~_

The following morning Professor Dumbledore was back, presiding over breakfast with his usual jollity. Remus wanted to ask if he had had any news, if the Ministry thought the information about Healer Selwyn's lies to _The Daily Prophet_ would prove useful. He did not dare, however. It would only reignite the curiosity of James and Sirius, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. He felt keenly the burden of trust placed upon him, and he intended to guard Professor Dumbledore's secret – whatever it actually was – with as much care and diligence as he did his own.

The pledge of silence did not, however, prevent him from keeping a nervous eye on the newspaper for any further news of Healer Ferrinby. James was glad enough to let him have the paper when he was through with it, and he didn't even ask why Remus wanted it. Sirius made a few offhand jokes about his friend's sudden interest in current events, but even he did not seem to think it suspicious.

Every day, Remus read _The Daily Prophet _from front to back, poring over every word. There was no mention of Ferrinby, not even a blurb to note whether the search still continued. And certainly there was no indication of whether or not he had been found. Remus hoped that he truly had just run away from St Mungo's – understandably weary of his supervisor's unending abuse. He did not know what the alternative was, but he had a gnawing suspicion that it was too terrible to imagine.


	22. A Lack of Common Sense

_Note: Full moon tonight. Don't pretend y'all didn't notice…_

**Chapter Twenty-Two: A Lack of Common Sense**

Throughout the month of February, James and Sirius spent an inordinate amount of time in the library. They were not engaged in their studies, for they never really had need of extra effort to excel. Instead, they were researching hexes and jinxes, attempting to build their repertoire in anticipation of future encounters with Rodolphus Lestrange and his band of Slytherins.

'Of course,' James said sadly one afternoon; 'all the really _brilliant_ curses are in there.' He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward an area roped off from the rest of the room.

Remus, who was sitting at a corner of the worktable with his Charms homework spread out before him, smiled. When he had first learned of the existence of the Restricted Section he had wondered how long it would take his friends to decide that it was worth raiding.

'So?' Sirius asked. 'It's not as though it's locked or anything. We could just walk in.'

'Sure,' James said. 'If we could get past _her_.'

The other three boys all turned to look at the large circulation desk, behind which sat the librarian, looking rather like an oversized carrion-fowl as her beady eyes swept to and fro through the room. There were at least twenty small groups of students, all busy with something or other – and yet she gave off the ineffable impression that she was watching each and every person constantly and absolutely.

'What? Shrivelled spinsters don't sleep? They don't eat? They don't use the toilet?' Sirius said sarcastically. 'She can't be in the library every hour of the day and night.'

'I'm beginning to think we ought not do so much creeping about at night,' Remus offered in a very low voice. 'We almost got caught.'

'Once!' said Sirius, too loudly. Madam Pince glared at him and he grinned sheepishly in her direction. 'Once,' he whispered. 'And actually I _did_ get caught, if you'll remember.'

'Only because you annoyed the Fat Lady,' said James. 'Come to think of it, you've got a way of winding up portraits, haven't you?'

Sirius gave him a dirty look. 'My point is,' he said, turning back to Remus; 'that you haven't been caught once yet. I'd expect you to have a little more faith in our ability to keep you out of trouble.'

'Nice try, Black,' James chuckled. 'Except that without us I really doubt that Remus would be out creating mayhem of any kind.' He took the book he had been perusing and turned it around, pushing it across the table and pointing to the fourth paragraph. 'What do you think of this one?'

'Hmm.' Sirius read the passage pensively. 'Sure, it _sounds _good, but how do we even know it works?'

James checked the dust jacket. 'Well, it was written by Xavier Prewett, who you may or may not know was the 1932 champion of the International Duelling Symposium's annual tournament.'

'What _you_ may or may not know was that Xavier Prewett was killed by a piano,' Sirius said scornfully. 'I'm not trusting the word of _anyone_ who was killed by a piano.'

Remus giggled. 'He wasn't,' he said. 'Not really?'

'Really,' Sirius said, nodding solemnly. 'It was a tragedy. The worst part of it was that they had to find an old harpsichord to play at the funeral. So as to avoid looking insensitive, you see.'

James snorted into his hands, and Remus wondered whether Sirius was teasing him. Peter frowned worriedly.

'How can you get killed by a piano?' he asked. 'We've got a piano in the morning room.'

'Forget the piano,' said James. 'And as for that hex, Black, the only way to be sure it works is to test it.'

'Excellent!' Sirius rubbed his hands in devilish glee. 'Let's draw straws. Winner gets to test the new spell on Snape.'

'I don't think we should take the risk of going to Snape with an untried spell,' James said. 'I was thinking more that we'd draw straws and the winner gets to test it on the loser.'

'Hex _each other_?' Peter's eyes were enormously wide. Clearly murderous pianos were no longer top of his list of terrors.

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'If you don't want to play, just say so.'

'I don't want to play,' Peter said hastily.

'Remus?' said James. 'Are you game?'

Against his better judgement, Remus nodded.

'Brill.' James rubbed his hands on his robes and looked around. 'What'll we do for straws?'

Sirius turned in his seat. 'Oi, Meadowes!' he called to the next table. 'Fancy conjuring some straws for a bunch of ickle firsties?'

Dorcas looked up from the very long passage of runes she was translating. 'Why would I want to do that?' she asked.

Sirius smiled toothily. 'Because I'm charming and I asked you to?'

She shook her head ever so slightly, as if trying to expunge something from her mind. 'Just get back to your work,' she said. 'And keep your voice down; this is a library, you know.'

Sirius shrugged and straightened. 'Worth a try,' he said.

'We could always flip a Sickle,' James suggested.

'Have you ever seen a three-sided Sickle?' asked Sirius.

'Then we'll swing by the Owlery later,' James said.

'_Later_?'

'Fine!' James reached into his bag and produced his penknife and three long falcon quills. Before Remus realized what he meant to do, he had stripped off all the vanes and cut the spines into equal lengths.

'You've ruined them!' Remus exclaimed, dismayed.

James raised an eyebrow. 'So? I'll write home for more.' He chopped an extra inch off of the base of one spine and an inch and a half from another. He handed the bundle to Peter. 'Hold 'em in your fist so they all look the same length,' he instructed. 'Now turn 'round and jumble them so we don't know which is which.'

'Long straw hexes, short straw gets hexed,' Sirius said. 'Middle straw takes short straw to the hospital wing afterward.'

'You do know the difference between a straw and a feather, don't you, city boy?' James asked drolly.

Sirius twitched his nose primly. 'Just pick one, Potter.'

'All together; that's fairest,' James said.

The three of them reached out. Remus wasn't sure which would be worse: the short straw or the long. He had no wish to be hexed, but it would be awful if he was chosen to perform the spell and found that he wasn't adept enough to manage it. He drew a deep breath as his fingers closed on one of the spines. Together they pulled.

'Hah!' Sirius crowed, once again earning himself a disapproving look from Madam Pince. He brandished the long spine proudly. 'Bad luck, James. Looks like you and Remus are headed for the hospital wing.'

'I'll get you next time,' James promised blithely, tossing the short spine onto the table. 'Should we go?'

'I'll stay here,' Peter said in an uneasy way that made it clear he was looking for any excuse not to follow. 'I've got to finish these questions for Astronomy.'

As the others got up to leave, Remus gathered up the three spines, tucking them into the outer pocket of his satchel. That way, he reasoned, the next time they decided to settle something by drawing straws James wouldn't waste another three quills.

_~discidium_~

'What on _earth_…'

Remus had never seen Madam Pomfrey surprised; when she dealt with him she was always calm and prepared and so gentle. Now her eyes were wide, and her mouth curled into an expression of exasperation.

'How did that happen?' she asked, hurrying over to lift James's arm from the other boy's slight shoulder. 'Squabbling in the corridors, I'll warrant. Come on, my boy. We'll soon set you right.'

She led him over to one of the beds in the main ward, shaking her head as she helped James onto it. He sat patiently while she hurried off to fetch something from the store cupboard. Remus watched from where he stood, trying not to look at his friend's tongue. It was at least six times longer than it ought to have been, hanging down the front of his robes. James had given up trying to keep his jaw up under the weight, and his mouth gaped open grotesquely. Rivulets of saliva poured from the corners and he had to do most of his breathing through his nose, but his eyes glittered with delight. He winked at Remus as the matron came back, scolding all the way.

'…know _why_ you boys insist upon hexing one another. Of all the things you could be doing with your talents, it seems a sin and a shame to use them to make one another miserable. I suppose you gave as good as you got, hmm? And I'll see your opponent in here any minute, no doubt with ears the size of palm fronds or tentacles sprouting where his eyelashes ought to be. I can't think why – tilt your head back, dear, and try to open up – you don't just settle things _sensibly_ like we used to in the old days. Why, when I was a student we would never have dreamed of using one another as moving targets. Even when – that's it; I know it tastes awful, but it'll have you right in no time – we got to squabbling like a horde of banshees we never drew our wands. You children nowadays lack the sense God gave to rabbits – there. That's better, isn't it?'

James worked his jaw, contorting his lips and running his once again average-sized tongue along his teeth. 'Much,' he said sunnily. 'Thanks.'

He moved to hop off the bed, but Madam Pomfrey pushed him back, thrusting a bedpan into his hand. 'Don't you move from that bed. Any minute now that potion will be coming back for a visit, and I don't want you mussing up the hall floors.'

She strode over to Remus, taking him by the shoulder and turning so that James couldn't see her face. 'And you,' she whispered. 'You oughtn't to be running around straining yourself like that. He's too heavy by half for you to carry around.'

'I wasn't carrying him, Madam,' Remus said mildly. 'He was only leaning on me. The hex made him quite dizzy; I couldn't leave him alone. That's James,' he added, unable to conceal the delighted pride in his voice as he said; 'my friend.'

'Hmm. Well, don't you go off trying to get revenge on whoever hexed him,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'I don't want to be mending your tongue next.' She smiled and tapped the tip of his nose. 'It was good of you to help him, dear. Now perhaps you ought to run along. I'm not sure he'd want you to watch him being sick.'

Remus glanced at James, who was already beginning to look a little queasy. 'Go on, get out of here,' he said with a bilious grin. 'I'll catch up.'

Remus retreated just as the retching began. Sirius and Peter were waiting at the end of the corridor.

'Well?' Sirius asked expectantly.

'She's set him right, but the potion is making him sick,' Remus reported.

'Ooh, an added advantage,' said Sirius. 'Well, he picked this one. What do you say we head back to the library so I can find something for him to try on me?'

It was impossible to think that it was anything but a good idea; Sirius seemed so eager and happy. Swept up in his excitement, Remus and Peter followed obligingly.

_~discidium~_

Over the course of the next fortnight the four friends spent a great deal of time in and out of the hospital wing. James and Sirius were took it in turns to be the test subject, having entered into a sort of competition with one another. It was a matter of honour between them that the victim always be subjected to the spell of his choice, with the caster merely taking instruction. In this way, James said, everyone still had some control over their own body. Remus, for whom such a concept was a revered and almost mythical abstract, though that idea simply wonderful.

Peter was enormously relieved that they did not expect him to participate in the experiments. Most of the time Remus agreed, especially when he heard Madam Pomfrey scolding them fondly as she dosed or mended them. But sometimes, when James and Sirius were laughing together over some shared self-induced misfortune, he wished that they thought of him as an equal partner in their friendship – as someone worth hexing in the name of research. He knew this wasn't sensible in the least, but he could not help but feel that he was somehow missing out on the fun.

February was a short month, and all too soon the moon cycled around again. Remus awoke from restless slumber to the noise of Sirius Black bouncing on the four-poster bed beside his.

'Happy Leap Day!' he whooped, springing down onto the floor with a bang that surely woke everyone in the dormitory below. Remus flinched away from the light as his bed curtains were pulled aside. Sirius shook his shoulders gleefully. 'Happy Leap Day, Lupin! It's February twenty-ninth! It's the day that doesn't exist!'

He was on the other side of the bed now, rousing James. 'Happy Leap Day, Potter! Happy Leap Day, Pettigrew! Happy Leap Day!'

'What are you so excited about?' James said crossly, groping for his spectacles. 'It happens every four years, you know. It's nothing special.'

'Well, _I_ think it's special,' Sirius said merrily. 'Let's get up and enjoy it! It's a whole extra day, and we won't get another for four more years.'

'It's a whole extra day of lessons,' said James, sitting up and scrubbing at his eyes. 'It's not as though it's a holiday.'

'It could be,' Sirius said, looking rather wicked. 'We could skive off lessons and explore the sixth floor. I'm convinced there's something peculiar hidden up there somewhere.'

'I couldn't skive off lessons,' Remus murmured. He rolled onto his stomach and struggled to push himself up. His shoulders were aching and his back was stiff. He could not help wishing that today was, indeed, the day that did not exist; the day of the full moon.

'Couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't, can't, shan't, won't,' Sirius sang. 'I'm making it my mission to ensure that no one in this castle fails to appreciate the fact that today is February twenty-ninth.'

'Do stop blithering,' James grumbled. 'It's just a day like any other – and if you tell me one more time that we won't get another for four more years, I'll…' His threat was lost when he yawned enormously. 'What time is it, anyway?'

'Half past six!' Sirius said proudly. 'I figured we wouldn't want to miss a minute of today because—'

'You figured wrong,' James said, burrowing back into his blankets. 'Wake me when it's time to go down to breakfast.'

'Well, all right,' Sirius warned; 'but you'll miss all the fun. C'mon Remus, Peter. Let's get moving!'

'I'm too tired,' Peter mumbled, making a half-hearted effort to close his hangings again before giving up and rolling onto his stomach.

'Remus?' Sirius said hopefully.

Remus had finally managed to sit up, and his slippered feet were hanging off the edge of the bed. He tried to smile. 'I'm up,' he promised.

Sirius sighed. 'You shouldn't be. You look worn out.' He lowered his voice as he added; 'I heard you get up in the night.'

Remus felt hot circles blossoming over his cheekbones. He hung his head. 'I didn't mean to wake anybody,' he mumbled.

'Another nightmare?' Sirius asked sympathetically.

There was no use in denying it. Remus managed a tiny nod.

'Maybe you should talk about it,' suggested Sirius. 'I'll listen, you know. I'm a good listener.'

Remus almost smiled. 'You're a terrible listener,' he said. 'You ignore James half the time and you never listen to Peter at all.'

'That's James!' said Sirius. 'He doesn't want anyone to listen; he just likes to talk. And Peter never says anything important. I solemnly swear I will listen to you.' His eyes twinkled. 'Think of it as a Leap Day gift.'

'There's no such thing as Leap Day gifts,' Remus told him.

Sirius affected a desolate expression. 'It breaks my heart to hear you say that, really it does,' he moaned. Then he smiled affably. 'Go on, get another hour's sleep. You look like you need it. The festivities will keep.'

_~discidium~_

Remus never did find out what Leap Day festivities might entail. By noon he could not take any more. Ordinarily Sirius Black's ebullience was infectious and he found himself drawn gleefully along. Today it was merely exhausting. Every time Sirius greeted someone with a boisterous 'Happy Leap Day!' the ache between Remus's temples deepened and the muscles in his back grew tighter. Despite his earlier assurance that he could not skive off lessons, he knew that he did not have the strength for Potions that afternoon. So he loitered behind while the others went into the Great Hall for dinner, and then made straight for the hospital wing.

There at least there was peace and quiet, and Madam Pomfrey drew him a hot bath with sea salt and lavender oil. Later he lay on his belly in the little room while she rubbed his sore shoulders.

`Another month gone, and not a hint of suspicion`,' she said softly. 'I told you that those friends of yours would never figure it out.'

'They're clever,' Remus protested reflexively. He was feeling very drowsy and calm just at present, and he did not want to disturb the blessed moment with a more forceful argument.

'If they were half as clever as you say, they wouldn't be in here every other day with some new and hideous deformity,' Madam Pomfrey said in a very matter-of-fact voice. 'I don't want to know what kind of scrapes they've been getting into, but I'm just glad you've got the sense to stay well out of it.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus mumbled.

'And,' she said slyly; 'if they're really so bright don't you think they could get off the occasional counter-jinx?'

Remus snorted into the pillow.

'I've been watching them closely all month, Remus, and they're just ordinary boys. They seem quite fond of you, too.' She patted the small of his back. 'It's nearly time to go.'

With dogged resignation Remus got up to follow her.

_~discidium~_

Sirius and James were in detention when Remus returned to the dormitory on Saturday morning. Peter looked up as the door opened, his round face the picture of concern.

'How's your mum?' he asked.

Remus almost mumbled the usual platitudes, but he was so tired. There didn't seem much point with the others absent; Peter wouldn't press the matter. So he merely shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to his bed, crawling between the sheets. He dozed fitfully, good-natured voices trespassing on the borders of his consciousness.

'I still say she took it the wrong way,' said one. 'All I said was—'

'That as _last _year's firsties didn't need to do class work on February the twenty-ninth, and _next_ year's firsties wouldn't have to next year, _this_ year's firsties shouldn't have to either,' the second recited, dripping with boredom. 'You didn't really think she'd buy that argument, did you?'

'What I thought is irrelevant. It's what she – Remus?'

'Shh,' the third voice said. 'He's sleeping.'

'How's his mum?' asked the second voice.

'He didn't say.'

'He's back.' The first voice spoke very slowly now, contemplative and rather uneasy.

'Obviously,' said the second voice.

'No, think about it,' the first one mumbled. 'Why wouldn't he just stay the whole weekend? Why come back on Saturday morning? It doesn't make sense, I tell you.'

'People do rum things sometimes,' said the second, now beginning to sound a little uncomfortable.

'_That's _your explanation? That people do rum things?'

'Have you got a better one?' asked the second voice.

'No,' said the first, letting the word roll over his tongue. 'But I intend to find one.'

It was strange, Remus thought as he slipped back into a deep sleep of exhaustion, that this time the nightmare didn't progress to the accusations and the violence.

_~discidium~_

On Friday morning, Remus awoke when Sirius Black took his shoulders and shook him.

'Remus, get up!' he said, sounding rather anxious. 'There are curious objects at the foot of your bed!'

Remus opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the early morning light. 'Objects?' he said drowsily.

'That's right,' said James from somewhere away to the left. 'And I for one demand an explanation. I thought we'd settled this business about keeping these types of secrets.'

Bewildered and still half asleep, Remus sat up and rubbed his eyes. 'Secrets?' he mumbled, his pulse quickening.

'Do stop parroting everything we say and _look_!' James said, eager now. He was standing at the foot of Remus's bed, tying back the hangings.

Remus curled his legs beneath him, carefully tugging down the hem of his nightshirt before he crawled down the length of the mattress and sat, leaning against the bedpost. On top of his trunk sat four packages wrapped in brightly coloured paper.

James was grinning. 'Somebody's been telling little lies of omission,' he said.

'Happy birthday!' shouted Peter, hopping up and down and clapping his hands excitedly. He paused. 'It _is_ your birthday, isn't it? Sirius and James said they were sure…'

'Of course it is,' said Sirius. 'Why else would he have presents?'

'It is,' Remus said, a pleased smile spreading across his face. He had almost forgotten. He was twelve years old today.

'What are you waiting for?' James asked, gathering up the parcels and pouring them onto his friend's lap. 'Open them!'

The others clustered around, watching eagerly as Remus carefully slit the Spellotape on his first present. He loosened the paper and drew out the box of chocolates that it covered. He smiled enormously as he folded the wrapping and laid it aside. The next gift was a similar size, but far heavier. Remus knew even before opening it that it was a book.

'_The Ill-Made Knight_?' Sirius tilted his head so he could read the spine. 'Never heard of it.'

'It's a Muggle book,' Remus said, turning it over in his hands and opening to the front endpaper where his mother had written his name in her elegant hand. 'I've read the first two; they're really rather good.'

Sirius took the book as Remus folded the wrapping paper, flipping through it curiously. 'A Muggle book about knights and magic?' he said sceptically. 'It's probably laughably inaccurate.'

'That's part of its charm,' Remus said, quoting his father. James and Sirius laughed, and Remus felt a burst of gratification. He had made a joke, and they had laughed.

'Open another!' Peter urged, picking up the largest parcel and thrusting it into Remus's hands.

He unwrapped it meticulously, his heart palpitating as he recognized the box. He lifted the catch and opened it. Inside, in four neat rows, were his mother's glass chessmen – the ones she had used when she had competed in Division One for Oxford University. The hinged wooden board was fitted into the lid. He lifted one of the frosted pawns out of the worn velvet lining and let the cool, familiar weight settle in his palm.

'They've got no faces,' James said, puzzled.

'It's a Muggle set, you berk,' Sirius said. He picked up the transparent White queen and rubbed his thumb along its smooth side. 'They're a bit scuffed.'

'They're Mother's,' Remus said softly, still staring with wondering eyes at the gift. He knew how she treasured it, a sacred relic of the happy innocent days of youth before the burdens of a house and a family and a sickly child had been thrust upon her. That she was entrusting her chess set to him made him feel honoured and cherished and terribly grown up.

'Yours now,' James said brightly. 'Are the rules any different with Muggle chess?'

Remus shook his head. 'You just move the pieces yourself, that's all.' He set down the pawn and smiled at it, cradled neatly in the velvet between two of its fellows. Sirius returned the queen to its place, and Remus carefully closed the box.

'You've still got one left,' James said. 'You might've had two, only you never mentioned your birthday was coming up!'

He looked as if he considered this a personal affront.

'We've never talked about it, apart from back in November,' Remus explained. 'It slipped my mind. I don't need presents.'

'Everybody needs presents,' Peter said earnestly. He looked at James. 'My birthday's in May,' he said. 'May thirtieth.'

Sirius rolled his eyes, but at a glance from Remus bit back whatever caustic remark he had been about to loose on the little boy. 'Open it, will you? The suspense is more than I can take.'

Remus had some difficulty unwrapping the last small gift; it was covered more clumsily than the others, and there was a good deal more tape to peel off. At last he had it open, and a bright foil packet landed in his lap. He picked it up, puzzled. 'Firecrackers?' he said. It didn't seem remotely like something his parents would send him.

'Better,' said Sirius, grinning broadly. 'They're _singing_ firecrackers. One of those will disrupt a class for half an hour.'

James glared at him. 'You knew and you didn't tell me?' he growled.

'How _did_ you know?' Remus asked. 'I never mentioned it.'

Sirius grinned. 'Detention with McGonagall,' he said. 'She left the room for about five minutes, and I got into her filing cabinet. She's got all our school records in there – all the Gryffindors anyhow. I've got your birthdates, your addresses and your parents' names noted down for reference.'

Remus wondered for a frantic moment whether there was anything in his school record that would betray his secret – but of course, there couldn't be. All the staff had access to those records, and Dumbledore would never be so imprudent as to include anything incriminating.

'That still doesn't explain why you didn't _share_ this knowledge,' James said, getting up from his seat on Remus's trunk and moving to dig in his cupboard. He returned with a fistful of coins that he thrust out toward his friend. 'Here. Buy yourself something nice.'

Remus stared at the money. Five, no, _six_ gold Galleons. 'I couldn't,' he said, his voice quivering a little with embarrassment. 'Thank you, James, but—'

'It's a little impersonal, don't you think?' Sirius asked tactfully, his sharp eyes taking in Remus's discomfiture. 'Giving money, I mean.'

'Fine,' James said, thrusting the coins into his pocket. 'I'll tell you what; I'll send away and get you your own subscription to the _Prophet_, since you like it so much now. How would that be?'

'I'm quite happy looking at it after you're done,' Remus said.

'Nonsense! You read that rag more carefully than I ever have. I'm getting you your own subscription. Happy birthday!' James beamed cheerfully at him, obviously pleased to have come up with a neat solution.

Remus deliberated whether he ought to protest, but the eagerness on his friend's face was too enticing. 'Thank you,' he said earnestly. 'It's a very thoughtful gift.'

'All right, then,' James said, flopping down on the trunk once more. He reached for Remus's new book and studied the jacket. 'D'you really think this is interesting?' he asked, nonplussed.

'Hey, don't insult his birthday presents,' Sirius said, snatching the book away. He glanced at the window. 'We should probably be getting downstairs to breakfast.'

As they descended together, Remus caught Sirius's sleeve and held him back. 'When is James's birthday?' he asked.

'It's on the twenty-seventh,' said Sirius. 'Coming right up, as a matter of fact. But it falls in the holidays this year. Why? D'you want to go in on a present?'

Remus hesitated, thinking of the forty-six Knuts in his cupboard upstairs and wondering what he could possibly buy with that sort of money. 'I'd like to get him something,' he said. 'Do you suppose he would mind a homemade gift?'

'I think he'd really prefer some kind of big dramatic jape, really,' Sirius said; 'but as we won't be at school that might prove difficult. I was thinking we could just send some sweets or something.'

Remus smiled. He could, at least, afford some sweets. 'All right,' he said happily. 'Thank you.'

Sirius snorted. 'Only you would be thinking ahead to Potter's present on your own bloody birthday,' he said fondly.


	23. Wanted at Home

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Wanted at Home**

On Saturday morning Professor McGonagall came into the Gryffindor common room to post the sheet for pupils who wished to sign up to stay at school over the Easter Holidays. She drew Remus away from the table where he had been sitting with his friends and composing a long letter of thanks to send his parents. Sirius and James were poring over an advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook that they had somehow nicked from the Head Boy. They didn't seem to notice as their Head of House took Remus aside and invited him to her office for a quiet word.

'Your mother has written,' she said as she closed the door and moved to stand by the hearth; 'to ask me to discuss your plans for the holiday.'

'My plans?' Remus echoed.

'Quite. She was most anxious to assure you that you are very much wanted at home, and that both she and your father would be more than happy to have you,' said McGonagall. 'However she did express the concern that in light of the unfortunate events of the Christmas break, you might wish to remain at Hogwarts in order to transform here.'

'Oh.'

Remus felt as if his stomach were full of stones. Easter, of course, was always immediately preceded by the full moon. He thought of New Year's Day, of the horror of waiting in the hospital on a busy holiday. The moon fell on a Wednesday night this year, but even so he shuddered at the prospect. There would be no sensible and merciful Trainee Healer this time, he realized despairingly; only that hateful lying woman and whatever new sycophant she had been assigned.

'I'll stay,' he said hoarsely. 'I ought to stay here.' Another thought occurred to him. 'But Madam Pomfrey – she shouldn't miss Easter with her family.'

'Madam Pomfrey will be remaining at Hogwarts over the break regardless,' said Professor McGonagall. 'She would be more than happy to have someone to look after.' She regarded him soberly. 'You do understand, Lupin, that no one is trying to put pressure upon you to make one choice or the other? If you want to go home your parents will be delighted to see you. If you want to stay here, they will be happy to know that you are cared for and safe. The decision is entirely yours.'

'Not entirely, Professor,' Remus mumbled. 'If it were entirely mine I'd choose—' He stopped himself. There was no good in dreaming about things that could never be. He closed his eyes. 'I'll stay at school. It's better that way. It's better for Mother, too.'

McGonagall's lips grew tight. 'Lupin, she is obviously afraid that you will think you're not wanted. I must assure you on her behalf that you are, and that your parents are more than happy to accommodate you at home. They're merely offering you the choice because, I think, they regret that they were unable to find the care that you needed over Christmas.'

'Mother, maybe, Professor,' Remus said. 'But my father doesn't want me home for the transformation, even if he's too kind to say it.'

The teacher looked at him, sharp eyes inscrutable. She did not seem to know what how to respond. 'I did not hear from your father,' she said at last. 'It was your mother who wrote me, and I promise you that she would be most pleased to have you home, full moon or no. She just feels that you're old enough to have some say in what happens to you.'

'I'll stay at school, Professor,' said Remus softly. 'It's the right choice. I'm less of a danger here, and there's Madam Pomfrey to take care of me… afterwards.'

Professor McGonagall took out her handkerchief. She removed her spectacles and wiped the lenses carefully before returning them to her nose. She folded the hankie neatly and tucked it into her robes. Then she fixed her eyes on Remus's face. 'Very well,' she said. 'Would you like to inform your mother, or shall I?'

'I will,' Remus said. 'I was just finishing a letter home when you came for me. I'll tell her. She'll understand it's for the best.'

'As you wish. You may go, Lupin.' She paused. 'I hope that you understand.'

'I do, Professor,' Remus promised. He hesitated. There was something else the conversation had brought to the forefront of his mind, and she was the only person he could ask. 'Professor?'

'Yes, Lupin?' she said, just as if he had raised his hand in Transfiguration.

'Healer Ferrinby, Professor,' Remus said timidly. 'I've been watching the paper for weeks, and there's been nothing… have you any news?'

Professor McGonagall shook her head. She looked suddenly very weary. 'I'm afraid not, Mr Lupin,' she said. 'The search is still ongoing.'

Remus felt a pang of miserable disappointment. 'I see. Thank you, Professor.'

He shuffled out of her office, drawing the door closed behind him.

When he returned to Gryffindor Tower he collected his quill from beside James's elbow and went immediately to put his name on the list to remain behind over Easter. His was the first signature.

'Brilliant!' Sirius cried, leaping up from the table and hurrying over to pluck the feather from his friend's fingers. 'You're staying here? I will too! We'll have a grand time!' With a flourish he scrawled his name below Remus's. 'What about you two?' he called over his shoulder. 'We'd have the run of the place!'

'Not me,' said James. 'I'm going home for Easter. And you can't stay behind! Who'll keep me company on the train?'

'I'll be there,' said Peter. 'I'm going home, too. There's always a parade in the village, and Morris dancers and a big egg-hunt. I wouldn't miss it for the world.'

'Just you and me, then,' Sirius said, winking gleefully at Remus.

Remus tried to smile, but his innards were coiling with dread. He wondered frantically how he would ever manage to slip away from Sirius in a half-empty school, without even the distractions of lessons or hex practice with James to provide a few minutes' cover.

'Don't look so glum!' Sirius said. 'It'll be so much better than Easter at home.'

~_discidium~_

On Tuesday morning, Sirius had a letter from his mother. He snorted as he read it, grinning evilly.

'That's the first time I've ever seen you smile at one of those,' James said. 'Has she finally given up on nagging you about your Sorting?'

'When kelpies can run,' Sirius scoffed. 'No, she just writes that I'm to be sure to be prompt in getting off the train in London, as I'm not to keep my sainted father waiting. Fat lot she knows.' He reached into his satchel and drew out his quill and ink. Across the bottom of his mother's note he scribbled _No worry on that score: I'm staying at school, so he needn't come get me at all. SB._

He whistled sharply, and his parents' wicked-looking owl came circling back down through one of the windows. Sirius rammed the letter back into the envelope and tied it to the owl's leg. 'Go home,' he said, curling his lip sourly at the vicious bird. It launched itself into the air, its curled talons narrowly missing Peter's scalp.

'Well, that's that,' Sirius said, dusting off his hands and looking very self-satisfied.

'Won't she be angry with such a short reply?' Remus asked softly, thinking of Mrs Black and her Howlers.

'Naw. She'll be thrilled to pieces that she doesn't have to see me 'til the end of term,' Sirius said cheerfully. 'I'm not wanted at home.'

But the following day, he had another letter. This one was in his father's hand. He read it, looking mildly annoyed, and then tore it into very small pieces.

'That's more how you usually take your letters,' James observed. 'What did it say?'

'It didn't _say_ anything,' Sirius griped. 'I had to read it. Apparently she does want me home after all, and he advises me to recant by return owl.' Sirius glowered blackly at the bird that was perched atop one of the arches. 'He can just forget about that. I'm staying here, and Remus and I are going to have a happy Easter. Go on, shoo!' he shouted, waving his hands angrily at the owl. It gave him a long, scornful look before taking flight.

On Thursday, the letter was once again in Mrs Black's cramped handwriting. Sirius scarcely more than glanced at it before pulling out his wand and reducing it to a heap of ash next to the sugar bowl.

'I don't think you should have done that,' Peter said nervously. 'I don't think your mum really likes to be ignored.'

'That's a shame,' Sirius said sourly. 'I always love to give my mum just what she likes.'

Friday's missive received the same abrupt treatment; this time Sirius did not even trouble to open the envelope. On Saturday he had three letters; one from his father, one from his brother, and a third in a hand Remus had never seen before, which was delivered by a mid-sized brown owl wearing a green velvet collar. Sirius opened the note from Regulus first.

'How the mighty have fallen,' he snorted, dripping with scorn. 'Now she's using my kid brother to do her dirty work. Listen to this: _Sirius, please. Please won't you write back and say you'll be home for Easter? I miss you frightfully, and Mother's ever so insistent. You know she won't take no for an answer, Sirius. Please, Sirius. Please don't make her come and fetch you…_ Pathetic.' He tore the letter in two. 'I can't believe she'd stoop to emotional manipulation. It's so undignified. Usually she just shouts.'

He didn't trouble to break the seal on his father's epistle, incinerating it on the spot. The third one he opened carefully and read with grave attention. He shook his head. 'Good try, I'll give him that.'

He set the letter down on the table, yelping in indignation as James snatched it up. Holding it well out of Sirius's reach he read aloud. '_Dear Sirius_ – how nice; he called you "dear" – _Do please reconsider. Your mother is determined that you should be with the family, and you know that she will get her way somehow or other. Write back at once and tell her you'll be on the train. I've been invited too, so you won't be alone. Perhaps you and I can get away for a day or two once it's all over – _once what's all over? – _and I'll see it's worth your while. Please don't do this, Sirius. It isn't worth it. Your uncle Alphard_.'

'Give me that!' Sirius said wrathfully, finally getting one foot up on the bench so that he could lean far enough over the table to snatch back the letter. He rammed it into his robes as he sat down again. 'If there's one thing worse than nosy relations it's a mate who nicks your mail.'

'What's he talking about?' James asked, undaunted by his friend's displeasure. 'Sounds serious.'

'No, _I'm_ Sirius. He's Alphard. And he's bang out of order. I'm staying here and she can't do a thing about it. She can hardly turn up at the school gates and drag me off by the scruff of the neck, can she?'

But behind the bold words Remus thought he could see a flicker of fear in Sirius Black's grey eyes.

_~discidium~_

On Sunday there was no letter, but on Monday morning as the class was filing out for dinner, Professor McGonagall called Sirius up to her desk. James and Remus lingered, James grabbing hold of Peter's collar before he could make a run for it. They watched from the back of the room as Sirius sidled up to the teacher's desk.

'What?' he asked blithely. 'You said we were meant to make a cut-glass tumbler. You never said it couldn't have fangs.'

Wordlessly Professor McGonagall opened the door of her desk and brought out a cone of paper. She upended it, sending a rain of reddish ash onto her blotter. 'Do you know what this is, Black?' she asked.

'The sorry remains of my promising academic career?' Sirius tried, quirking an impudent eyebrow.

'A Howler, Black. Delivered to my office this morning.' Professor McGonagall's lips were very thin. 'What is all this about you trying to remain at school over the break without your parents' permission?'

Sirius was turning rather red. 'I never thought she'd send one to _you_, Professor,' he mumbled, his mortification obvious.

'Indeed. Answer my question please, Black.'

'I'd just rather stay here, that's all,' said Sirius defensively.

'I see. You understand that the school is not at liberty to aid a student in defying his legal guardians on a whim?' McGonagall adjusted her spectacles. 'I'm afraid that unless you can offer me a compelling reason to allow you to stay, you will have to go home for Easter as your mother instructs.'

Sirius was staring down at the desktop now, one hand balled into a fist and the other twitching at his side.

'Mr Black?' said the teacher gravely, her voice softer now. 'Is there a compelling reason for me to allow you to stay?'

'No,' he muttered angrily. 'No. I just don't want to go, that's all. I'd rather stay here.'

'Any reason at all?' Professor McGonagall tried again, very gently.

'I said no!' snapped Sirius. 'Fine. You win. _She _wins. I'll go home for the sodding holidays, all right?'

McGonagall's expression hardened. 'Five points from Gryffindor for the use of unseemly language,' she said. 'I will strike your name off the list at once, and I expect to hear that you have boarded the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the homebound students. Dismissed.'

Sirius turned, and for a moment his face was a harsh relief of despairing defeat. Then his expression hardened into a mask of indifferent annoyance and he brushed past the other boys and into the corridor.

'It's not like you to just fold like that,' James said, hurrying after him. 'Does McGonagall know where the bodies are buried or something?'

Sirius glowered at him. 'Just shut up about it, Potter,' he growled. 'You'll have me for company on the train. That's all you wanted anyway.'

He marched off, leaving James standing bewildered in the corridor. 'What's his problem?' he said, puzzled.

'He doesn't want to go home for Easter,' Remus murmured, with the unpleasant feeling that he was stating the excruciatingly obvious.

'Well, why not? His uncle's going to be there, isn't he? I thought Sirius liked his uncle.'

Remus said nothing. He wasn't sure what he could say, without reneging on his resolution to let Sirius have his secrets.

~_discidium_~

On the first day of the break, Remus got up early to see the others off. Peter was happy and eager, and James was in a grand mood as he packed his things. Sirius went around the room like a storm-cloud, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. When at last the three of them descended to the common room, leaving Remus alone in the empty dormitory, he sank down onto the edge of his bed. He wondered what was waiting for Sirius at home. The next ten days would be so miserable for him, with his mother's scolding and her cruel, hateful words about family pride and the shame of a son in Gryffindor. He hoped that Sirius's uncle would be able to cheer him a little, to keep his spirits up until he could come back to school.

The early days of the holiday were dreary for Remus. Almost everyone had left Hogwarts. Even the majority of the staff were gone. There was a small clutch of fifth year students, mostly from Ravenclaw, who had remained to revise for their OWLs. Some of the sixth and seventh years were about, but they seemed to spend most of their time in a locked classroom on the fourth floor, meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick. There was a tiny spattering of younger students, none of whom seemed particularly happy to be left behind. Until Tuesday evening Remus thought he was the only first year left in the entire school.

But at supper that night as he sat by himself near the end of the Gryffindor table, he spied a familiar round-shouldered figure on the fringes of the tiny knot of vestigial Slytherins. Severus Snape was picking unhappily at his plate, now and again darting furtive looks at his older housemates, none of whom seemed to have any use for him.

Apart from Edgar Bones, who had already left the table to get back to whatever the NEWTs students were doing upstairs, Severus was the only familiar face Remus had seen among the students in four days. He looked so glum and miserable and alone that when he got up to leave the Great Hall, Remus dared to follow him.

'Sev?' he said timidly as he stepped out into the Entrance Hall.

The sallow boy turned, surprised to hear the nickname Lily Evans always used. When he saw Remus, his eyes narrowed. 'What d'you want?' he asked sullenly. 'Not wanted at home either, are you?'

'I wondered how you've been,' Remus said. His heart was hammering in his chest. He had initiated a conversation with someone he hardly knew, someone James and Sirius didn't like, someone who had tried to hex him during the skirmish in the dungeons. 'We haven't spoken, really, since we met on the train.'

'We don't like the same sort of people,' Snape said coldly. 'If you're here to pick up where your friends left off—'

'I'm not,' Remus said hastily, holding out his empty hands in a gesture of peace. 'I just… we're the only two firsties in the castle just now. I thought maybe we could… could talk to one another?'

Severus eyed him warily, taking a tiny step forward. His right hand was in his pocket, doubtless clutching his wand. 'What would we talk about?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Remus mumbled, the last shreds of confidence abandoning him. 'Lessons or Quidditch or something. W-whatever first years normally talk about.'

'I couldn't say what first years normally talk about,' Severus muttered. He sounded at once bitter and almost sad.

'Or we could, I don't know… we could go to the library together or something. Work on our paper for Transfiguration at the same table. We wouldn't have to talk, if you didn't want to.' Remus glanced down at his shoes as he confessed; 'It's rather lonesome with everyone gone.'

Severus stared at him, his dark eyes flicking in a most unnerving manner. He appeared to be considering the other boy's offer with intense caution. 'Very well,' he said slowly, breaking the long silence at last. 'We can work at the same table. Tomorrow night.'

Remus was crestfallen. 'I can't tomorrow…' he mumbled.

Snape's expression hardened. Clearly he felt that he had been led into a trap. He pursed his lips and backed away. 'Then I suppose you'll just have to be lonesome,' he said with studied disdain. Then he turned and walked away down the stairs, his awkward twitchy gait carrying him off towards the dungeons.

Remus swallowed very hard, trying not to take the rejection to heart. He had been a fool to try it; a fool to approach someone who clearly thought of him as a member of an enemy faction, and a fool to think that just because he could talk happily and endlessly with James and Sirius and Peter he was ready to interact properly with other people too. It was hard enough in these last waxing days to think of himself as a person. He never should have tried to act like one without the support of his friends.

He returned to the abandoned dormitory under a pall of gloom. His only consolation was that when he awoke sweating and trembling at three in the morning there was no one around to be roused by his sobs.

_~discidium~_

Remus did not even go to breakfast on Wednesday. He put on his ragged transformation robes and his cloak, and gathered his jigsaw puzzle and _The Ill-Made Knight_, and made his way straight to the hospital wing.

He passed the morning almost pleasantly with Madam Pomfrey, who set up a little table and sat down with him to work on the puzzle. After nibbling indifferently at his sandwiches at noon, Remus went to lie down for a while. Then it was time to go down to the Willow. The air was warmer now than it had been in months, and the musky scents of early spring filled the grounds. The tunnel was damp and muddier than usual, and Remus wished he had worn his too-small shoes instead of his good ones. But he reached the house at last, and Madam Pomfrey hugged him and wished him luck, and he was left alone.

Healer Ferrinby had said that agitation provoked the wolf. Remus discovered that month that melancholy had a similar effect. When at last he awoke in his little room in the hospital wing, he did not even remember the aftermath of the transformation. The first words out of Madam Pomfrey's mouth when she came to give him water and his potions, however, were; 'It's a lucky thing you decided to stay at school, dear. You'd be at St Mungo's for certain otherwise.'

There was no reason to expedite his stay in the infirmary; there were no lessons to go to, and no friends to wonder why he was absent for longer than usual. Remus remained under the matron's care until Sunday afternoon, when she coaxed him to get up and go to the Great Hall for the Easter Feast.

He went reluctantly, but as soon as he entered the room he was glad that he had. The hall was decorated with lilies and bright banners. The remaining staff were dressed in their best robes, and looked for the most part very cheerful. The students were all clustered near the head of their House tables, and as Remus moved to take his usual place Edgar Bones called to him and beckoned him to sit with the others. He did so timidly, but was greeted warmly by the older students, who budged over to make a place for him among them.

Remus said almost nothing during the meal, save to ask quietly when he wanted something passed to him, but it was wonderful to sit in the middle of the happy group of Gryffindors. They didn't even know him, and yet the accepted him. He did not let himself think that if they knew the truth he would be off at the foot of the table alone, like Severus. There was of course a vast variety of food; ham and game fowl, eight different kinds of vegetables, hot cross buns and a huge variety of tarts and, of course, hard-boiled eggs in all manner of brilliant colours and a vast selection of chocolate. Remus focused his attentions on his food, now and again following snatches of the merry conversations weaving together around him.

Remus spent Monday in the library, alone of course. He didn't mind the solitude so much while he was working. Indeed, it was rather easier to get on with his essays without the constant antics of James and Sirius to distract him. He slept well that night, and went down to breakfast on Tuesday looking forward to his friends' return that evening.

He had post that morning; a letter from his parents in addition to his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. With no one to look over his shoulder, he was able to open the letter at the table. His mother sent her love, and hoped he was well, and promised that she was eager to see him when the summer term ended. After her closing salutation and signature, Father had written a short note for him as well; a rare treat for Remus.

By the time he tired of reading and rereading his parents' fond words, the Great Hall was nearly empty. All the students were gone, and at the staff table only Dumbledore and Binns – who was sleeping with his head on his chest – remained. Ashamed to be caught loitering, Remus got up and left the hall, taking his unread _Prophet_ with him. He glanced at the front page headline. Even that was cheerful today, announcing the recipients of this year's Easter Honours from the Ministry for Magic. Satisfied, Remus rolled up the paper and tucked it under his arm. He didn't want to read it yet, lest he should find bad news inside. He made his way back to the dormitory, thinking only of his friends' impending return.


	24. Easter Among the Elite

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Easter Among the Elite**

Remus was sitting at the top of the marble staircase, waiting eagerly. Night had fallen, and soon the carriages would begin to come in from Hogsmeade, bearing the returning students. He fidgeted eagerly, unable to keep still as the minutes dragged by. He had been distracted all day, unable to focus on anything but the fact that his friends were coming back at last. In the end he had given up trying to read ahead in his textbooks, and had come down to wait for sunset.

Presently the door to the Great Hall opened and Edgar Bones came out, smoothing his robes and adjusting his Head Boy's badge. He looked at Remus and winked.

'Any minute now,' he said, taking up a highly visible position – the better to ensure order when the students began to arrive.

Remus smiled, eyes shining with excitement. His friends were coming back, and there would be no awkward questions this month. He had studied himself carefully in the mirror before coming down. The shadows under his eyes were fading, and he wasn't so much thinner than he had been when they left. Nearly a week after the transformation there was surely nothing about his appearance that would raise suspicions.

The front doors of the castle swung open, and the first wave of students came in. The four Smythe sisters, with their Ravenclaw badges and their identically curling hair, were in the lead. Thalia Smythe ruffled little Rowena's hair fondly before taking up a post at the foot of the stairs, waving amiably to her partner at the top. Most of the Prefects followed, including the Slytherin with the pale hair. The Andrews twins appeared, joined at the hip as usual, and a little ways beyond them Remus saw Betta MacFusty and her friends. Lily was with them, but as soon as they reached the stairs she broke away, running on ahead into the Great Hall. Remus watched her go, reasoning that she must be looking for Severus. He was glad of that.

The Entrance Hall was crowded now, the throngs of students mingling and calling out to one another as they jostled up the stairs. Remus was obliged to stand up to avoid being trampled, and he clutched the banister to anchor himself where he stood.

He heard James first, his voice raised in laughter. Remus got up on the tips of his toes, craning his neck in an attempt to catch sight of his friend. Peter's voice, unintelligible in the roar of the crowd, came next.

'…seven times in fifteen minutes,' James was saying now. Remus spied him at last, coming up the middle of the marble staircase with Peter to his left and Sirius trudging behind.

'James!' Remus called out, his hand shooting into the air to wave. James saw him and grinned, elbowing his way over to the side.

'Hiyah!' he said. 'Good holiday?'

'Quiet,' Remus told him. 'I got a lot of work done. Happy Birthday!' he added.

James grinned. 'Thanks for the present,' he said. 'But who on earth signed the card?'

'Uncle Alphard,' Sirius muttered. He had his book bag cradled in both arms, the shoulder strap hanging uselessly down his front. He was paler than usual and though he was smiling his eyes were dull. He looked at Remus; 'I got him to send it for us. Sorry.'

'I don't mind,' Remus pledged, glancing disconcertedly from Sirius's strained face to James's jubilant one. 'Did something happen on the train?'

'Nothing happened on the train,' said Sirius. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Remus. 'You all right? You look a little tired.'

'I've been up since six waiting for you lot,' Remus said smoothly. It was only a little lie, prepared ahead of time: he had been up since eight. But it seemed believable, Sirius nodded vaguely.

'C'mon,' James said, taking Remus's arm so that he was obliged to let go of the bannister; 'let's go grab our seats. I'm half starved.'

He turned, clapping Sirius on the shoulder. The taller boy's knees buckled a little as he tried to jerk away without losing his footing on the stairs. 'I told you to keep your hands to yourself!' he yelped, all vestiges of his forced grin gone.

'_Sorry_.' James frowned at him bemusedly. 'Why are you in such a foul mood anyway? After the fuss you made about leaving I'd have thought you'd be glad to be back.'

'James,' Remus said quietly, shaking his head. 'Let's just go and eat.'

'Yes, please!' Peter said eagerly, the worry lines disappearing from the corners of his mouth. He turned for the Great Hall, and James followed him. Remus hung back a pace to wait for Sirius.

'I'm sorry you couldn't stay,' he whispered.

'Yeah. Me too,' Sirius grunted. He adjusted his awkward hold on his satchel and started after James.

Remus followed, guilt close upon his heels. He had been relieved that Sirius hadn't been around to wonder at his absence over the break. He had tried to fool himself into thinking that his friend would be all right as long as he had his uncle around to cheer him up. He had thought only of himself, while clearly Sirius had suffered through a miserable holiday.

Remus took his usual seat at Sirius's left, with James and Peter similarly arrayed on the other side of the table. James was already chattering happily at him, detailing his birthday celebrations.

'…and Mum charmed the cake so that when I cut it a Gryffindor lion came out and bounded off the table. I got a Hebredian dragonhide Quidditch helmet and a brand new set of balls – real, professional ones. I've got to get in a lot of practice this summer if I want to go out for the House team in September. Oh, Remus!' As improbable as it seemed, his smile grew even wider and his eyes still more animated. '_Wait_ 'til you see what Dad gave me!'

'That's the eighteenth time today you've said that, Potter,' Sirius said, drumming impatiently on the table with his fork. 'If you're not going to put us all out of our misery, at least spare us the cryptic remarks.'

'Twenty-six times,' said Peter. 'He said it nine times while you were sleeping.'

'That would be twenty-seven times, then, wouldn't it?' Sirius groused. He spun his plate and craned his neck at the students still filing into the room. 'Can't they hurry up?'

'It's your own fault you slept through the trolley lady's visit,' said James. 'Please would you just perk up a little? You're spoiling everyone's mood.'

Sirius was about to fire off an angry retort, but at that moment the feast appeared. He began to fill his plate frenetically, and when he and Peter reached for the serving spoon in the dish of roast potatoes at the same time he actually bared his teeth at the smaller boy. James chuckled as he fell upon his meal, but Remus felt rather ill watching Sirius eat. He remembered abruptly Sirius's peculiar concern that Mother and Father hadn't fed him properly over the Christmas holiday.

'For goodness sake.' An indignant voice came from further down the table. Lily Evans was staring disapprovingly at Sirius. 'I suppose maybe old wizarding families don't bother to teach table manners.'

Sirius set his knife down long enough to shoot her a very rude gesture. Remus glanced hurriedly up the table, but none of the Prefects seemed to have noticed.

James was helping himself to the sprouts gratinée, and Peter was munching happily on his steak and kidney pie. Finally Remus began to fill his plate, just as Sirius started reaching for seconds.

'Slow down, would you?' James said. 'It's not as if it's going to vanish or anything.'

Sirius mumbled something, but as his mouth was full no one could understand him. James nodded placatingly and launched into an animated story about his Easter visit with the McKinnons – who were apparently good friends of his parents.

'And Eldritch said as long as I pull up my socks and practice I ought to be a shoe-in for the team,' he concluded, pushing away his plate and sighing contentedly. He looked up the table to where the Gryffindor Keeper was sitting with his little sister. 'Right Eldritch?'

'Huh?' McKinnon looked quizzically at him.

'Me. Practice, the Gryffindor team,' James summarized.

'I didn't make any promises, mind,' said Eldritch, wagging his finger. 'I only said that with Jean MacFusty taking her NEWTs this year we were going to be short a Chaser.'

'And that they're looking for any excuse to replace Friessen,' James muttered behind his hand, winking at Sirius. 'Mum's the word.'

'Give me another one of those pasties, would you? And a pear.' Sirius asked. James obliged and Sirius took out his silk handkerchief, wrapping it around the foodstuffs and tucking the resulting bundle into his satchel. At James's odd look, he scowled. 'I don't feel like raiding the kitchens tonight, okay?'

'She-Slytherin at three o'clock,' James hissed, jerking his head over Sirius's shoulder.

Sirius spun on the bench to see who was approaching. It was Andromeda Black. 'Sod it,' Sirius said. He scrambled to his feet and hefted his satchel into his arms. 'Let's get out of here; I don't need this tonight.'

He almost ran from the hall, the other three following as quickly as they could. Remus heard Andromeda calling her cousin's name, but Sirius did not stop. He did not so much as slow down, in fact, until they were safely in the dormitory. There, he dropped his bag unceremoniously – evidently not caring whether he bruised the fruit inside – and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. He kicked off his shoes.

'All right,' James said, closing the door and flattening himself against it. He regarded the other three boys gravely and Remus braced himself, ready to help Sirius out of the impending interrogation. 'What I'm about to reveal to you is a sacred trust. A secret so valuable that you must _never_ betray it to _anyone_.' He grinned. 'Especially my mum.'

He sauntered into the space beside Sirius's bed, beckoning Peter to come in closer. 'Now, I was telling my dad about our trips to the kitchens—'

Peter made a frightened noise, and Remus frowned. 'You told your father we've been breaking the rules?' he asked incredulously.

'It's not as if we robbed Gringotts or something,' James said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. 'I've got twenty-four-hour access to the kitchens at home; why shouldn't I here? Anyway, he said that as long as we're creeping about at night we may as well do it without getting caught.'

'After all this windup you'd better have a really corking finish,' Sirius said crossly.

'Behold!' James cried, whipping his hand out of his pocket and shaking something out in front of him. It slithered toward the ground, cascading in a diaphanous silver-grey shimmer that was very difficult to look at. Remus found himself blinking rapidly, trying to bring it into focus, and Peter was staring at it with one finger tucked into the corner of his mouth.

Sirius was on his feet now, and the first genuine smile that Remus had seen all night was spreading across his face. 'No,' he breathed. '_No_. It _isn't_.'

'Oh, yes it is!' James said gleefully. He took hold of the silver thing with his other hand too, and whipped it around behind him.

Abruptly, he was gone.

Peter yelped as he bit down on his finger, and pulled it out of his mouth, shaking his hand frenetically as he bounced on the balls of his feet. 'Where did he go? Where did he go?'

Sirius was wearing an expression of fiendish delight. 'Ooh, we're going to be _unstoppable_!' he crowed, sweeping out with his arms at the place James had been standing. 'We can go anywhere! We can do anything! We can sneak past Filch! We can sneak past the bloody _portraits_!'

'I don't understand…' Remus stammered. 'James, is that an—'

'INVISIBILITY CLOAK!' James roared, yanking it off so abruptly that Peter shrieked. He flung it over his arm, dancing gleefully around the beds. 'We'll never get caught again!' He paused, looking over his shoulder at Sirius. 'What d'you say, Black? Changed your mind about raiding the kitchens?'

'Not tonight,' said Remus. 'You're all tired from the journey and we've lessons tomorrow. Maybe we should just get ready for bed.'

'Not until I try that thing,' Sirius said, diving in to snatch it away from James. He vanished. 'This is brilliant!' his disembodied voice crooned. 'Brilliant, bloody _brilliant_!'

He appeared suddenly on the other side of Remus's bed. His face was alight with joy, his dour mood forgotten. He shook out the Cloak and offered it back to James, who folded it into a remarkably tiny parcel and slipped it back into his pocket.

'Now, this is our secret, do you understand?' he said, looking pointedly at Peter. 'I trust you can all keep a secret?'

Remus almost laughed at that, but he caught himself and nodded instead. He looked at Sirius, who was still grinning as he ambled around and dug out one of his costly nightshirts. James wasn't sensitive to his best friend's feelings, but he had cheered him up more effectively than Remus ever could have. Remus shot James a tiny, grateful smile. James winked and went to begin undressing.

'This settles the issue of the Restricted Section in the library, now doesn't it?' Sirius was saying as he removed his belt and began to unfasten his robes. 'I mean, we could just walk in there any time under that thing and take whatever we want.'

'Something tells me it's not going to be quite as simple as all that,' James laughed. 'There are bound to be protective spells or something. Remember what happened when Peter didn't return that book on easy levitation in time?'

Sirius laughed. 'All right, fair point,' he said; 'but at least we won't have any trouble getting in there after hours. I think we ought to go tomorrow.' He hauled his robes over his head and let them fall in an unceremonious heap at his feet. His vest followed suit as he added; 'I'm sure you're secretly itching to get your hands on some of those books, aren't you Lupin?'

Remus closed his cupboard, turning with the intention of replying that he wasn't about to give his friends an excuse to go charging off to get into trouble. Instead his eyes widened and all that he could manage was a strangled, 'Oh, _Sirius…_'

For a moment the taller boy, who was now standing by his bed clad only in socks and underpants, looked puzzled. Then a wave of horror crested over him, and his hand flew up to his chest, splayed wide as if he could cover himself.

On each collarbone, half a handspan from the shoulder, was a massive black bruise. They spread forward almost into his axillae and back onto his shoulder blades. Striations of purple and red spread out from each dark welt, and the faintest bile-green was just starting to show on the very edges.

'Bloody hell…' James breathed, dropping his shoe with a _thump_.

Sirius's mischievous grin was gone now, replaced with anguished desperation. He looked quite like a cornered animal as his mouth worked soundlessly and his fingers twitched over the margins of the left-hand mark.

'S-Sirius…' Remus whispered, horrified by the livid disfigurements blighting his friend's formerly untouched torso. 'What happened?'

Sirius's lips twisted horribly before he managed to make them form words. When he spoke his voice was harsh and rancorous. 'I'll tell you what happened.' He jerked his thumb at James. '_His_ sodding father gets him an Invisibility Cloak. Mine buys a thirty-pound set of dress robes.'

'Dress robes?' James echoed helplessly. 'The ones you got for Christmas?'

'Yes, the ones I got for Christmas,' Sirius said viciously. Misery and anger were warring for dominance in his eyes 'While you were off tossing the Quaffle with Eldritch flaming McKinnon, _I_ was trapped at the Ministry of Magic for thirteen hours tricked out like some kind of perverse dressmakers doll.' He balled his hands into fists and stared down at the ground. 'Mum says it's what comes of slouching like a Mudblood. Uncle Alphard says it's what comes of wearing robes more than a quarter of your body weight.'

'What were you doing at the Ministry of Magic?' asked James, still bewildered.

Sirius snorted. '_The Daily Prophet_ is wasted on you. All you ever read is the Quidditch highlights.' He nodded curtly at Remus. 'You get the paper now. You tell him.'

'I-I haven't read today's,' Remus stammered, pointing at the rolled up newspaper sitting on top of his trunk.

Sirius swooped in and grabbed it, spreading out the front page on the foot of Remus's bed. He pointed wrathfully at the cover photograph, and Remus and James both moved in to look.

A tall, severe-looking wizard wearing an ornate chain of office was shaking hands sedately with Orpheus Andrews, the Minister for Magic. Off to one side stood a small group of elegantly dressed people, haughty and patrician expressions on most of their faces. There was a young boy with them, smiling enormously and puffing out his chest as he watched. And beside him, hunched unenthusiastically in a set of ornate and extremely heavy-looking dress robes, was a very familiar figure.

Remus swallowed hard as he studied the caption beneath the photograph. '_Arcturus Black, newly elevated to the Order of Merlin, accepts the accolades of the Minister for Magic_,' he read. His eyes were drawn again to the one miserable face in the crowd of gratified people, and he felt rather ill. 'That's why you were wanted at home,' he murmured.

'That's right,' Sirius said bitterly. 'Not because my parents wanted to shower me with gifts or praise my performance in school or take me off to sup with Quidditch heroes, but because my _loving _grandfather, the great Arcturus Black himself, was up for an Order of Merlin and he simply _had_ to show off his _perfect_ – _sodding_ – _pureblood_ – FAMILY!' He punctuated each of the last four words with a savage kick to Remus's trunk.

The silence that followed was ghastly. Peter was quaking in the corner. James looked as though he wanted to be sick. And Remus stood motionless, at once appalled and paralysed with compassion. Then Sirius, his energy spent, flung himself down on the floor with his back against his bed and hugged his legs to his chest.

Finally Remus managed to move. He dropped down on his knees beside his friend and put a timid hand on Sirius's elbow. 'It's over now,' he said softly. 'You're back at school again.'

'I didn't even get to spend Monday with Uncle Alphard,' Sirius said, sounding suddenly very young and wounded; 'b-because when I complained about the robes she…' He closed his eyes and shuddered, leaning in towards Remus. 'He can't stand up to her, either,' he whispered at last, but Remus knew it was not what he had been about to say.

James moved quietly to his cupboard and brought out his own soft wool dressing gown. He rounded Remus's bed carefully and got down on the floor, draping the garment over Sirius's shoulder. 'Lean forward,' he said. When Sirius obeyed James slipped the robe behind him, covering the angry marks. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'For talking about my holiday all day, I mean. I didn't mean to make you feel…' He gestured helplessly, unable to find the word he wanted. '…badly,' he concluded lamely.

Peter was standing at the foot of the bed now, one hand on the bedpost. 'How can your mum be so cruel?' he asked feebly.

'Easy. She doesn't care. So long as we're all bedecked in our finery like the sodding Windsors, she doesn't care.' Sirius pressed his forehead against his knees. His voice was hard and resentful again. 'Course, nobody expects Regulus to wear the bleeding eighteen ounce brocade with the silver piping on the sleeves. _Real silver piping, _if you can believe it, half an inch thick. He's only the spare; he gets nice sensible silk satin with the pretty cloth-of-silver embroidery. But I'm the heir, you see, Gryffindor or not: second in line behind mighty Orion. _I've_ got to look like my father in miniature. Only he's a dirty great grown man… and anyway he doesn't slouch.'

He was silent for a moment as he struggled to compose himself. Then he squared his sore shoulders and raised his head, crossing his legs on the floor. 'Of course, that wasn't the worst part,' he said in a very matter-of-fact voice.

'It wasn't?' James breathed. He looked positively traumatized by all that he had heard, and Remus was surprised that he was speaking at all.

'Nope.' Sirius made a strange snorting sound and tried to smirk. 'The worst part was the _speeches_. The bleeding Honours ceremony took almost five hours, and then there were more speeches at the banquet. Let me tell you: Aeolus Andrews has a lot to answer for. His grandfather is possibly the most longwinded wizard in Britain. Apart from mine, of course. The only snappy speech came from some representative of the St Mungo's board of governors who was presenting a lifetime service award to a retiring old Healer. Sang a little song and everything.'

James chuckled, and Sirius almost grinned at him. 'Wish I'd had some firecrackers or something,' he added.

James clicked his tongue. 'That was feeble, Black,' he ribbed gently, testing the waters.

'Yeah, well, it's been a long day.' Sirius climbed to his feet, shrugging off the dressing gown. 'So long as I'm down to my unmentionables I might as well go have a quick wash,' he said, collecting his nightshirt and shuffling from the dormitory.

When the roar of the shower started, James turned to Remus.

'I suppose we don't talk about it?' he asked.

'That's right,' said Remus softly.

James frowned discontentedly. 'How do you know that's what he wants?'

'It's what I would want,' Remus whispered, looking away. He stood up and gathered his nightclothes from where he had dropped them. He climbed onto the bed – only to find James staring at him.

'Remus…' James murmured, hesitant.

'Yes?'

'You're not… not hiding bruises, are you? When you get changed in there, I mean.' James didn't seem quite able to meet his eyes.

Remus shook his head. Not bruises, he thought bleakly; no. 'I'm shy, remember?' he said.

James mouthed a silent _oh_, and Remus closed his curtains. When he was finished changing he emerged, just as Sirius came back into the room.

'Just so you know, Potter, this doesn't mean we're going to have a nice heart-to-heart about my family,' he said airily, striding over to his bed and lounging upon it.

'I never dreamed it might,' said James, grinning bracingly.

'And don't look so glum, Lupin,' Sirius added. 'It was only the Easter Honours and some ill-fitting dress robes. It's not as if they chained me up in a dungeon somewhere and doled out the Cruciatus Curse every forty minutes. We've all got family issues – apart from Perfect Potter over there. Doesn't mean we're not happy, well-adjusted individuals, now does it?'

James had Remus's paper in his hand, and he was studying the faces in the photograph. 'Just one more question,' he said. 'Where's your cousin Andromeda? And little Miss Narcissa Rather-Nasty-Smell? How did they get lucky enough to skive off?'

'Other side of the family,' Sirius said, rolling onto his back and stretching out his limbs with a luxuriant sigh. 'They were at the ceremony, of course, but not in the photos. That's Uncle Nate and Aunt Lucretia standing behind Regulus.'

'They don't look so bad,' said James, trying to sound positive. 'Proud as punch and a bit too posh, but not exactly wicked.'

'I wouldn't know; I don't see them much,' said Sirius in a deliberately pedantic tone. 'They move in somewhat different circles than we do, and frankly I think they prefer their Prewett niece and nephews to Regulus and me. Spent a lot of time with them when they were a young barren couple – ages before I was born. Now, I seem to recall stipulating that we were _not _going to bang on about my family.'

The defenses were back in place; the sarcasm, the wry humour, the lazy grin. There was no sign now of the frightened and frustrated boy who had been huddling on the floor. Remus admired Sirius for his self-control, but there was something about it that made him very sad, too. While the other two prepared for bed he lay on his side, watching Sirius stretching his legs in the large bed and rotating his ankles contentedly. When James put out his lamp Remus closed his hangings and crawled under the covers.

_~discidium_~

When he was roused by the sound of muffled sobs, it took Remus a minute to realize that they were not his own. As soon as he did, however, he was out of his bed, swaying slightly with the dizziness that came from rising too quickly. He padded over to the next bed and gently pulled aside one of the curtains. Trembling only a little, he reached out and cupped his hand over the dark head buried face-down in the pillow.

Sirius stiffened under his touch and rolled onto his side, sniffling and blotting at his eyes with the back of his hand. He shrank away.

'It's all right,' Remus whispered, just as he had all those months ago when last he had caught Sirius crying. 'I won't tell anyone.'

Sirius sat up, scooting back to lean against the far corner of the headboard. 'Gimme my wand,' he hissed; 'and get in here before you wake James.'

Remus obeyed, passing Sirius the slender stave and climbing onto the bed. He got up on his knees to tug the hangings closed, and then sat cross-legged in the middle of the mattress so as not to crowd his friend.

'_Lumos_,' Sirius said. His wand tip shone brilliantly, momentarily blinding Remus. He dimmed it to a faint glow that illuminated his tearstained face and the pearl buttons on his nightshirt. 'I didn't mean to wake you,' he said. He let out a sound that was midway between a sigh and a chuckle. 'I sound like you, don't I?'

'My turn to sound like you, then,' Remus said. 'Bad dream?'

Sirius shook his head. 'Haven't slept,' he mumbled. 'Must be all that napping I did on the train.'

Remus's heart ached at those words. If Sirius hadn't awakened from a nightmare, then the weeping had sprung from his conscious thoughts. 'Do you want to talk about it?' he asked. 'I'm a good listener.'

'You really do sound like me,' Sirius huffed. 'Is it this annoying when I do it?'

'Probably,' Remus said, smiling a little. He almost laughed with gratitude when Sirius's lips curled upward as well.

The half-smile did not last, however. Sirius wiped his eyes on his sleeve, looking careworn and miserable again. 'I've made myself look a right prat,' he mumbled. 'I didn't want you lot to know any of this. Not the Order of Merlin, I mean; I could hardly hide that when it's screaming across the front page. But… you know.' He gestured vaguely at his shoulders.

'Is it really from the robes?' Remus ventured.

Sirius nodded. 'It really is. I don't know what kind of sadist designed the horrors, but I'll go starkers before I ever let her put them on me again.' He cast his eyes away. 'I might've talked her out of it if she hadn't been so angry from the start,' he whispered. 'I should've just sent the stupid return owl in the first place.'

Remus didn't know what to say. He was not even certain that a reply was needed; perhaps Sirius only needed someone to listen, as Madam Pomfrey so often did for him. He waited.

'I just… it makes me feel better to wind her up, you know?' Sirius says. 'Like I've got some control, a choice. But it's an easy choice to make when you're five hundred miles away. Not so smart when she's in the next room.' Sirius looked down at his lap, flexing the fingers of his empty hand. 'I really thought… I never dreamed… when I sent that first note I really thought it would suit her fine, not having to trouble with me. Nobody told _me_ about a sodding Order of Merlin.'

'Did you explain?' Remus asked softly. He thought it undiplomatic to remark that this particular information had likely been included in one of the letters his friend had destroyed unread.

Sirius let out a low, bitter laugh. 'I tried,' he said. 'It was undercut somewhat by the fact that I ignored all the other letters. Peter was right about that, you know. She doesn't like to be ignored.' He sighed heavily. 'Another brilliant cockup by the shameful spawn who got himself shunted into Gryffindor.'

'You mustn't say things like that about yourself,' Remus mumbled, achingly aware that the words were his mother's. 'You'll start to believe them.'

'Right,' Sirius said, more to himself than to Remus. 'Right. And if I do that, she wins, doesn't she?'

Remus said nothing, but Sirius was nodding now. 'That's it. I can't let her win. She's humiliated me in front of my friends – again. But she's not going to win this one.' He looked up and he smiled, a genuine smile that made him look like a boy instead of an angry militant. 'I'm back at school again, and the worst she can do is bombard me with Howlers. And at least with a Howler you don't need to watch the spit flying in every direction.'

Remus tried to feign a laugh, because he knew that was what was expected. Sirius jerked his head appreciatively, and then his face grew sober again.

'Can I trust you?' he asked. 'Not to say anything to James or Peter, I mean. I don't like them knowing when they can't understand. But you understand, don't you?'

The question was low and tremulous. Remus was grateful that he was able to nod truthfully.

'Good.' Sirius paused for a long interval. 'Remus?' he said at once, his voice very low. 'Don't you find it hard sometimes?'

'Find what hard?' Remus asked hollowly, trying not to think of all the things he struggled with.

'Not to be jealous.' The words were scarcely audible. 'You know, of James. Like when he talks about charmed cakes and trips to France, or when he boasts about his expensive presents when all you got for _your_ birthday was a book and a second-hand chess set?'

'They're Mother's Oxford chessmen!' Remus protested, more loudly than he had meant to. He lowered his voice circumspectly. 'You don't understand, Sirius; she gave me one of her very dearest treasures, and I—' He stopped, realizing that in light of Sirius's words about his mother such remarks were unforgivably tactless – worse than anything James had said.

Sirius didn't seem to have noticed. 'But I mean his life's so sodding _perfect_,' he protested feebly. 'Easter at the McKinnons… I haven't been able to use my broom since summertime, d'you know that?' His voice wavered a little as he added; 'I really wanted to spend Monday with Uncle Alphard. Would've made it all… y'know. Almost bearable.'

Even the faintness of the light could not entirely disguise his flush of shame. 'I shouldn't be jealous of James, I know,' he mumbled. 'I should just be glad that one of us has a halfway decent life, right? You're not a green-eyed monster when you look at him, are you? Thought not.'

'Sometimes,' Remus confessed. He thought of James's strong, healthy body – his perfectly human body – and his easy, affable way of making conversation and how he never, ever had difficulty giving voice to his whims and his wants, much less his needs. 'Sometimes I am, just a little.'

Sirius gave a tiny nod, shooting Remus the briefest look of gratitude. 'Me too,' he whispered. Then he sighed and scrubbed his face with his palms. 'I reckon I should try to get some sleep now, huh?' he said, scooting over and getting his legs under the blankets again. 'You too, if you were up at six.'

Remus nodded. He crawled to the edge of the bed and found the opening in the curtains. 'Sleep well,' he said. 'You can trust me.'

'I know,' Sirius said with a small fond smile. 'You can trust me, too, Remus. Whenever you're ready to talk about it.'

Remus swallowed painfully. 'Th-there's nothing to talk about,' he stammered.

Sirius looked at him for a very long moment, slate-grey eyes keen and piercing in the wandlight. 'Of course there isn't,' he said at last, inscrutably. '_Nox_.'

They were plunged into darkness, and Remus felt something smooth and wooden poking at his arm.

'Put this back for me, would you?' Sirius whispered. The mattress shook as he lay down and burrowed into a comfortable position.

Remus slipped from the other boy's bed, replacing the wand before moving to his own. His turned back sheets were cold, and he lay huddled between them for a long time, unable to sleep. He was torn between worry over Sirius's obvious knowledge that he was not being entirely honest, and the gnawing certainty that Sirius, too, was still hiding something. He had not divulged all that had transpired in the Black household over the break, and the worst of it was that the things to which he had admitted were quite horrid enough.


	25. The Abject Failure

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Abject Failure**

The following morning, James was unusually silent. He did not rouse Peter with loud and boisterous ribbing, instead leaving it to Remus to gently waken the smaller boy. He did not laugh or chatter merrily as they made their way downstairs for breakfast, but walked quietly a pace behind Sirius with his eyes averted. He did not open his care parcel from home while offering a lively inventory of its contents, handing it wordlessly to Peter to unwrap and share out in his place. He did not fill the lulls in Professor Flitwick's lecture with whispered quips, but sat with his hands in his lap, staring at his desk.

'I can't take it anymore!' Sirius exclaimed as the four friends left Transfiguration. He whirled on James. 'Would you please say _something_?'

James looked up at him, hazel eyes pained. 'What do you want me to say?' he asked.

'Say that you're hungry. Say that Charlotte White is a sop for crying 'cause her handkerchief came out looking more like a sock than an eggshell. Say that Peter ought to stop hovering at your elbow like that. Just say _something_!' Sirius gesticulated broadly. 'I can't take any more of this moping!'

'I'm not moping: I just don't want to bang on about myself,' James said.

Sirius snorted. 'What are you talking about? If you don't bang on about yourself we'll have nothing to say. We might as well all take up mumming.' He struck a classic pose, palms raised in front of him and head splayed to the side as if pressed against an invisible window.

'It's all I did yesterday, and it only seemed to make you miserable,' James reasoned. 'I can keep my mouth shut if it makes you happy.'

'It doesn't,' Sirius said ferociously. 'I just want to forget about the holiday and my mother and the sodding Order of Merlin and get back to my life. And a big part of my life is listening to you bang on. So go ahead. It'll make you feel more like yourself.'

'But what'll make _you_ feel more like _yourself_?' asked James. He was perking up already, however, and a mischievous smile was beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth.

His words had the effect of a miraculous incantation. A wicked grin spread across Sirius's face. 'Three guesses,' he said gleefully.

_~discidium~_

Remus perched on top of his trunk, watching as Sirius and James tried to work out how to move in tandem under the Invisibility Cloak. Or rather, he watched as – without any cause discernable to the naked eye – bed curtains rustled, books crashed to the ground, and articles of clothing twisted and scuttled about the floor. He knew that he ought to be looking at his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, but the spectacle before him was entirely too amusing to be ignored – as, indeed, were the incorporeal voices harping at one another.

'Left foot first, and _step – _ow, Potter, that's my toe!'

'Get your elbow out of my ear, you big lumbering git.'

'Well, if _you_ wouldn't keep trying to tuck your head under my arm…'

'Just clam up and walk, will you? Let's head over to the door. Ready? And _right—'_

'I said _left_ foot first! I can't get my head around stepping with my right.'

'It's my Cloak, and I call the shots. You'll just have to get used to it. _Right — _damn it! Watch the specs!'

'Don't know why you don't just take 'em off. It's like looking through a fogged-up window in here anyhow. I can hardly see where I'm going.'

'That's because you're looking through the overlap. C'mon, let's rotate it 'round a little to the left.'

'My left or your left?'

'Anti-clockwise, you berk.'

'Feet,' Remus warned as the hem of the cloak lifted, exposing two pairs of shuffling shoes.

'It's your fault; your arms are too long,' James's voice scolded as the appendages vanished again.

'Ack! Watch where you're sticking that thing. I'm going to need my spleen later, you know.'

'Let's try it again. _Right_, shuffle-shuffle-shuffle…'

Peter squealed as something very large crashed against his bedpost, shaking the entire structure. A pained yelp followed the collision. 'You're meant to be steering!' Sirius wheezed.

'It wouldn't kill you to watch where we're going, too,' said James crossly.

'Didn't your parents ever make you take dance lessons? The one who's leading is meant to watch. I'm just supposed to smile and look pretty.'

'_Dance lessons?_'

'Go ahead and laugh, Potter, but just remember that Lupin can't see you so there'll be no witnesses.'

'What kind of dancing? The waltz? The gavotte? Don't tell me… the _galliard_.'

'I knew it! Nobody knows the word _galliard _unless he's been – _OW!_ You did that on purpose!'

'And I'll do it again if you don't start moving. We'll try it your way, all right? One, two, three, _left_…'

'There we go!' Sirius sounded very smug. 'I told you it would be better if we – cor blimey!'

A crumpled set of school robes near the foot of James's bed jumped and twitched against the floor, and there was a tremendous crash. James rolled into view, turning a neat but impromptu somersault, and Sirius's head, legs and left shoulder appeared in the middle of the floor, splayed out awkwardly. He pushed himself up, revealing an elbow in order to do so, and turned exasperated eyes on James.

They stared at one another for a beat, clearly torn between the frustration and the hilarity of their situation. Then James let out a loud guffaw, and a moment later they were both laughing so hard that they could scarcely breathe.

Remus glanced at Peter, who was watching with eager adoration, and then looked back at James, now holding his glasses in one quaking hand while he used the cuff of his robe to dab at the tears of mirth that streamed down his face. It was the sight of Sirius, still lacking a right arm, thighs and most of his torso, twitching helplessly on the ground like an overturned ladybird, that proved his undoing. Before he knew it he had his hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking with almost silent giggles.

'You… look… like… you've _splinched _yourself!' James chortled as he returned his spectacles to his face. 'Only with-thout… any… blood…'

'… rolling… like a… _plimpy_…' Sirius choked out. He was clutching at his side now – which meant that his left hand appeared to be gripping thin air with such force that the knuckles were turning white.

'… flaming… _told _you… right… foot… first…'

'I… ow! St— ooh. _Stop_. We've got to _stop…_' Sirius wheezed, his brow crinkling with pain even as he continued to laugh uncontrollably. James's lips were turning blue, but he was still giggling breathlessly.

A searing stab from his right side arrested Remus's merriment. He hissed involuntarily as he clutched at the tightening scar beneath his robes. His shoulders still quivered as he drew in a few ragged breaths, but the urge to laugh was passing.

Slowly, with much puffing and gasping, Sirius and James fell silent as well, the former stretching out flat on the floor, presumably spread-eagled (it was difficult to tell for certain without seeing his right arm). James straightened up, rubbing the border of his ribcage and grinning enormously. As Sirius picked himself up off the ground and pulled the Cloak off his lap at last, James schooled his features and looked very gravely at his friend.

'Something tells me we're not quite ready,' he deadpanned.

Sirius let out a colossal snort that ended in a rueful whine of pain as he groped at his flank. 'Stop it,' he pleaded, his smile tugging mercilessly at his face. 'Do just _stop_ it for a minute.'

Presently, when everyone was breathing normally again and the Invisibility Cloak was folded safely in his pocket, James said; 'I'm really serious, though; we're not ready.'

Sirius nodded. 'We'd wake half the school if we tried to take the corridors like that,' he agreed. He wiggled his eyebrows impishly. 'I guess you'll just have to let me borrow it myself, then.'

'Oh, no you don't,' James said. 'You're not going off unsupervised. Next think I know you'll have stolen Dumbledore's wand and be using it to conduct a choir of ghosts outside of Professor Slughorn's office. Besides, it's mine. If we've got to make a solo venture think I ought to be the first one to take it out.'

Sirius affected an enormous pout. 'I thought the whole point of this exercise was to get me back to my old self,' he said petulantly. 'Shouldn't that be our priority here?'

'Oh, absolutely,' drawled James. 'Top priority, right after not getting my father's Invisibility Cloak confiscated on the very first day of term. I would've thought by now you have an appreciation of polishing a skill before debuting it in a high-risk scenario.'

Sirius snapped his fingers. 'A high-risk scenario. Now that is just what I need. You, my friend, are inspired.'

James frowned, perplexed. 'I don't follow you,' he said.

'We've been practicing all of these brilliant hexes practically the whole term. Isn't it about time we put them to their intended use?' The grey eyes were alight with mischief.

'You mean go after Snivelly at last?' asked James eagerly. Remus swallowed hard.

'Actually, I had another victim in mind,' said Sirius, rubbing his hands together. 'Evan Rosier.'

'Snape's probably more of a challenge,' James pointed out. 'I don't think I've seen Rosier throw an even moderately effective jinx.'

'All the better,' Sirius said viciously. 'I'll show him who's half a Squib.'

'What's the history there, anyway?' James queried, tilting his head to one side. 'You two know each other quite well, don't you?'

'I should say so,' Sirius told him. 'We're cousins. Well, not strictly cousins, but we share an extremely unpleasant aunt. Luckily, _I'm _the one who's not actually related to her. All that closely, anyhow.'

'I see.' James nodded sagely. 'If you can't take out your frustrations on your own family, this is the next best thing.'

'I suppose I _could _take it out on Narcissa,' Sirius reflected, smirking; 'but between you and me I'm not quite sure she wouldn't call her older sister to murder me in my sleep.'

James chuckled, shaking his head. 'I really don't think Andromeda is likely to murder you. She seems more like the "I'm very disappointed in you, Sirius" type.'

From Sirius Black's expression, Remus could tell that James was nowhere near the mark with that comment, though he did not suppose he could do any better himself. 'While I admit it might be more sporting to go after fourth year,' said Sirius. 'I think I'll settle for Evan tonight.'

'Tonight?' James asked. 'Where are we going to find him tonight? He's bound to be holed up in Slytherin by now. We don't even know where their common room is.'

'Don't tell him that,' Remus said softly, daring to intrude into their conversation because he knew he could raise a laugh. 'He'll only insist we send Peter to find it.'

James chuckled and Peter let out a shrill giggle. Sirius affected a caricature of indignation. 'If you lot can't be troubled to take an interest in your place of residence, I can't help you,' he sniffed. Then he grinned and winked. 'D'you really think there's been a Black born who doesn't know where the Slytherin common room is?'

James opened his mouth as if to offer some kind of clever comment. When he closed it again without speaking, Remus realized the remark must have had something to do with Sirius's family. It was good, he thought, that James was becoming a little more aware of the fact that such jokes were not in the best of taste. However, his silence left an awkward gap in the friendly banter that Remus did not know how to fill.

'Well, where is it, then?' Peter asked. 'Or are you going to keep us wondering?'

'In the dungeons, of course,' Sirius said as he picked himself up off of the floor and straightened his robes fastidiously. 'Let's not all act surprised.'

'Best place for 'em, if you ask me,' James said cheerfully. 'All right, so we know where Rosier lives, but how do we get in to see him? We've no notion of the password.'

Sirius let his eyebrows hop and waggle roguishly – an interesting and disturbing spectacle, as they seemed to move entirely independent of one another. '_That's_ the easy part,' he said.

_~discidium~_

'I don't know—'

'There's nothing to it,' Sirius said. 'You won't have anyone under there with you to trod on your foot.' He shot a dirty look at James. 'Or ram his wand into your squishy bits.'

'I don't think—'

'There's nothing to think about,' James assured him. 'All you do is keep yourself covered properly, and it'll go off without a hitch. Just get in, drop the note where someone's sure to see it, and wait until the door opens again to sneak out.'

'I thought if there was a solo venture to be had, you wanted to take it,' Remus said hurriedly, getting the words out before the others could cut him off again.

'This isn't a solo venture,' James said stoutly. 'It's a group enterprise, and as such requires a fair division of labour. Peter is our lookout, Sirius is the challenging party, and I'm his second. That leaves you to throw down the gauntlet.'

'Isn't that the job of the second?' Remus protested feebly.

'Technically, yes,' Sirius said after a moment of careful consideration. 'But if he did it, what satisfaction would you get?'

The satisfaction of not being the one to sneak into the Slytherin common room, Remus thought. But he could hardly say that aloud; they would think him a coward.

'What happens if I get caught?' he asked quietly, scuffing his foot against the stone floor.

James and Sirius looked at each other. Sirius shrugged. 'I suggest you _don't_ get caught,' he said lazily. If he meant to be reassuring, Remus reflected, he was not remotely sucessful.

A shrill whistle came from up the corridor, followed by Peter's extremely nervous voice saying; 'Oh, excuse me. I was just on my way to the Owlery… it's upstairs somewhere, isn't it?'

'This is it!' Sirius hissed, flinging himself down onto the floor and lounging against the wall, long legs stretched indolently into the corridor.

'Get in, drop the letter, get out,' James coached, whipping out the Invisibility Cloak and flinging it over Remus's shoulders. 'And don't stand in the middle of the hall like that; it won't stop whoever it is from knocking into you.'

Remus scuttled over to the wall beside the space Sirius had identified as the Slytherin door. There were footsteps just around the corner now, and James leaned against an archway, hands in his pockets as he tried to look innocent. Sirius, who had been reclining against the wall with his hands behind his head, straightened up a little and put on a very convincing look of distress.

It vanished, however, as soon as the approaching Slytherin came into view. It was the House Seeker and Prefect, the one with the pale hair. While struggling to remember his name, Remus heard Sirius supply it.

'Lucius Malfoy,' he said coldly, simultaneously managing to spring swiftly to his feet and to look sublimely unimpressed.

The Prefect curled his lip disdainfully, but his hand vanished into his robes and he produced his wand. 'Black,' he said coldly. 'First years ought to be in their House common areas at this hour of the night.'

'Check your rulebook, _Prefect_,' Sirius said. 'And your watch. It's only half seven.'

Remus ran his tongue along his teeth. This wasn't part of the plan. Sirius was supposed to be distressed and frightened, begging to see Andromeda. This attitude of defiance would hardly serve them well.

Malfoy regarded him coldly. 'That is no excuse for loitering in the Slytherin corridor. Run along before I set the pair of you detention.'

'Who says we're loitering?' James asked, smiling winningly. 'We've got business.'

'Indeed?' said the Prefect. 'And what manner of business is that?'

'I want to see my cousin,' Sirius said haughtily. Remus found himself instinctively correcting his friend: it was _need_, not _want_, and he was supposed to be saying it anxiously, punctuating it with the look of wide-eyed innocence that he swore Remus pulled off perfectly.

'I assure you she does not want to see you, Black,' said Malfoy. His wand hand twitched.

'You wouldn't be taking that tone if I were in your House,' Sirius said, eyeing the older boy appraisingly. He turned up his nose, a very imperious expression on his face. 'I assure you, she _does _want to see me, and you had best run in and fetch her.' He put on a chilling smile, unlike anything Remus had ever seen on his face before. 'It seems to me that in the ordinary way of things a Malfoy wouldn't dare defy a Black.'

'Perhaps not,' Malfoy allowed; 'but then in the ordinary way the Black in question wouldn't be out of favour, would he?'

'Out of favour?' Sirius scoffed. 'I don't really expect you to _read_ the papers, Malfoy, but at least you could look at the pictures.'

'Ah, yes,' said the older boy. 'The Order of Merlin. I heard your mother's father was passed-over yet again. Pity.'

'_Pity_ your grandfather is just a glorified gentleman farmer,' Sirius sneered. James was trying to catch his eye, looking every bit as horrified as Remus felt at the direction the conversation was taking. They were just supposed to get the Slytherin to open the common room door so that Remus could slip inside, and to fetch Andromeda Black so that he could be sure to slip out again unnoticed. If Sirius kept on like this, they would be duelling a fifth year – and a most imposing fifth year at that. Remus clutched the Invisibility Cloak more tightly around him.

Malfoy lurched forward, extending his wand. Sirius grinned and whipped out his own. James stepped between them.

'We don't want any trouble,' he said cheerfully. 'Could you please just let his cousin know he wants to see her? After all, Prefects are supposed to help the lower years.'

The bigger boy lowered his wand to his side, still careful to keep it trained on Sirius. 'Very well,' he said frigidly, his voice taut with fury. 'Go and wait in the other corridor. We don't want impudent little Gryffindor upstarts loitering outside our doors.'

James and Sirius went without protest, though Sirius sidestepped so as not to turn his back on Malfoy.

When they were gone, the Prefect whirled around. Remus felt certain that his heart was in his mouth; the cold, wrathful eyes were fixed right on him. Malfoy took two long steps forward, and he was near enough that Remus could have leaned forward and pressed his nose against the older student's arm.

'_Proatheris_,' muttered Malfoy, and the wall opened up. He swept inside.

Remus hung back for a moment, trying to work up the courage to follow. Sirius and James were counting on him, he thought desperately. Taking a breath as deep as he dared, he hastened toward the door.

It swung closed, nearly clipping him in the nose.

Horrified, Remus reached out to press his palm against the stone. The cold seeped through the insubstantial cloth of the Cloak. His heart was racing now, ricocheting off of his ribs. He had failed. They had given him such a simple task – get in, leave the letter, get out – and he had failed on the very first step. He had hesitated, and he had lost his opportunity.

He would have to wait, he realized, for another Slytherin to come in. Or for Andromeda Black to come out. But perhaps Malfoy would not even fetch her at all; he certainly had nothing to fear from Sirius and James, and he had not sounded especially eager to oblige. Yet surely someone would be by to use the door soon. Or he could give the password himself – but without a visible Slytherin student entering the common room there would be immediate suspicion.

His frenzied thoughts were interrupted by the sound of quiet footfalls. James and Sirius were coming back down the corridor, shoulder to shoulder and grinning gleefully.

'What now?' asked James.

'Now we wait, of course,' said Sirius. 'She'll be down any minute; you saw her at supper last night. Can't wait to make sure I've still got all the essential organs. Drommie's a chronic worrier.'

'I wonder what it's like in there,' James said, eyeing the wall that concealed the Slytherin entrance.

'All green and silver with great heavy chairs,' Sirius said. At James's look of surprise he shrugged. 'We talked about it a lot last summer, Drommie and I. You know. _Before_.'

Remus knew that he ought to reveal himself, to admit his failure and to take the consequences. But the others would be so disappointed; they had been relying upon him to carry out this first crucial step, and he had let them down. After his protests, they might not even believe that he had tried. His mind filled with all of the dreadful, unkind things they were bound to say, and he found he could not move his limbs. He stood there, invisible and helpless, as James scratched his neck.

'D'you really think Malfoy's going to get her? He looked about ready to blast you. I can't see him suddenly turning around and running your errands.'

Sirius shrugged. 'If he doesn't there'll be somebody else along soon enough. Remus is smart enough to improvise.'

'Maybe I should have done it,' James said. 'He looked halfway terrified, didn't he?'

Remus felt his ears burning. James didn't believe he was capable of it, and here he had proved him right. They would never want his company on another adventure. All desire to step out of hiding abandoned him. Maybe if he stood here long enough they would just give up and go back to the dormitory. He could wait until everyone was asleep and creep back himself. Then he could delay the consequences of his defeat at least until morning.

'He can do it,' Sirius said firmly. His confidence was more nauseating than James's doubt. 'He's a tough kid.'

James laughed softly. 'I can think of a lot of words that describe Remus Lupin, but "tough" is not among them,' he said.

Sirius gave him a very long look. 'I think you need those spectacles checked, Potter,' he said gravely. 'Sometimes you can't see past the end of your nose.'

'If you ever lose that perfect vision I'm going to tease you mercilessly,' James pledged. He looked at the wall again. 'I should've done it,' he said again. 'He doesn't know the first thing about mischief-making.'

That was painfully true. Remus bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. They were saying these things already, and they still thought he was on the other side of the wall.

'It'll do him good to learn,' Sirius said stoutly. 'He hasn't worked it out yet; that the acting out is good. Makes you feel good. Better. It helps.'

James rolled his eyes, clearly unable to cobble together a coherent sentiment out of Sirius's brief clauses. He began to pace. 'I wish she'd hurry up if she's coming. Even if she isn't, where is everybody else? Every single Slytherin in the castle can't be holed up for the night. What's Peter up to?'

'I'll go check,' Sirius said, ambling off in the other direction. He brushed past Remus before the smaller boy could scuttle out of the way; their arms almost touched.

James resumed his pacing, tilting his head from side to side and occasionally staring up at the ceiling. Obviously bored, he took out his wand and began to toss it. Sirius returned, Peter in tow.

'Seems like the whole dungeon's deserted,' Sirius groused. 'Pettigrew here hasn't seen anybody since Malfoy.'

'He gave me the Evil Eye,' Peter said worriedly.

Sirius sniggered. 'Don't panic,' he said. 'It's the _angry _eye, not the Evil Eye, and Andromeda says he was born that way. It's a Malfoy family tradition, like tossing house-elves off the roof on Whit Monday to see if they bounce.'

'You're a wellspring of inside information,' James said, impressed. Then he stamped his foot impatiently. 'Why doesn't somebody come out?'

'You don't think they found him, do you?' Peter asked anxiously. 'What if they're in there now, d-doing things to him?'

Sirius blanched. 'Hey, you're right.' He looked at James. 'He's right. What if he got caught?' He rolled up his sleeves and took out his wand. 'We've got to get in there. We've got to help him! Remus can't stand up to a load of Slytherins by himself; not on their turf.'

'What are we going to do about it?' James asked. 'We don't know the password.'

'We… we could go get Meadowes,' Sirius said. He was starting to sound rather frantic now, looking wildly about as if a solution might spring up from the floor. 'That's it. Meadowes. Sure, we'll get in trouble for trying to sneak into another House, but McGonagall's not half as bad as Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange. I… I'll wait here in case there's a chance to get in, and you two run and find Meadowes.'

James nodded gravely. Peter looked terrified. 'B-but we'll get detention!' he protested.

'So?' James cried, every bit as anxious as Sirius. 'Remus is our friend; we can't just leave him behind in a pit of vipers! _We_ talked him into this—'

'_Pushed_ him into this,' Sirius corrected.

'We've got to get him out of it!'

It took more courage than following after Malfoy would have done, but Remus squared his slight shoulders and shrugged off the Invisibility Cloak. There were treble cries of relief, and the others crowded 'round him. In the jumble of voices he could not tell who was saying what.

'Are you all right?'

'Did they see you?'

'Did they _touch_ you?'

'Where did you leave the note?'

'How did you get out? The door didn't open!'

'_You tell me what they did!_'

Remus fixed his eyes on his shoes as he raised the trembling hand that still clutched Sirius's declaration of intent to meet with Evan Rosier. 'I d-didn't do it,' he whispered. 'I-I tried, but the door closed too quickly, and I…'

He couldn't say any more. He stood there, rigid with misery, hanging his head so that he did not need to see the angry disappointment on his friends' faces.

There was a swooping motion as James gathered up the fallen Cloak. Sirius plucked the note from Remus's fingers. 'The door closed too quickly?' he repeated.

It fell upon Remus's ears like an accusation. His cheeks were burning with shame. 'I waited too long. I didn't want to get too close to him, a-and I waited too long.' He wished they would just start shouting at him. He blinked back tears of self-loathing. He couldn't do anything right.

'I knew I should have done it,' James said mildly.

Remus gave a tiny nod. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, unable to keep his voice from quavering.

'Hey.' Sirius seized his shoulders and shook him. '_Hey!_'

Swallowing hollowly, Remus forced himself to look into the stern grey eyes. Sirius pursed his lips.

'You're not going to start blubbing, are you?' James asked uncomfortably.

'Of course he's not,' Sirius said briskly. He locked eyes with Remus, refusing to let the smaller boy look away. 'It doesn't matter,' he said. 'You don't need to look so desolate about it.'

Remus tore his gaze from Sirius at last and let his head fall forward again. 'I let you down,' he whispered. 'I couldn't even get in.'

'For goodness sake, is that what's worrying you?' James laughed. 'So you couldn't get in. It's hardly a disaster. Now, if you had got in and couldn't get _out_…'

'I know,' Remus said. 'I heard you.'

James went rather pink. 'Look, I didn't mean I didn't think you could do it…'

'He just meant he was a prat for pushing you into it,' Sirius finished. He glanced at James, who bobbed his head in helpful agreement.

Tears were prickling in Remus's eyes again, but they were tears of gratitude. The others weren't angry. If they were disappointed they were trying very hard not to let him see it. 'I'm sorry,' he said again.

'It was just a set-up,' Sirius said. 'Sometimes they go wrong. Remember Flitwick and the chalk?'

Remus nodded, smiling faintly at the memory.

'The occasional snag is bound to crop up,' James agreed. 'We'll just figure out another way to roust out Rosier.'

'_I've_ got another way,' Sirius said portentously.

'What's that?' asked Peter.

Sirius grinned. 'I'll ask him myself. Tomorrow, after Potions. More satisfying that way, anyhow.'

Remus felt his innards twisting again. 'Tomorrow? But we were meant to be cheering you up tonight.'

He flinched as soon as he had said it. Tactless, he told himself, and a betrayal of the trust Sirius had placed in him.

Sirius, however, grinned. 'Getting in a few digs at that pompous git is worth hexing six Evan Rosiers into oblivion,' he said, a dreamy look in his eyes. 'D'you know that when I was three years old he took me out to the aviary at his parents' manor – to see the peacocks, he said. Instead he pushed me into the ornamental pool. Spoiled my best robes and earned me a wicked la—_tongue_ lashing. Good job I wasn't a Squib, or I might have drowned. Such a nice boy, young Lucius.'

'Maybe I should've let you hex him,' James said dryly.

Sirius smirked. 'Let's take it in nice, steady, manageable increments – just like Transfiguration. We've had our fun hexing each other. Rosier next, then Snape. When we're ready for Malfoy, we'll know.' He counted each step off on his elegant fingers, and grinned. 'We've got another two years before he leaves school. We've got time to hone our craft.'

James stepped back to offer an elaborate bow. 'Yes, O Wise One,' he intoned gravely. 'Your word is my command.'

Sirius preened a little, looking very pleased with himself. Then he hefted amicable arm around Remus. 'Come on,' he said, steering him down the corridor. 'Let's get out of here before Slughorn shows up or something.'

Remus hurried along, trying to keep pace with the other boy's long legs. James seemed to have no difficulty at all in falling into step beside them. Flanked by two of his friends with the third jogging along nearby, Remus could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had failed them, and not only did they forgive him but they had the good grace to behave as if his incompetence didn't matter at all.

'Thank you,' he whispered. James and Sirius were talking merrily over his head and didn't seem to hear him, but he said it again anyhow, very softly. 'Thank you.'


	26. Spring Fever

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Spring Fever**

James and Sirius were in detention again. They had left the dormitory cheerfully enough, blithely accepting their punishment and revelling in the knowledge that when Evan Rosier and his second year accomplice were finally discharged from the hospital wing, they would have their share of justice too.

Their absence made for a very quiet room. Remus was lying on his belly, elbows propping him up so that he could study the array of library books spread around him on the mattress. He was working on his term project for Herbology: designing a functional herb garden for an ordinary magical family. As Remus did not belong to an ordinary magical family he was finding the assignment challenging; he kept wanting to include things like sage and chives. Such plants had no magical properties whatsoever, but his mother considered them kitchen garden essentials. Still, the extra research he had put in was paying off, and he was quite sure he had found a good way to justify planting parsley. That was very satisfying.

His quill squeaked as he marked it on the diagram of his garden plot, and he examined the nib. It was spreading, one corner curling up. Holding the feather in his teeth, he rolled sideways, reaching over the side of the bed and groping for his penknife in his satchel. He slipped a little, and bent his left knee, raising his calf into the air for balance. His fingers closed on the smooth bone handle, and he heaved himself back onto the bed.

'What's that?' Peter asked. He was sitting on James's trunk, where he had spent the last half-hour cutting snowflake shapes out of yesterday's _Daily Prophet_. He was rather rigid now, shears in hand, and he was staring at something beyond Remus's head.

Remus twisted his shoulders to follow his friend's gaze, and realized to his dismay that his robe had slipped, baring his sock-clad foot and the bare calf above it. The pale skin was marred by a glossy red scar in the distinctive half-crescent of a canine bite – a remnant of the most recent transformation. He let his leg crash down on his pillow and scrabbled to cover himself.

'Nothing,' he said hastily. 'Just an old mark.'

'It looks like it hurts,' Peter mumbled, looking worried. 'Does it hurt?'

'No,' Remus said. 'It's just a bruise. I banged my leg; I'm so clumsy.'

'You're not,' Peter said thoughtfully. 'At least, you're never clumsy when I'm around. Can a person be clumsy when they're off on their own, but not when they're with their friends?'

Remus closed his eyes, praying that the younger boy would just let the matter rest. Peter wasn't exactly clever enough to pose much of a threat to his secret, but it was what he might mention to Sirius that worried Remus. He knew that his companion was on the trail, and he would not stay distracted forever; there were only so many Slytherins to hex.

'I think so,' he said, putting on a very rational voice in the hope that it would lend his ridiculous argument an air of credibility. 'Have you ever found that you're perfectly poised and graceful when you're on your own, but as soon as your mother has guests to tea you're spilling the cream and tripping over the cat?'

'Yes,' Peter said, reddening a little.

'It's like that with me,' said Remus; 'only I'm clumsier when there's no one around.'

'Oh.' Peter considered this for a moment. 'That must be nice when your mum has guests to tea.'

Remus thought sadly that his mother never had anyone to tea. He wondered if she was lonely, all alone in Falmouth with no friends to turn to. Father was away working most of the day, and with Remus off at school he worried sometimes how Mother spent her days. 'I suppose it would be,' he said mildly.

Peter seemed satisfied. His eyes took stock of the open books strewn over the bed. 'You're putting an awful lot of work into that,' he remarked. 'Sirius says the assignment's so easy that he could dash it off in half an hour the night before it's due.'

'I don't know if even Sirius could do that,' said Remus. He was re-cutting his quill now. The shaft was getting very narrow, and the work was picky. 'And I know I'm not as bright as he is.'

He rather hoped that Peter would pick up on the subtle advice. The plump little boy did not care for schoolwork, and was often tempted to leave it aside as James and Sirius did, to be whipped together in a last-minute frenzy. The difficulty was that Peter was not nearly as clever as his friends – not as clever even as Remus – and the results for him were usually disastrous. Unfortunately, though he could see the problem and the solution Remus had no idea how to phrase either delicately enough to avoid hurting Peter's feelings.

'It's a good time to work on it,' he tried, smiling helpfully. 'While it's quiet in here. I find it hard to focus on homework when James and Sirius are bounding around, don't you?'

'I find it hard to focus on homework any old time,' Peter said glumly. 'How come you're so good at it?'

'I suppose I'm used to working quietly on my own,' Remus said, thinking back to long, lonely days studying at the kitchen table as Mother went about her housework. 'Didn't you study at home?'

Peter shook his head. 'Mum sent me to the Council primary,' he said. 'There aren't many magical families where we live, and she thought it would be good for me to mix with other children.'

'Was it?' Remus asked, rather wistfully. How he had longed, in those sad and quiet years, to be surrounded by boys his own age. And how wonderful it was to have that wish fulfilled at last!

'No. The village kids weren't especially nice. They were bullies. If they weren't Muggles I bet they would've all wound up in Slytherin.' Peter pulled a face.

'I'm sure not all Slytherins are bullies,' Remus said reasonably.

'Huh.' Peter did not look convinced. 'All Slytherins are bullies and all vampires are evil and all teachers want to make you feel stupid.'

Remus busied himself in sucking the smeared ink off of his fingertips. He wondered if Peter's philosophy about vampires applied to all part-humans.

'You'd probably be happier in class if you were properly prepared,' he said at last, trying to smile. 'I could help you if you like.'

Peter's face crumpled into the very picture of relief. '_Would_ you?' he asked, his voice quivering with appreciation. 'I'm hopelessly lost in Transfiguration; I'll never get promoted at this rate.'

'Of course I will,' Remus said, wretchedly grateful for a chance to feel useful. He set down his quill and climbed over the heap of overlapping books. He grabbed his copy of _Magical Theory_ and moved to sit next to Peter, brushing the little hearts and diamonds of newsprint onto the floor. 'Now, what are you having trouble with?' he asked, opening the book and balancing it across their two laps. Peter edged closer and bowed his head over the text.

_~discidium~_

They were still in that position an hour later when Sirius and James returned to the dormitory, their robes in disarray and their hands and faces smeared with silver polish. They stood in the doorway for a while, largely unnoticed until Sirius spoke.

'Don't they look a picture, James?' he said in a very paternal voice.

'That they do,' James agreed. He strode into the room and poked Remus in the shoulder. 'You didn't tell me you were giving lessons.'

'Oh, oh, I'm not,' Remus stammered, not realizing at once that his friend was teasing. 'I'm just… Peter had a few questions that he forgot to ask Professor McGonagall, so I thought I'd try to fill in the gaps.'

'He's giving lessons,' Sirius translated knowingly. He ambled over to lean with his elbow resting on Peter's shoulder. 'Ah, the infamous handkerchiefs-to-eggshells problem. I've got a question, Professor. Why would anyone _want_ to make an eggshell?'

'It's not the end product that's important,' Remus said quietly, remembering what their teacher had said; 'it's the skill we're building. You see, changing a soft and pliable material into a firm and rigid one—'

Sirius yawned very, very loudly, slapping the palm of his hand against his open mouth so that it made a popping sound. '_Boring_,' he sang. Launching himself off of Peter he moved to flop down on Remus's bed, halting at the sight of the strewn reference books. 'What are you, writing a formal treatise or something?' he asked. He picked up one of the leather-bound journals and studied the marked page. '_The Effects of Parsley on Gnome Population Control_? It's a garden plot diagram! Are you actually reading this stuff?'

Remus bobbed his head, looking diffidently away. 'Some of it,' he said softly. 'I want to do a proper job. We've only six weeks 'til exams, and that assignment's worth twenty percent of our grade.'

'It's a doddle,' James said, kicking off his shoes and bounding onto his bed. He looked down at the front of his robes, prodding a globule of polish so that it left a bluish streak on the dark cloth. 'Ugh. I reckon these'll never be the same.'

'What did she have you doing?' Peter asked.

'What do you think?' Sirius asked. 'Polishing the staff silver. If I ever see another demitasse spoon again…' He gestured vaguely. 'I'll duel you for the first shower, Potter.'

'Isn't duelling what got us into this predicament in the first place?' James asked sweetly. 'Go on; I don't mind waiting.'

Sirius swept out of the room with a bow of thanks. James crossed his legs and put his elbows on his knees, grubby hands cupping his chin as he watched Remus and Peter.

'Don't let me interrupt,' he said.

Remus wasn't sure if James was mocking him, but the question was moot. Peter's attention span was obviously exhausted. He hopped to his feet, nearly sending the book toppling to the floor, and moved to sit on the edge of his bed, bouncing happily.

'Are we going to sneak down to the kitchens tonight?' he asked eagerly. 'I've been wanting some cream cakes for _ages_, but they just don't turn up at meals.'

'Frankly I think Sirius and I have seen enough of the kitchens for one evening,' James said. 'I was thinking that we could go down to the fifth floor and try to break into that room with the big shuttered windows.'

Remus smoothed the rumpled page in his book and closed it carefully, turning so that his left knee was up on the trunk and he could look at James. 'I thought we agreed we were going to practice with the Invisibility Cloak before we took it out as a group,' he ventured.

'We don't need the Cloak for _that_,' James snorted. 'We got along fine for months without it. We'll just bring it along in case Filch is poking around; then we can tuck into a nook and hide under it 'til he's past instead of trying to find an unlocked door.'

'I think we ought to stay in tonight,' Remus murmured, his stomach fluttering as he forced himself to express his feelings on the matter.

'All right,' James said affably, and Remus gawked, momentarily flabbergasted that his suggestion was being taken to heart. The astonishment was erased, however, by James's next words. 'When Sirius gets back we'll take a vote. Fair enough?'

What could Remus say to that? He nodded. He could abide by the decision of the group, he decided. After all, it was the least he could do for those who had been so kind to him.

_~discidium~_

Springtime at Hogwarts was wonderful. All throughout the castle windows were thrown open to admit light and fresh air. There were vases of bluebells in Professor Flitwick's classroom, and even Professor Binns caved to Lily Evans's suggestion that he open the drapes in his. Astronomy was no longer a cold and bitter chore; the students spent a pleasant hour each Friday evening looking up at the new array of constellations in the cool night sky. Professor McGonagall seemed less stern than usual, and young Professor Sprout was positively giddy with delight in the new season.

On the next-to-last Saturday of the month, six days before the full moon, the grounds were a hive of activity. The students were still energized from the morning's Quidditch match, in which Hufflepuff had thoroughly trounced Slytherin. As the Slytherin team was not especially popular, both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were revelling in their defeat. The Hufflepuffs, of course, were jubilant. They were in the lead for the Quidditch Cup, and there were only three games remaining in the season.

Remus lay on his back in the fragrant new grass, staring up at the cottony clouds above and listening to the celebratory noises of the Hufflepuff team where they were frolicking by the lake. James and Sirius sat nearby, trying to manage a game of Gobstones on the slope of the hill. Peter was working his way through a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

'I don't know,' James said glumly. 'I'm getting the awful feeling that Gryffindor won't win this year.'

'What was your first clue, mate?' Sirius asked, chuckling. 'That Hufflepuff Beater is unstoppable. Nobody can touch their Chasers with him on the pitch.'

'Whereas _our_ Chasers leave a great deal to be desired,' mourned James. 'I don't know what Jordan was thinking when he picked 'em.'

'MacFusty's not half bad,' Sirius pointed out.

'One not-half-bad Chaser out of three isn't good enough. I… aw, bollocks.'

Remus turned his head to see James hauling himself to his feet and chasing after the Gobstone that had rolled away towards the lake. He caught up to it after only about ten yards, and started back up the hill. Sirius was laughing at him.

'Next time I offer to flip a Sickle for the uphill seat maybe you'll take me seriously,' he said.

'Oh, it's impossible to take you anything but Siriusly,' James said, trudging back. He looked at Peter thoughtfully and held out his hand. 'Gimme one of those,' he said. 'I'm grievously wounded.'

Peter smiled and offered James a bean. James took it, studying the faint chartreuse colour sceptically.

'If this is a bogie-flavoured one I'm going to turn you into a toad,' he warned, popping it into his mouth.

Sirius was still sniggering, but Peter looked frightfully nervous as James chewed pensively. He swallowed, and grinned enormously. Peter's lower lip quivered.

'Lucky you,' James said. 'Williams pear.'

Peter's exhalation of relief was embarrassingly audible. Sirius snorted. 'You do realize he doesn't _actually_ know how to turn people into toads, don't you? Not yet, anyway.'

'Therein lies the danger,' James said philosophically. 'I mean, if I knew what I was doing there wouldn't be much to be scared of.'

'Fair point,' Sirius conceded. He held out his hand to Peter. 'Care to guess what I'll do if _I_ get a nasty one?' he asked.

Anxiously, Peter dug out a blue bean, obviously reasoning that it could not possibly be something unpleasant. Sirius clamped it between his front teeth and grinned wickedly as he bit down. He made a choking noise and spit it out into the grass. '_Soap_!' he yelped, lolling out his tongue and trying to wipe it on the back of his hand. 'Ugh, Pettigrew, I always knew Potter was your favourite! I ought to… huh.'

He straightened, watching something by the lake with great attention. 'Hey, Remus,' he said in a low sideways voice. 'D'you see what I see?'

Remus sat himself up, following Sirius's eyes down the hill toward the crowd of Hufflepuffs. Their star Beater had pulled away from the group and was striding to greet a tall, patrician figure floating elegantly across the lawn towards him. It took Remus a moment to recognize the long, graceful limbs and the curtain of luxuriant hair, but presently he realized that they belonged to Andromeda Black.

She stopped half a pace from the Hufflepuff Beater, and appeared to be saying something very gravely. Oddly enough, the young man beamed at her, offering his hand. Andromeda glanced about and then leaned forward conspiratorially to take it. She picked up the hem of her robe with her other hand, and her spool-heeled shoes flew daintily as she kept eager pace with the Hufflepuff's long stride.

Sirius watched, mouth slightly agape, as the two of them moved away from the other students. Now and again Andromeda glanced furtively over her shoulder, but she did not seem to see anything worthy of concern. Even at such a distance Remus could see that she was now smiling radiantly as she and the Beater passed the Whomping Willow and disappeared together behind the groundskeeper's hut.

Sirius let out a long, low whistle. 'I'll be damned,' he muttered. Peter squeaked at the use of the expletive, but the taller boy ignored him. 'I wonder what she thinks she's doing.'

James shot him an arch look. 'Hmm. Let's think about this. Two seventh years, one of them the hero of the Quidditch pitch and the other one a reasonably attractive female, sneaking off behind Hagrid's in the middle of the day… what do you suppose they _would_ be doing?'

'No, I mean with him,' Sirius said irately. 'Do you know anything about him? You're the Quidditch encyclopaedia: who is he?'

'He's the harbinger of doom,' James said wearily. 'We established this; he's the reason the Hufflepuff team is untouchable. He's going to cost us the Cup.'

'Yeah, but what's his name? He's not a Goshawk, is he?' Sirius pressed. There was a faint worry line between his brows and he was staring at the ramshackle cottage as if he had the power to bore through it with his eyes.

'Naw, Goshawk couldn't stop a Bludger if you encased it in cement,' said James. 'Why do you care, anyway?'

'I just want to know who she's seeing,' Sirius said defensively. 'I think I've got a right to that, don't I?'

James stroked his chin. 'It's usually the older brother's prerogative to vet a girl's beau,' he said. 'I don't ever remember it being said that younger cousins have the same privilege.'

'Well, she hasn't got a brother, and I'm six months older than Evan,' said Sirius. 'Which makes me her oldest male relative in the first degree and the same generation. Ergo, I'm entitled. What's his name?'

'I don't know,' said James. 'I haven't been scouting the seventh years: they won't be playing in September anyway. Now, his partner is Nancy Rowan, and she's in fifth year. She's not bad, but she's got a weak left side.'

'Well, who would know, then?' Sirius said impatiently.

'You could always ask her,' Remus suggested.

Sirius shook his head. 'No, then she'd know I know and she'd think maybe I'd… who _else_ knows?' He sprang to his feet and spun in a circle, scanning the crowds of students. 'Where are all the Slytherins?'

'Inside, I should think,' James said. 'Licking their wounds and nursing their pride – not unlike we'll be doing in a couple of weeks when Hufflepuff obliterates _us_ on the pitch.'

'That's it!' Sirius snapped his fingers. 'Eldritch McKinnon would know, wouldn't he?'

'Probably…' James squinted up at Sirius. 'I still don't understand why we care. Isn't gossiping about who's snogging who a more appropriate pastime for fourth year girls?'

'I don't care who's snogging who,' said Sirius. 'I want to know who's snogging Andromeda.'

James made a broad gesture of defeat. 'Fine. Go ahead and ask him. He's up there by the castle.'

Sirius hesitated. 'Thing is, he doesn't really like me,' he said. 'I think he still blames me for that lost rematch against Slytherin. Could you maybe…'

James rolled his eyes, but Sirius was looking at him plaintively. 'All right,' he said, hefting himself to his feet with a long-suffering sigh. 'Anything for you.'

'You're a mate; thanks,' Sirius said, flopping back down in the grass next to Remus. James started up toward the school, and the others watched him go.

'Why are you so interested?' Remus asked quietly, studying Sirius's uneasy expression. 'Surely it's her business who she spends time with.'

'Oh, sure. It's her business until Narcissa finds out,' Sirius snorted. 'I just want to know, all right? Isn't that reason enough?'

There it was again; that unquenchable thirst for knowledge and the power that went with it. Sirius operated under the assumption that if a puzzle came his way he had every right to seek the answer, no matter what the invested parties thought or wanted. Remus fell silent, profoundly uneasy.

Eventually James came strolling back, hands in his pockets and a pleased smirk on his face. 'McKinnon said his name is Tonks,' he announced, settling himself on the grass again. 'He's eighteen years old and he's from Sheffield. So far as McKinnon knows he doesn't have a girlfriend, and he's a solitary type. Likes to spend his Hogsmeade weekends off by himself exploring the caves above the village. He's in Slughorn's NEWTs class, and his transfiguration's not much to speak of. Also taking Ancient Runes and Divination. He dropped Defence Against the Dark Arts last year when the classes were shuffled and Hufflepuff was put with Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. He has no siblings that Eldritch knows of, and he doesn't gamble or drink. So far as I know he doesn't beat his wife, either. I think she's safe; he sounds mostly harmless to me.'

'Tonks,' Sirius muttered. 'Tonks isn't a wizarding name… but he's half-blood, right? I mean, his mum must be a Bagnold or a Fitzhenri or something.'

'Don't know, didn't ask,' James said, folding his hands behind his head and lying back in the grass. 'Why? Should I have done?'

'No. No, of course not,' Sirius mumbled, but he seemed deep in thought. 'Tonks. From Sheffield…'

'Here they come,' said Peter, pointing off towards Hagrid's little house. The two seventh years had emerged from behind it, strolling arm in arm. Andromeda had a blissful look on her face and she was gazing up at the Hufflepuff Beater from under her hooded lids. They were deep in conversation, and seemed oblivious to their surroundings.

'She seems happy enough,' Remus observed, trying to cheer Sirius a little.

'So does he.' James grinned enormously. 'Either they've been nicking blueberries or he's got lipstick on his chin.'

'Argh! Stop it!' Sirius said, clapping his hands over his ears. 'I don't want to hear about it! Drommie's love life is none of our business!'

'Someone's changed his tune,' James teased. 'What ever happened to "ergo, I'm entitled"?'

He continued to needle Sirius, but Remus's attention was diverted elsewhere. Andromeda and the Hufflepuff were meandering off course, lost in one another's words. They were wandering dangerously close to the Whomping Willow.

'Sirius,' Remus said quietly, his pulse quickening. 'I think we ought to stop them.'

'Oh, Uncle Cygnus will put a stop to it soon enough, believe me,' Sirius said ruefully. 'If he's not at least part Fitzhenri or something, Uncle Cygnus will castrate him with a pair of nail scissors.'

'No, I mean they're going to walk right into the—'

Remus could not finish his thought, for just at that moment the two older students stepped into the range of the Willow. A great knotted branch came down, clipping Tonks in the side of the head. He toppled backward and Andromeda shrieked, hurling herself on top of him as a phalanx of flailing branches rained down. One caught her squarely across the back and her knees buckled. Flinging one arm up to protect her head she tried to drag her companion away from a descending limb. It crashed into the turf, narrowly missing his shoulder. He tried to raise his head, but was obliged to focus his energies on warding off a lashing tendril before it could strike Andromeda's face. She was digging for her wand now, scrambling to and fro as she tried to avoid the branches. She fired off a Stunner at the bole of the tree, to no effect whatsoever.

Tonks was staggering to his feet now, and he grabbed at her shoulder, trying to pull her out of the tree's reach. A pendulous knot caught him in the ribs and sent him flying. Andromeda ran after him, tripping on the hem of her robes. One of her heels snapped in two and she stumbled, crumpling against the ground as another branch struck the small of her back. She sat up and pulled herself into a ball, wrenching off her shoes and hurling them at the trunk. The sudden assault distracted the tree for a moment, allowing her to scurry back to the side of the fallen Beater.

He was wriggling like a slug, his arms working ineffectually to try to propel him away from the tree. He seemed dazed; Andromeda had hold of the front of his robes and was shaking him, but he made no move to obey him. Frustrated, she threw herself on top of him. As the Willow turned its attention on them again she hauled with all her might, hurling herself onto her back and pulling him on top of her. Once she was moving the momentum and the slope of the terrain kept them going; they rolled together downhill, away from the tree.

The Willow made two final, valiant efforts to take out the interlopers, but they were well beyond its reach. They came to a halt with Andromeda on top, still clinging desperately to the front of the Beater's brilliant yellow robes. She tumbled off of him and lay beside him in the grass, chest heaving.

Assorted older students were running down to them now, including most of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. They clustered around Tonks, obviously anxious for the health of their star. The Head Girl knelt down to help Andromeda up, offering her a handkerchief and plucking ruefully at the shredded sleeve of her robe. Andromeda smiled sheepishly, glancing at the young man who was now on his feet being heckled by his teammates. Then she began to laugh.

'Well, I guess they're all right, then,' James said dryly. 'Though they really ought to watch where they're walking.'

'Should we go down and be sure?' Remus asked, turning to Sirius.

He was staring at his cousin with a peculiar expression on his face. 'She could've been killed,' he said as though the concept were terribly perplexing. He shook himself as if driving back an unpleasant thought. 'I need a word with her.'

'Sure, mate. Let's go,' James said.

Sirius shook his head. 'After dinner, when she's alone,' he instructed. 'I don't want a spectacle. There's going to be enough gossip about this.'

_~discidium~_

By suppertime it was all over school that Ted Tonks had rescued Andromeda Black from the Whomping Willow. No one seemed to have an adequate explanation for why the two of them had been so near the tree, but the story seemed sensational enough to distract from the details. The Hufflepuffs were fairly bursting with pride, and Andromeda appeared to spend most of the meal assuring her housemates that it was all right, really, and just a silly accident and she should never have been so careless.

When the Great Hall was emptying out, Sirius led the others down to the corridor that led to the Slytherin dungeons. They waited as nonchalantly as they could until they heard a clicking of high heels approaching. Rounding the corner as she attempted to smooth her hair, Andromeda Black found herself immediately penned in against a wall by four first years.

'What in the name of—_Sirius._' Her eyes narrowed. 'I suppose I can guess why you're here.'

'I suppose you can,' Sirius said. 'I saw the whole thing. And I've been asking around. He's a M—'

Andromeda bared her teeth and reached for her wand. Sirius held up his hands defensively.

'He's a Muggle-born,' he said hastily. 'Eesh, Drommie, I thought you knew me better than that. How long has it been going on?'

'How long has what been going on?' she hissed, glancing over Peter's head as if she expected someone to come around the corner. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'You and the Hufflepuff Beater. How long?' Sirius pressed.

For a moment Andromeda looked rather like a caged animal. Then she schooled her features, and smoothed her robes. 'Counting today,' she said regally; 'one afternoon.'

'Cobblers,' Sirius snorted.

'No, really. We've always been sort of chummy,' Andromeda said lazily; 'but he was just _so_ handsome on the pitch today that I decided – why not? I might never get another chance to snog a Quidditch hero.' She smirked – an expression that made her look remarkably like her cousin. 'It was fabulous.'

Sirius's face wrinkled in disgust. 'Aw, _Drommie_,' he groaned.

She laughed. 'What? It's not as if we snuck off for a bonk or anything. And it's not as if it's ever happened before or will ever happen again. I've got spring fever, that's all. You'll understand when you're older.'

Sirius had his hands over his ears now, writhing unpleasantly. 'I don't want to hear this!' he wheezed.

'Well, you asked,' Andromeda said innocently.

'Ugh. Ick. _Ew_. D'you get up to this sort of thing often?' said Sirius.

'I told you,' she said, a little more forcefully than Remus thought strictly necessary. 'It was just a whim.'

'No, I mean with _other_ blokes.' Sirius threw up his hands before she could answer. 'Never mind! I don't want to know. Just… you know. Be more careful. Watch where you're walking.'

Andromeda smiled. 'I will,' she promised. 'And you do me a favour, all right? Don't ever talk about it again.'

'No fear,' Sirius muttered, stepping back to allow her to sidestep their little circle. 'I don't even plan on thinking about it again.'

'Good boy,' Andromeda said approvingly, reaching out with her index finger to tap the tip of his nose. 'I'll see you around.' She strode gracefully away, tossing her head ever so slightly as she went.

James watched her go. 'D'you think she meant it?' he asked. 'About it being just the one afternoon. 'Cause she was looking at him the way my dad looks at Mum when he's—'

Sirius swooped in to clamp a hand over his mouth. 'You be quiet,' he said ferociously. 'Drommie says it was one afternoon, and what Drommie says goes. And if you hear any gossip about her and that Beater, you make sure to tell 'em that it was just one afternoon. Because he won at Quidditch and she had spring fever. You hear me?'

James nodded, and then his eyes twinkled mischievously. A moment later, Sirius was recoiling from him, shaking his wrist in disgust. 'You licked my hand, you lousy little git!' he yelped, wiping his palm off on James's sleeve.

The smaller boy grinned. 'Don't pretend you didn't have it coming,' he said. 'Now come on. Haven't we anything better to do than speculate about your cousin and her paramours?'

_~discidium~_

There were two results of the incident with Andromeda and the Hufflepuff Beater that outlasted any gossip. The first was that the whole school now knew that the great gnarled tree on the grounds was a Whomping Willow. Someone in third year came up with an idea for a game, and the younger boys spent many an afternoon trying to get near enough to touch the trunk.

The second repercussion served Remus remarkably well. For days after the incident, Sirius watched his cousin like a hawk. He made detours past classrooms where the NEWTs students were having lessons. He sat opposite his usual place at meals so that he could observe the goings-on at the Slytherin table. He performed spot checks of the Owlery and the library and the Astronomy Tower in the evenings. And whenever the four friends were outside he kept one wary eye on the gamekeeper's hut.

He was still occupied in his surveillance of Andromeda the following Friday, when Remus slipped away after dinner to make his way to the hospital wing. Remus was grateful for the small reprieve.


	27. A Credible Hypothesis

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Credible Hypothesis**

Remus stared at himself in the small hand mirror Madam Pomfrey held, and touched the livid black blotch on his jaw. 'Isn't there anything you can do for it?' he asked plaintively, looking up at the matron with his shadowed eyes wide.

She sighed and shook her head sadly. 'I'm afraid it's going to have to fade on its own. It's a very lucky thing I was able to fix the break as neatly as I did, dear. I can't imagine how it happened.'

Remus knew he most likely could if he tried hard enough, but the truth was that he didn't want to think about it. Broken bones usually meant some sort of escape attempt, and to dwell on that would give him nightmares for weeks.

His other dreams had let up considerably as he found himself growing more comfortable and secure among his friends. There was a dark, cruel part of his mind that would not let him forget that this happiness would not last forever, and he knew that the loss would be harder to bear because of his present contentment. But for the moment at least he was determined to cherish the knowledge that he had friends who liked him and laughed at his jokes – when he worked up the courage to offer them – and who had been willing to charge into the Slytherin common room and even fess up to Professor McGonagall to protect him.

Unfortunately, that same loyalty he prized was going to make this particular situation much harder to control. When they saw the bruise they would be filled with righteous anger on his behalf. Sirius would demand to know where it had come from. James would make helpful offers to hex the transgressing parties. Peter would wring his plump little hands and mumble awkward words of sympathy, as if the entire situation were not Remus's own doing.

'What will I tell my friends?' he whispered, unable to keep the despair from his voice as he stared at his blighted reflection.

Madam Pomfrey tried to smile. 'I don't know, Remus. I don't suppose they'd be satisfied if you said it was none of their business?' At his look of desolation she laid the mirror on the coverlet and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, careful to keep her fingers out of the joint that was still stiff and sore. 'You're welcome to stay here for a few more days until it heals, love, if that's what you want.'

'I can't,' Remus said miserably. It was Wednesday morning already; he had been immured here for the better part of four days, and absent for almost five. 'Exams are coming, and I can't afford to fall behind.'

'I'm sure you don't need to worry about that,' Madam Pomfrey said fondly, looking at the heap of schoolbooks piled on the little table by the bed. 'I don't know if I've ever had a student in here so determined to keep up with his studies.'

Remus thought uneasily that she had probably never had a student who was trapped in bed for three or four days out of every twenty-nine either, but he held his tongue. It would only make her feel badly for having spoken, and he was really very pleased that she found him to be dedicated to his studies. He knew that he owed it to those who had been so good to him, who had allowed him to come to Hogwarts in spite of everything, to work hard and to do well.

'I must go to lessons today, Madam,' he said with fresh determination. His fingers found the tender place on his jaw again, and his stomach fluttered uneasily. It couldn't be helped. He pushed back the blankets and swung his spindly legs over the edge of the bed. Madam Pomfrey offered him her hand as he stood, his knees trembling only a little.

'Well, I'm pleased to hear it,' she said, smiling at him and brushing his fringe out of his eyes. 'You're really in sorry need of a trim, dear. Why don't you run and have a quick wash, and I'll cut it for you?'

Remus raised his hand to his head, and an idea struck him. He picked up the mirror from the bed and turned his head, tugging at the soft brown locks. 'No, thank you, ma'am,' he said softly, studying the effect. 'I think it suits me.'

The matron wore a peculiar expression as she watched him, but she did not argue. 'Very well. You still ought to bathe, though; and then we'll see about some breakfast.'

_~discidium~_

Professor Flitwick's habit of leaving the Charms classroom unlocked was always a mercy. Remus felt stronger than usual, having had an extra day to rest because of the difficulty in taking solid foods with a fractured mandible, but he was still rather weary from the long walk through the castle. He took a seat at the back of the room, fiddling nervously with his hair. He had brushed it carefully in the hospital wing, parting it more to one side than was his wont, but he wished that it were longer. Like Severus's, he thought. And if only it were coarser, heavier, not so wispy. He was going to have to be very careful not to draw too much attention by adjusting it through the day.

He had been sitting for almost half an hour, trying not to work himself up into a state of nervous exhaustion, when the first group of Gryffindors finally came in. He looked up anxiously, fingertips grazing the ends of his hair, and was relieved to see that it was only Lily Evans and her friends. They took no notice of him as they settled into their usual places, chattering happily.

As the classroom began to fill, Remus realized uncomfortably that no one seemed to want to sit beside him. Usually the three rear rows filled quickly, but the seat to his right and the two in front of him remained vacant. When the Andrews twins took desks apart in order to avoid taking the places ahead of Remus, he began to feel rather ill. It might have been coincidental that no one was interested in the back tables, but if Aeolus and Athena would rather separate than settle near him something was certainly amiss.

The class was almost all assembled now, and there was still no sign of James, Sirius or Peter. Remus had given up fumbling with his hair, and was now hunched low over his desk, hugging his abdomen and trying to beat back waves of panic. There was only one logical explanation, as far as he could see, as to why his classmates should want to shun him – and why his three friends were nowhere to be seen. Obviously the truth was out at last.

Sirius's attention to Andromeda had been nothing more than a blind, he recognized, intended to lull him into a false sense of security. Then, while he had been lying in the hospital wing unable even to swallow, they had spread the word throughout the school. Remus supposed he had Professor Dumbledore to thank for the fact that the other pupils were merely ignoring him, rather than approaching with open hostility.

A chasm opened in his belly at the thought of spending the next two months – no, the next six _years_ – trying to go on as if nothing had happened, pretending that he was an ordinary student while all around him everyone knew the truth. He tried not to imagine the ill-concealed stares and the hostile voices hissing _half-breed_ and _part-human_ and _monster_ and _beast_ behind his back. He could feel the eyes of his housemates on him now, boring into him as if they could see through his robes to the scarred and disfigured hide beneath.

'You aren't looking well at all,' a low voice said, its Scots accent unmistakeable.

Remus stiffened. It was Betta MacFusty, whose family bred dragons. Of course she of all people wouldn't be afraid to approach a Dark Creature. She was probably fascinated; he would be an interesting challenge for her. He supposed he ought to be grateful that he was less frightening than a dragon.

'You ought to see the matron,' Betta went on matter-of-factly. 'She's a good sensible witch, and I'm sure she could do something to help.'

Remus raised his eyes to look at her, surprised both by her words and by her tone. If she was able to speak so plainly and practically in spite of what she knew, then perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps he could persuade her to talk to him now and then when the loneliness was too much to bear.

'I'll walk you up there if you like,' she offered, smiling. 'She knows me.'

It took Remus a moment to realize what she was saying. He shook his head, looking down at his trembling hands. 'Oh, no, I'm all right, really,' he mumbled. 'Please, does everyone—'

'Oi! MacFusty! You were warned!'

Sirius's voice carried through the classroom with the force of an imperial command. Remus flinched, but Betta turned with her fists planted on her hips.

'I haven't laid a finger on him, Black, and I'm not pestering,' she said indignantly. She whirled on Remus. 'Am I?'

He shook his head, realizing belatedly that the motion disturbed his carefully positioned curtain of hair. Betta MacFusty's eyes widened, and he hurriedly smoothed it back into place – as if it mattered now what anyone saw.

'Well, go and sit down then,' James said, wriggling behind Elsie Appleby and stepping over the empty chair beside Remus's desk. Sirius came around from the back of the room and Peter from the front.

Betta looked as if she quite wanted to argue. She glanced sidelong at Remus and he gave her an imploring look. He didn't want a scene. If she didn't press the matter perhaps the others would wait instead of confronting him in the middle of a crowded classroom.

She seemed to understand, for she returned to her seat. Sirius watched her go with the air of a city sentinel observing the removal of a bandit. James moved nearer to Remus and squeezed his left hand.

'You're back,' he said quietly. 'How's your mum?'

The question seemed sincere. Certainly the expression of sympathetic curiosity on James's face was genuine. Remus stared at him, unable to speak. Was it possible that the truth was not known after all? For if James knew, why was he perpetuating the cover story? And why was he _touching_ a werewolf?

'Remus?' Peter asked worriedly, trundling forward and bending down to look into his eyes. 'I-is she very much worse?

'You've never been gone four days before,' James added softly. 'You would tell us, wouldn't you? If she'd taken a turn or something.'

'No… I mean yes, yes of course I would,' Remus stammered. He looked from James to Peter, and then to Sirius – who was leaning against the next desk with his arms crossed over his chest and a very guarded expression on his face. 'No, she's no worse. She… I think she'll be all right for a few weeks at least.'

He held his breath, waiting to gauge whether they still believed him. James nodded understandingly and patted his arm. 'My offer still stands,' he said. 'My dad could have a word with the people at St Mungo's. You never know: maybe they could do something after all.'

Professor Flitwick was standing on his stack of books at the front of the room, trying to call everyone to order. Peter took the seat directly in front of Remus and James sat next to him. Sirius slid into his chair, leaning across the aisle.

'Was anyone else giving you a hard time?' he asked. He gestured at the rest of the class. 'They've all been warned to give you your space on pain of our extreme displeasure.'

'My space?' Remus echoed, looking at the three chairs his friends were occupying. 'You told them not to pester me…'

He could not help himself. He folded his arms on the desk and let his head fall forward onto them, releasing all of his pent-up terror in one long, shuddering sigh. The others had not been avoiding him because they scorned to sit next to a werewolf: James and Sirius had told them to leave him alone.

'Sure.' James sounded a little uneasy. 'I mean, you're always tired when you come from home, and we didn't want them wearing you out with silly questions.'

'Are you okay?' Peter asked worriedly.

Remus raised his head, carefully smoothing his hair over his blackened cheek again. 'I'm fine,' he whispered, not trusting himself with more volume. 'I'm just fine.'

Yet he could not help noticing that Sirius was still eyeing him with a grim, knowing expression on his face.

_~discidium~_

'We can see it, you know,' Sirius whispered, drawing Remus aside as they entered Professor McGonagall's classroom.

'See what?' Remus asked innocently – but his traitorous right hand crept up to smooth the brown locks over his right cheek again. He flushed painfully and hung his head. 'It's nothing.'

'It doesn't look like nothing,' Sirius said softly. Gentle fingers brushed away the curtain of hair to reveal the extent of the damage. 'It looks like somebody kicked you in the head.'

Remus looked over his shoulder, praying for a distraction, but James and Peter were already in their seats. 'That's… it's ridiculous,' he said feebly. 'Who would do a thing like that?'

An anguished light glittered in Sirius's eyes. 'You don't have to do it,' he said. His voice was hoarse. 'You don't have to go. You heard what McGonagall told me; if you've got a compelling reason to stay they won't make you go. We could talk to her. We could show her right now. Once she sees that she _can't _make you go!'

His distress was heartbreaking. He was trying so hard to be kind, and to help his friend. What he didn't understand was that there was no help in the world for Remus. His parents had tried. They had tried everything. They had ruined their health and his and squandered their savings and mortgaged their home to the goblins in trying. There was nothing that would help.

'It isn't like that,' Remus mumbled, unable to watch Sirius's anguished face any longer. 'I have to go. I don't have a choice.'

'There's always a choice!' Sirius cried, a little too loudly. Several nearby students turned in their chairs and Professor McGonagall raised her eyes from the exam she was grading. Sirius bit his lip and lowered his voice again. 'All you have to do is tell her the truth, and she'll help you.'

Remus didn't want to say it, for he knew how it would hurt. But he could think of no other means of deflecting the other boy's increasingly insistent demands. 'Did you tell her the truth?' he asked.

Sirius gaped at him, and Remus felt his innards burning with remorse. He had taken such care these last weeks to respect his friend's need for privacy; his need to protect his secret and to pretend, at least for a while, that no one suspected. Now all that careful work was undone. He saw the hot flush of humiliation spreading across Sirius's cheekbones, and the queer, closed expression that darkened his eyes to the colour of coal.

'You're right,' he said tightly. 'It's none of my business.' His lip trembled ever so slightly. 'But you're my friend.'

It was the last four words, even more than the wounded visage before him, that wrenched at Remus's conscience. For a brief and terrible moment, the entire sordid story hovered on the tip of his tongue. Then he tore his eyes away and hung his head. 'I know you are,' he mumbled.

'Take your seats, gentlemen, please,' Professor McGonagall called out. They were the only two students still standing.

Remus managed somehow to stumble to his desk and to sit. He could not focus, however, on one word that the teacher was saying. He sat with his head bowed and his hands in his lap, staring down at the grain of the tabletop. Once Professor McGonagall stopped beside him, obviously intending to offer some sharp reproof. But her eyes fell on the horrific black blotch on his jaw, and she moved on without a word. While everyone else was transfiguring bottle caps into buttons, he remained motionless, struggling with every last scrap of his will to keep from weeping – or thinking.

He did not even notice the lesson had ended until he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was James.

'Are you coming?' he asked. 'Sirius and Peter have gone ahead. Rumour has it there are cream cakes for pudding.'

Remus struggled to compose himself, and reached up to tug the lock of hair down over his face again. James was watching him sadly.

'You needn't try to hide it. We can see it anyhow,' he said quietly. 'D'you want to tell me how it happened?'

Remus shook his head wretchedly.

James sighed and helped him to his feet. 'That's about what I figured,' he said.

Remus bent to try to lift his satchel, but hesitated as his old scar pained him. James noticed either the pause or the tiny involuntary grimace, for he reached down and picked up the bag, slinging it over his own shoulder with ease. He put a hand on Remus's shoulder and used another to pat him between the scapulae.

'Let's go,' he said. 'The others are waiting.'

They walked in silence. When they reached the Entrance Hall Remus could not help but turn to his friend. 'Aren't you going to ask me any questions?' he asked, his tiny voice lost in the great vaulted room.

James shrugged. 'You said you wouldn't want questions,' he said simply.

Remus hoped that he did not look too pathetically grateful. He had never imagined that James had taken that from their conversation at the beginning of the term, nor indeed that he would act upon it if he had.

'Of course,' James said; 'if you do change your mind be sure to let me know.'

It was tempting, so terribly tempting. It was easy to imagine, with the gentle way James was steering him up the staircase and the careful steps that he took so that Remus could keep pace without straining, to believe that despite the ghastly nature of his secret he might still be accepted. Remus felt the ache for belonging deep in his chest, like a void that could never be filled. He knew that his friendships were ethereal things, built on the lies of a werewolf. But the illusion of friendship was better than nothing, and he could not gamble what he had when the odds were so obviously stacked in favour of losing everything.

So he let James lead him into the Great Hall, where Sirius and Peter were tucking into their meal with gusto. Sirius slid over, patting the bench beside him in a clear invitation that Remus should sit. He did so, and the taller boy grinned.

'Steamed asparagus,' he said eagerly, passing the dish of succulent green stalks. 'Your favourite, right?'

Remus nodded, helping himself. It was comforting that Sirius remembered. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

'For what?' Sirius asked sunnily.

'F-for what I said…'

Sirius tossed his head airily. 'It's over and done,' he declared with a magnanimous wave of his hand. 'Here; you've got to try the chicken pie. It's not to be believed.'

Remus felt his spirits lifting a little as the meal progressed. Even the prospect of Defence Against the Dark Arts that afternoon did not seem especially dreadful. He felt as though he had surfaced after swimming miles through an underwater tunnel. He could breathe again: Sirius was letting the matter rest and James had decided not to ask questions. Perhaps he had won another month's amnesty.

Professor Alfstin was in an unusually good mood. He did not snap at the class as let them pair themselves off to practice Shielding Charms, and not once did he tell them to 'dress up that line'. Instead he merely prowled around glowering at them and occasionally offering caustic input as to their stance or posture.

'It's the NEWTs class,' Sirius whispered during a break in the lesson. 'Drommie said he's got them drilling like Auror candidates. He's taking out his foul temper on them instead.'

'I heard he threatened to disembowel anyone failing to scrape an Exceeds Expectations on the OWL,' James added.

'Something troubling you gentlemen?' the professor demanded, coming up behind them so suddenly that even James jumped.

'No, sir. Nothing, sir,' Sirius said promptly. As always when addressed by Alfstin he presented the very picture of a respectful student, without even a hint of insolence or insubordination.

'Very good, Black.' Alfstin turned his withering gaze on Remus. 'What's that?' he demanded.

Remus had an awful feeling that he knew just what the teacher meant, but he feigned innocence anyhow. 'What's what, Professor?'

Alfstin took hold of his chin and used his wand to brush aside Remus's hair. He tilted the boy's head and frowned. 'Nasty mark,' he mused. 'How did that happen?'

James was glowering and Sirius had gone rigid. Remus forced himself to look the professor in the eye. The erstwhile trainer of Hit Wizards abhorred weakness above all other things; Remus knew that his sickly appearance was something of a personal affront to Alfstin, and he had no wish to compound the problem by showing his discomfiture. 'I really couldn't say, sir,' he said mildly.

Alfstin grunted, putting his wand between his teeth. He reached with his index finger to poke at the broad contusion. An ache rippled down into the bone, but Remus ignored it. The professor made another sound, this one smacking faintly of approval. His withered features wrinkled into a marginally less hostile scowl.

'So you're growing a backbone at last,' he said. 'Well done. Next step is to do something about that scrawny build. Raw eggs twice a day and plenty of exercise.'

Evidently feeling that he had made his point, he strode away to the next group of students. As soon as his back was turned, James sniggered into his hands. 'Raw eggs and exercise?' he snorted.

'Are you all right?' Sirius asked, gritting his teeth.

'I'm fine,' Remus promised, sweeping his hair back down to obscure his jaw. He was excruciatingly aware of Lily Evans, watching him with a look of horrified pity on her face.

'Don't worry,' James said, mockingly solicitous. 'Tonight we'll sneak down to the kitchen for some raw eggs. Sirius can teach you to suck 'em.'

Sirius smirked and stuck out his tongue.

_~discidium~_

That evening James and Sirius left the dormitory right before curfew, taking the Invisibility Cloak with them. They did so in such a silent and efficient manner that Remus had the distinct impression that this was becoming a regular occurrence.

'Where are they going?' he asked.

'Drommie watch,' Peter said. He was pulling on his pyjama pants. 'It's just what it sounds like,' he added when Remus raised his eyebrows. 'Sirius says she's bound to sneak out to talk to that Beater one of these days, and he reckons he's found the most logical place for them to meet. They've never invited me,' he concluded.

'Don't worry,' Remus said generously. 'They've never invited me, either.'

'That's because you've been gone,' Peter said. 'I know they think you're braver than I am. I know you _are_ braver than I am.'

Remus knew he ought to say something to soothe the younger boy's bruised pride, but another thought eclipsed ideas of kindness. Peter was a valuable source of information. 'What did they say about me while I was gone?' he asked timorously.

'Not much,' said Peter. 'When you didn't turn up in Defence Against the Dark Arts on Friday Sirius swore and said he couldn't believe you'd given him the slip. James said he wondered what was wrong with your mum. I said it had to be bad if you were missing school over it.'

'Is that all?' Remus pressed. Surely in almost five days there had been more to say than that.

Peter shrugged. 'James said we ought to take your homework, so they divvied up the lessons. Sirius took Defence and Charms and Potions. James took Herbology and Transfiguration. They stuck me with History of Magic. I hope you can read my writing.'

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a rumpled piece of parchment smeared with what looked like chocolate.

'Thank you,' Remus said, trying to sound very earnest. He took the sticky sheet from Peter and put it on top of his trunk. 'What about Astronomy?'

'Astronomy was cancelled,' Peter said happily. 'The moon was too bright.'

Remus swallowed so hard that for a moment he thought he had forced his voice box into his stomach. While he had been locked up in the house in Hogsmeade, hurling himself at the walls with such violence that he had broken his jaw, the others had been sent to their beds early because the full moon rendered stargazing impractical. How, after that, had they failed to make the connection?

Some of his dismay must have been evident in his expression, for Peter looked suddenly rather worried. 'Remus?' he ventured softly.

Remus blinked as if by doing so he could clear his mind. He tried to smile. 'Yes?'

'What really did happen to your face?' asked Peter.

He could not entirely supress the heavy sigh that wanted to break free. 'It's nothing, Peter, really,' he said. 'Please, I'd rather not talk about it.'

Peter nodded, but the furrow between his eyebrows was still deep. 'Does it hurt?' he whispered.

Remus shook his head. 'No,' he lied. 'It doesn't hurt at all.'

This answer seemed to satisfy Peter as it never would have satisfied Sirius and James. The two boys made ready for bed in amicable silence.

_~discidium~_

By morning Remus's face was more purple than black, and the first greenish blotches were showing. He looked positively ghastly, and made an effort again to disguise the blemish with his hair. Standing in front of the mirror with his comb in his hand, he wondered how on earth he had ever managed to think he could hide it. The pale umber locks did not even brush his jaw; the bruise could be seen beneath them, and through the numerous breaks in the fine curtain of hair. At first glance, perhaps, it looked like a peculiar shadow, but anyone with eyes in their head could not be fooled for long.

No one said anything when he came back into the dormitory, but a muscle below Sirius's ear twitched ominously. Still, he grinned when Remus wished him good morning, and the four boys descended to breakfast.

It was unusual for all four boys to receive post on the same morning, but it transpired today. James and Remus each had their copies of the paper, of course, and James had a large box of homemade fudge with a note from his parents. Sirius had a letter from his brother, which seemed less inflammatory than many that had come before it. He read it with a benign look of tolerance on his face. Peter had greetings from Mrs Pettigrew, who apparently was urging him to revise well for exams. Remus eagerly accepted a nice thick envelope addressed in his mother's writing. He was about to tuck it into his robes to be taken out and savoured later, in private, when someone snatched it from his fingers.

'She's got a nerve!' Sirius growled. 'Pestering you when you've only just got away.'

'Sirius, give it back,' Remus protested, trying to retrieve the letter.

The taller boy got to his feet, holding the envelope out of Remus's reach. 'No!' he said. 'She's got no right! You're not going back there so soon – your face isn't even healed yet!'

'Sirius,' James said warningly, eyes lolling to take in the throng of students around them.

'I won't stand for it!' Sirius cried. 'We're talking to McGonagall and we're doing it today! You write the woman every sodding week; what more can she ask? She can't just pull you out of school whenever she feels like it! It's not right and it's not decent and it's not fair!'

'Give it back!' Remus begged, clambering off the bench and reaching out again. 'Sirius, please give it back.'

'No! I'm not going to let her do this to you! It isn't _right_!' Sirius took hold of the envelope in both hands and with two quick flicks of the wrist tore it into quarters. He threw the pieces wrathfully to the floor.

Remus let out a tiny, despairing whimper and dropped to his knees, scrambling to gather the ragged remains of his mother's letter. Hot tears burned in his eyes, and he let his overgrown fringe fall forward to hide them. He crawled under the bench to retrieve the last pieces, and sat in the middle of the floor, trying desperately to smooth them.

'You no-good, self-righteous idiot,' James said, glaring at Sirius. He slid off the bench and slipped under the table, emerging to kneel beside Remus. He put a comforting hand on the boy's thin shoulder. 'Don't worry,' he said kindly. 'I've some Spellotape in my bag. I'll help you mend it.'

'I… I'd rather do it myself,' Remus whispered, still struggling not to cry.

'Why the hell did you do that?' James demanded, getting to his feet and confronting Sirius. 'Just because you never read your own letters doesn't mean the rest of us don't read ours.'

'What on earth is going on?' It was Dorcas Meadowes. Still clutching the shards of the letter in his lap, Remus did not raise his head. 'Black, I'll put up with a lot from you, but bullying is something I won't tolerate. Two nights' deten—'

'He wasn't bullying,' Remus said hoarsely. 'He… he's my friend. He meant well, really.'

'Yeah,' James said. His tone was rather ferocious. 'His intentions were good, even if his reasoning was completely daft.'

'Well, then, two hundred lines,' said Meadowes. '_I will not manhandle my classmates' post_.'

She moved off and Remus dared to dart a swift glance at his friends. James was standing with his arms crossed, glaring through his spectacles. Sirius was staring at Remus with a look of dawning horror on his face.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled dazedly. 'I'm sorry. I didn't think. I didn't realize…'

'I'll say you didn't,' James snapped. 'Peter, reach in my bag and give me the tape.' Peter obeyed, and James crouched next to Remus again, holding it out. 'You sure you don't want me to do it?' he asked. 'Then you can read it all together once it's almost as good as new.'

Remus shook his head, taking the little dispenser. 'I'll do it at dinnertime,' he mumbled. 'We've got to get to lessons.'

He suffered through Herbology in silence, and somehow endured History of Magic. When at last the others made their way off for the noon meal, he trudged up to the Gryffindor Tower. The common room was deserted, and he knelt down on the hearth, spreading out the pieces of the letter and trying to restore them to a readable state.

So intent was Remus upon the task at hand that he did not hear the portrait-hole swing open. He culled out the bits of envelope and managed to sort the remaining pieces into four complete pages. He groped for the Spellotape, only to find it in midair, pinched between the finger and thumb of a slender, patrician hand.

'Please let me help,' Sirius said softly, tearing off a piece of the tape and offering it to Remus. He took it wordlessly, and closed one of the fissures.

They worked in silence, and when at last the four sheets were restored to their original proportions Remus folded them cautiously, almost tenderly. He couldn't read the letter in front of Sirius, and in any case he was no longer of a mind to do so. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin upon them.

'Why did you come up here?' he asked quietly.

Sirius's face was a panorama of anguish. 'I wanted to ask you to forgive me. I've been stupid.'

'I love her letters,' Remus said softly. 'I wait for them all week. I want to read them. She wasn't writing for me to come home, Sirius. She wouldn't do that.'

'I know.' Sirius closed his eyes and sighed heavily. 'I know that now. I was an idiot to think it. Your mum – she doesn't hurt you, does she? She doesn't shout at you or whip you or lock you up in a little dark room with nothing to eat. She… you love her. She loves _you. _She writes you nice long letters and she knits you woolly hats, and then there's those homemade hankies…' He groaned. 'I don't know why I didn't see it. That old chess set she sent you; you treat it like it's a treasure. And your face lights up whenever you write to her. Your mum doesn't pull you out of school to thrash you.'

'No,' Remus said, horrified. 'No. She'd never do that. She couldn't do that. She loves me.'

'And you go home to look after her,' Sirius murmured. 'You go home to help her. Because she's "sick".'

Remus nodded. 'That's right,' he whispered. 'That's just what I've been saying all along.'

Sirius opened his eyes, fixing the deep grey orbs on Remus's face with an intensity that was almost frightening. 'Only your mum isn't sick, is she, Remus?'

Remus hesitated. So Sirius had seen through the lies after all. Suddenly he wished the rest of the students were not so far away. He was cornered here, far from any help – far from Prefect Meadowes and Professor McGonagall and the just and sensible Head Boy. It was like the moment in his nightmares when he found himself compelled to lie but unable to dream up a single plausible falsehood.

'She is,' he stammered. 'I-I swear she is.'

Sirius shook his head. 'I've been wondering for ages where your father was in all this,' he said, half to himself. 'I couldn't understand why he didn't step in to help. It never occurred to me that he was the problem.'

'Father?' Remus said, now utterly bewildered. 'The problem?'

The pain in Sirius's words was almost palpable. 'He beats her, doesn't he?' he said, very softly. 'He beats her and so you go home to nurse her. A-and then he beats you, too.' His gaze rested on the lurid discolouration on the other boy's jaw. 'I'm right,' he whispered. 'Aren't I?'

Remus could not speak. Once more Sirius had reached the wrong conclusion. It seemed almost a miracle that the brilliant and tenacious Sirius Black could have found the wrong answer yet again. Remus knew that in order to protect himself the clever thing to do was to acknowledge it all. It was, after all, a credible hypothesis that fit almost all of the available evidence. Sirius believed it already, and if Remus repeated it then he would be unlikely to question it ever again. Remus had done so frequently, and almost eagerly, with the other story – but this was different. To claim that his mother was ill was one thing; it reflected no ill upon her, and it had even been almost true after the disastrous Christmas break. But if he accepted this new explanation he would be accusing his father of terrible things. It was slander, and it was evil and odious and ungrateful. Remus was terrified to deny it, for he was so desperate for some excuse – any excuse – that would explain his damning symptoms. Yet he found himself incapable of corroborating it.

Remarkably, Sirius did not seem to expect him to. He crawled forward on his knees and pressed his shoulder against Remus's. The smaller boy leaned instinctively toward his friend. 'It's all right,' Sirius whispered, reaching out with a tender hand to caress the crown of his head. 'I won't tell anyone.'

Remus let himself be comforted. If he tried, he could forget the ugly allegations that Sirius had made, and he could pretend that the truth had finally come out. That the truth had come out and it didn't matter. That the truth had come out and they could still, somehow, be friends. At least he could pretend.


	28. Planning Ahead

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Planning Ahead **

It was a point of honour with Sirius Black that no one he cared about was to be left to mope for long. When Remus was ready he walked him down to the Great Hall, and there coerced him into eating a little. In Potions that afternoon he took the place beside Remus, paying more attention to the other boy's cauldron than he did to his own. For once, Remus had a decent finished product to hand in to Professor Slughorn, who accepted it with a couple of boisterous words of praise. When they were out in the corridor at last, where Remus could breathe normally, he found his three friends grinning at him.

'Well,' Sirius said; 'since you've missed out on the last few days' mayhem you get to choose what we get up to tonight.'

'Oh, yes _please_!' James exclaimed emphatically. 'He's been railroading the rest of us all week. If I have to spend one more night on Drommie watch, I swear I'll throw myself into the lake.'

'As much as I'd love to see that,' said Sirius earnestly; 'one night off Drommie watch won't make any difference. So what do you say, Lupin? Shall we try to find the Ravenclaw common room? Break into McGonagall's classroom and paper the walls with Chocolate Frog cards? See if we can't get the Fat Lady to change the password to something rude?'

'I've a lot of catching up to do,' Remus said quietly. 'I thought I could go back to the dormitory and focus on my schoolwork.'

'Unacceptable,' Sirius said, shaking his head. 'What you need is a little fun.'

'A good laugh,' added James.

'A trip to the kitchens!' Peter concluded.

Sirius snorted. 'We haven't even had supper yet!'

'So?' Peter asked. 'I'm planning ahead. I like the kitchens: all the house-elves are so helpful.'

'Well, it's not your night to pick,' James said. 'What do you say, Remus?'

Remus wished fervently that he could think of some frightfully clever prank to suggest – or at least an interesting expedition. But he lacked his friends' boundless capacity for mischief. 'I think the kitchens sound nice,' he said. 'Unless you really do want to go looking for the Ravenclaw common room.'

Sirius clicked his tongue. 'Are you planning to go in for politics? You don't need to please everyone at once. Decide what you'd like to do and commit to it.'

'You know it's what the rest of us would do,' James reasoned.

'Will I really get a night to pick where we go?' asked Peter.

Chuckling, Sirius reached to ruffle his tow-coloured hair. 'How quickly they grow up,' he said nostalgically. 'Yes, I suppose when there comes a time you need cheering up, you can pick where we go.'

Peter looked irrationally delighted by this offer. Sirius refocused his attention on Remus. 'Well?' he asked. 'What would you like to do?'

Remus hesitated, wondering whether he dared to tell the truth. The three generous, expectant faces were very convincing. 'I'm tired,' he confessed. 'I had really hoped just to stay in Gryffindor Tower tonight.'

Sirius pursed his lips and looked at James, who shrugged. 'Well, if you insist,' he said. He whipped out his index finger and gestured imperiously. 'But no schoolwork! It'll keep one more day, and you're going to have fun tonight.'

So they passed the evening taking it in turns to play chess and Exploding Snap while munching contentedly on Mrs Potter's homemade fudge. The only one who seemed remotely put out by Remus's choice was James, for when Remus and Peter got up to get ready for bed, Sirius insisted on dragging him off for a couple of hours of Drommie watch anyhow.

With Peter in bed and the other two gone, Remus was finally able to focus on his mother's letter. Despite the Spellotape it was perfectly readable, if a little rigid in his hands. Mother seemed in good spirits; writing about putting in the garden and about a family of swallows that had moved into the ash tree on the front lawn. She wrote that his father was very busy at work, and that there was talk of a new position opening up to review the History of Magic curriculum at Hogwarts. She seemed to think that Mr Lupin stood a good chance of getting the post, but Remus had heard such things too often to believe it. And of course she sent her love and her hope that he would revise thoroughly and do well on all of his exams. She closed with the reminder that he would be back at home in only a few weeks, assuring him that she could scarcely wait to see him.

Remus was in the midst of composing his reply when Sirius and James returned to the dormitory. James had the Invisibility Cloak draped over his arm, and Sirius was carrying a large plate of assorted finger-foods.

'Peter's asleep,' Remus said quietly, nodding in the direction of the far bed. 'I thought you weren't going to raid the kitchens.'

Sirius shrugged. 'They're conveniently located near the Hufflepuff common room,' he said.

'I thought you were on Drommie watch,' Remus said. 'She's in Slytherin.'

'Thanks; I was in danger of forgetting that.' Sirius deposited the plate on the foot of Remus's bed and sat down on his trunk. 'I figured it was a bit risky to stake out the Slytherin common room.'

'So for the last six nights we've been watching the _Hufflepuffs_,' James groaned. He perched on the edge of Remus's bed and helped himself to a little custard tart. 'D'you know how boring that is?'

'It's perfectly logical,' Sirius said brightly. 'If Drommie's going to meet the Beater, the Beater has to come out to meet Drommie. Therefore if we keep a lookout for the Beater…'

'We'll find Drommie,' James said tiredly. 'It's a flawless plan. Except for the flaws.'

'Flaws? What flaws?' asked Sirius. He held the plate out to Remus. 'Cucumber sandwich?'

Remus took one with a small smile of thanks, and nibbled at it as James began to enumerate the lapses in his best friend's logic. 'One, she said it was a one-time thing and so she probably doesn't even want to see him. Two, if it isn't a one-time thing and there _is_ something between them she's going to be twice as careful now that you've sussed it out. Three, they're in the same year. They take some of the same lessons. If they wanted to talk, they could do it then, while you're busy elsewhere. And four – and this is the most important one, mind – they had almost a week after the actual incident before your curiosity got the better of your common sense, and they've probably already hashed all of it out.'

'Sure you can't think of one more way that I'm an idiot?' Sirius asked, affecting a pout. 'You've still got one finger left on that hand.'

'Happy to oblige,' said James. He thrust out his thumb. 'Five, we've only been watching the one corridor. He could've slipped past us the other way.'

Sirius closed his eyes and sniffed disdainfully. 'You might have mentioned this before,' he said.

James rolled his eyes. 'As if it would've stopped you.'

Sirius grinned and picked up a caramel apple and bit into it with a loud _crunch_. As he was chewing, a sleepy noise came from the other side of the room, and Peter's head poked out from between his bed curtains. 'I hear food,' he said drowsily.

'C'mon and join us, then,' James laughed, budging over to make room for Peter. Remus reached out to steady his inkwell as the mattress undulated.

Sirius jerked his chin at the parchment. 'Writing your mum?' he asked conversationally.

'Yes,' Remus said softly.

Sirius smiled, but his eyes were sad. 'Good,' he said, then busied himself with another bite of his apple.

James shot him a brief reproving look, but said nothing. Peter, who was helping himself to a chicken sandwich, smiled. 'My mum complained in her last letter that I never write. How do you think of enough things to write every week?'

Remus shrugged his shoulders. 'I write about lessons and I write about you lot. Just now I'm telling her how the Snap deck exploded just when James was about to take the whole pile.'

James smirked.

'What do you say about me?' asked Peter.

'Well, I'm going to tell her that your chess game is improving and that you nearly beat Sirius tonight,' Remus said.

Sirius sputtered, misting James's glasses with juice from the apple. 'He never did!' he protested. 'Not even close!'

'Oh, I disagree,' said Remus pleasantly. 'If he had taken your knight instead of your bishop he could have easily won.'

'How can you remember that?' asked James, removing his spectacles and wiping them on his sleeve. 'We must've played half a dozen games tonight.'

'It was worth noting,' Remus said. 'I was going to mention it, Peter; only I didn't know if it would be very sporting.'

'It wouldn't have been,' Sirius grumbled, finishing off the last of his apple and licking his sticky fingers. 'Well, that was satisfying,' he said, stretching his arms expansively. 'Now what?'

'Bed,' James said, yawning tremendously. 'It's a long day tomorrow, and we'll need to be up bright and early to watch Gryffindor on Saturday.'

'Quidditch!' Peter said eagerly. 'Do you suppose we'll win?'

'Not if Andromeda Black's alleged suitor has anything to say about it,' James griped. 'Pity the Willow couldn't have broken his hip or something.'

'That _would_ have made him a lot easier to watch,' Sirius said. 'We could've just camped out in the hospital wing.'

'Thank goodness he didn't get hurt, then!' Remus exclaimed, realizing too late that he had given voice to his thoughts.

James grinned. 'Aw, I didn't _really_ mean I wanted him to get hurt. It was only a joke.'

'Not a very nice joke,' said Peter.

'You can say that when you catch him sneaking off with _your_ best cousin,' Sirius muttered darkly.

Remus dipped his head low over his letter, scribbling his love in closing and signing his name. He had to be more mindful of what he said. He felt too safe among them, and it was making him careless. Sirius had given him respite with his new and awful theory, but it would never do to pique his suspicions again.

_~discidium~_

On Friday Drommie watch had to be suspended because of Astronomy, but Sirius was bound and determined to patrol the dungeons all night on Saturday if he had to. Hufflepuff's victory over Gryffindor – which filled James with a wrathful melancholy – seemed a logical catalyst for another meeting between his cousin and the hero Beater. He conscripted all three of his friends, and they wandered the cold, low corridors until almost two in the morning before James finally put his foot down and demanded that they all head off to bed.

They spent most of Sunday in the dormitory. Peter was trying, largely unsuccessfully, to revise for exams. Remus worked doggedly to clear his backlog of schoolwork, and then afterward swapped Herbology papers with James so that they could check one another for spelling mistakes and clarity of thought. Sirius, obviously bored to tears, passed most of the day sprawled out in the middle of the floor, shooting Gobstones against the lavatory door. He dragged James off, under protest, for ninety minutes in the dungeons before bed.

On Monday evening, when the time drew near for the nightly escapade, Sirius took out his copy of _1001 Herbs and Fungi_ and a large stack of parchment.

'Remus, you'll go with James tonight, won't you?' he asked. 'I've got to work on my Herbology project.'

'You haven't finished it yet?' Remus asked, surprised.

James rolled his eyes. 'He hasn't _started_ it yet.'

This was horrifying. 'But it's due tomorrow morning!'

'So?' Sirius shrugged. 'How hard can it be? I said I could dash it off in half an hour the night before. Didn't I, Peter?'

'You did,' Peter said, nodding vehemently. 'You said that.' He turned to the others. 'He said that.'

'Well, good luck to you; that's all I can say,' James declared. He whipped out the Invisibility Cloak and offered it to Remus with a flourish. 'Shall we?'

With Remus under the Cloak, they descended to the common room. It was only fifteen minutes before first years were meant to be abed, but James strolled brazenly through the room to the portrait-hole. No one stopped him or made any reproving remark, though Aloysius Carlyle did look up from the mountain of parchment under which he was buried. Once out in the corridor, James reached out with a sweeping arm.

'You there?' he asked.

Remus nodded automatically, before realizing that the other boy could, of course, not see him. 'Yes,' he said hoarsely.

James grinned. 'Wonderful,' he said. 'Now, where should we go?'

'We're meant to be on Drommie watch, aren't we?' Remus whispered. He glanced anxiously up and down the corridor, fearful lest someone should happen upon them. Although he was quite certain that James could carry off with aplomb the pretence that he enjoyed talking to thin air, it would be a good deal more difficult to explain why the air was answering back.

James wafted a dismissive hand. 'Sirius is mad. She's not interested in that Beater, and they're certainly not going to creep around to meet in corridors in the dead of night. That sort of thing only happens in those silly romance books all the fourth year girls read. In fact, as I've said before, this whole business is entirely better suited to fourth year girls than to a band of dignified firsties.'

He sounded so solemn that Remus could not help laughing. James grinned, clearly gratified. 'Well?' he said. 'Kitchens? Ravenclaw common room? I suppose I could show you where the Hufflepuffs live, but that kind of takes the fun out of skiving off of Drommie watch.'

'Whatever we're doing we shouldn't stay here,' Remus said with another uneasy glance down the corridor.

'Well, should I follow you or will you follow me?' James asked brightly.

Remus caught himself on the cusp of telling his friend that they could do whatever he wanted. Of course James could not follow him while he was wearing the Cloak. He forced a small laugh and followed the other boy. They went down three staircases and up a fourth, turned a sharp corner into a sloping corridor, and emerged at last in the third floor arcade. James went over to one of the great arches overlooking the lake and leaned out against the stone balustrade.

'Come over here,' he invited. Remus obeyed at once, but after a minute's silence James said; 'Are you here or not?'

'I'm here,' Remus answered softly. James jumped, turning his head as if he had expected the voice to come from his other side.

'Take it off, would you? You're too quiet by half. When Sirius is under there he never stops prattling.'

'I'm sorry,' Remus mumbled as he slipped off the Cloak. He offered it to James, who wadded it up and shoved it into his pocket before returning to his place in the archway. He inhaled deeply of the cool night air.

'Shame there's no moon,' he said mildly. 'When there is you can see for miles.'

There was a moon, in fact – a waning crescent moon that was due to rise in a little under three hours' time – but Remus did not feel the need to volunteer this information. He moved to stand next to James, one hand timidly gripping the cool stone before him.

'Jupiter is bright tonight,' he observed, pointing.

James followed his finger and nodded. 'Very. That's supposed to be good luck.'

'Then I suppose we won't get caught sneaking back into the dormitory,' Remus said wryly. James snorted.

There was a sound off to their left; a door opening.

'Aw, hell, someone's coming!' James hissed. He scrambled to grab the Invisibility Cloak, shaking it out. 'Well come closer!' he said. Remus took a step towards him, which clearly James found inadequate. He grabbed the front of the other boy's robes and yanked him forward. Then he enveloped them both in the Cloak, gripping Remus by the wrist and raising his finger to his lips.

Heavy footfalls drew near, and a large shape approached, halting at the next archway over and leaning out as James had done to study the star-studded sky. Something about the broad shoulders and the strong arms looked familiar, but until James's eyes went wide with astonished recognition Remus did not realize that they had been interrupted by the Hufflepuff Beater: Ted Tonks.

The two boys stood where they were for a very long time while the older student stared out over the lake. The chill of the evening was creeping up under Remus's robes, and he was beginning to shiver when the other door opened and high-heeled shoes clicked against the stone floor of the gallery. James clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a noise of amused incredulity as Andromeda Black swept past, coming up beside the Hufflepuff.

He turned to smile at her. 'You came,' he said.

She turned to lean against the carven railing, buffing her fingernails on the front of her robe. 'Of course I came.'

'I heard what happened yesterday. Are you all right?' Tonks sounded almost angry.

'I'm quite all right. I'm a little sore, but I'll live. I'm not sure if Gwendolyn Nott will ever recover – which isn't to say that a bit of exercise wouldn't do her figure a world of good.' Andromeda wrinkled her nose in distaste.

'Alfstin's bang out of order; he ought to be reported,' growled Tonks. 'If I'd been in that class…'

'You would have performed better than most of us,' Andromeda said coyly, putting her hand on his muscular arm. James rolled his eyes at Remus and stuck out his tongue. 'I'm sure it must have been an absurdly funny spectacle. The Fat Friar certainly thought so.'

'I admit the idea of you doing press-ups in those shoes…' the young man murmured, leaning in as if for a kiss.

She stopped him by placing two fingers on his lower lip. 'Ah-ah. We discussed this.'

He made a discontented noise deep in his throat. 'You said the first year Gryffindors have a big Herbology project due in the morning.'

'According to my informant, yes,' said Andromeda. 'But it doesn't do to take chances. You didn't ask me up here for that, anyhow.'

'Who says I didn't?' Tonks groused.

'Allow me to rephrase. I _hope_ you didn't ask me up here for that.'

The Beater shook his head ruefully, as if he regretted the truth. 'No. We need to talk. We need to make arrangements.'

'We need to prep for our NEWTs,' Andromeda said sensibly. 'There's time enough for the rest once our futures are assured.'

'Spoken like a true Slytherin,' said Tonks. From James or Sirius the words would have sounded scornful and derisive. The Hufflepuff uttered them fondly, as if offering a beautiful compliment. 'I suppose they're lofty and brilliant futures?'

'I certainly intend them to be,' the young witch said primly. 'But if you don't buckle down and revise we may be looking at one brilliant future and an unemployed housewizard.'

Tonks chuckled and tried yet again to kiss her. She turned her face haughtily away.

'There's another reason I want to wait,' she said. 'I haven't given up all hope of getting what's coming to me. Arethusa only knows I've earned it.'

'I thought you said they would never—'

She hushed him, again using the tips of her fingers. 'Give me a little more credit than that,' she said. 'I'm formulating a strategy, but it needs a little work. If the vaunted Black ambition can't win me a few Galleons then I'm not sure I deserve the trust you've placed in me.'

Tonks let out a heavy sigh. 'So we wait,' he said, his reluctance plain.

'We wait,' Andromeda confirmed.

There was a long silence.

'Now can I kiss you?' asked the Beater.

'You may,' she said pertly. 'Once, on the cheek like a dear old friend. Then it's off to bed, and I expect to see you haunting the library like a wayward spirit for the rest of the month, barring Quidditch practice. Nothing less than Exceeds Expectations on those exams, do you hear me?'

'Yes, ma'am,' he said. He leaned in and pecked her just to the left of her mouth. 'Good night. And do try to stay in touch, won't you? After saving my life from that tree it's the least you can do.'

She laughed softly. 'According to popular opinion, _you_ saved _me_,' she said.

'You don't strike me as the sort to be swayed by popular opinion,' murmured Tonks. His hand found her waist and James covered his eyes as he leaned in towards her. 'Can I – _may _I have a proper one, now?'

She slipped away from him and started down the arcade. 'After I see those first-class NEWTs,' she called over her shoulder. 'We Slytherins know how to reward success.' Then with a final toss of her head she was gone.

The Hufflepuff turned, gripping the railing with both hands and exhaling heavily into the night. He tilted his face upward so that the starlight bathed his eyelids. After a while, he seemed to relax a little. He stepped away from the casement and shuffled back in the direction from whence he had come.

After the door closed, James waited three minutes before yanking off the Cloak.

'Well,' he breathed, as if he could think of nothing else worth saying.

'It seems like Sirius was right,' Remus said mildly.

'We can't tell Sirius he's right!' James wailed. 'Nothing we heard tonight means anything to me – apart from the fact that he so obviously wanted to snog her – and if Black hears about it we'll be stuck following them around for the rest of term!'

'If we don't tell him we'll still be following them around,' Remus pointed out. 'And I think we ought to be honest; Sirius is our friend.'

He realized the hypocrisy the moment the words were out of his mouth, but James grimaced.

'You're right. Why are you always right? Fine. We'll tell him. But let me do it, all right? I think maybe I can spin it so he doesn't go mental.'

_~discidium~_

Sirius was silent for a long moment, jaw slack and left eyebrow making a bid for his hairline. Finally he blinked, very slowly, and spoke. 'Exceeds Expectations?' he managed. 'Buckle down and revise? Haunting the library?'

James nodded his head. He had rattled off most of the story, carefully avoiding any mention of the Beater's thwarted attempts to kiss Andromeda. He had also omitted the first half of the word 'housewizard'.

'So she's… what? Coaching him for the NEWTs?' Sirius scratched his chin with his quill, looking perplexed.

James shrugged. 'I told you nothing would come of all this,' he said. 'Can we please just let them alone to get on with the business of leaving school?'

'What was all that about shoes and press-ups?' asked Sirius, still apparently trying to decode the conversation as reported.

'Search me,' said James. He nodded at the parchment strewn on and around Sirius's bed. 'Whatever happened to finishing that thing in half an hour?' he asked.

Sirius grimaced. 'So maybe I was a little optimistic. I've still got…' He did a swift mental calculation. 'Seven hours and fifty-two minutes until I need to have it done. Can I please get back to it now?'

'Not unless you promise me that we're going to forget about Drommie watch,' James said stubbornly.

'But the shoes!' Sirius protested. 'And the bit about winnings… Drommie doesn't bet on the winged horses. What was all that about?'

'If I had to guess I'd say… something _dead boring_!' James scoffed. 'I'm tired of chasing your female relations around the castle. Either you promise we're done with this, or I keep you busy all night and you're left with nothing to give Sprout in the morning.'

Sirius scowled. Clearly he did not take to the idea of being blackmailed by his closest friend. 'All right,' he muttered finally. 'You win. No more Drommie watch. She's obviously out of her mind, anyhow.'

After that the dormitory grew quiet, and Remus got into bed to disrobe. When he fell asleep, sometime around two, Sirius's lamp was still burning and the frenetic scratching of his quill could still be heard.

_~discidium~_

Two weeks later, Sirius snagged Remus's elbow as the Gryffindor class made their way across the dewy lawns to Greenhouse One.

'Hey,' he said quietly, looking furtively about. 'You're not going to disappear today, are you?'

'No,' Remus said, mildly surprised. 'Why should I?'

'Well, it's been a few weeks since… you know, the last time. I just… I wondered, that's all.' Sirius shuffled uncomfortably. 'I'll come with you if you want to talk to McGonagall about it.'

'I don't,' said Remus. He was surprised at how easy it was to say the words firmly; his voice scarcely trembled at all. Emboldened, he added; 'I have to go when it's time. My… my mother, she needs me.'

Sirius swallowed. 'But you're only a kid,' he protested feebly.

Remus squared his shoulders. 'I'm twelve now,' he said, a little indignant.

The taller boy snorted softly. 'Yeah, you sure are,' he said.

'Come along, hurry up!' Professor Sprout called. Her arms were filled with rolls of parchment, many of them sporting grubby fingerprints. 'I spent my whole weekend holed up in my office, and I've got your term projects to give back. Now do make nice orderly rows, and come up when I call your name.' She shifted the pile precariously and plucked up the first one. 'Tryphosa MacGreggor.'

All things considered, the distribution of the graded assignments proceeded in an orderly fashion. There was a small incident when Elsie Appleby tripped on her way to collect her paper and very nearly knocked down Professor Sprout, and somehow Aeolus Andrews and Zara Carr wound up with one another's projects. In the end, however, everyone had his or her own parchment, and Professor Sprout indicated that they might look at their grades.

James glanced at his with a satisfied smirk. Peter looked disappointed but not remotely surprised. Remus unrolled his parchment slowly, gnawing his lip in apprehension as he noticed several comments in red ink scrawled in the margins. His nerves were set at ease, however, when he reached the top and saw his grade. He grinned, and upon studying the notations more carefully realized that they were largely favourable remarks. He felt the satisfaction of a job well and thoroughly done.

'I don't believe it!' Beside him, Sirius was sputtering helplessly. 'I don't… what did you get?'

He grabbed at Remus's paper, making a strangled noise. 'Potter?'

'Full marks,' James said smugly. 'And I'll bet I put in half the time that you did, Remus. And maybe a quarter of the references.'

'I passed,' Peter said, sounding at once sheepish and rather pleased by his modest accomplishment.

'_You_ passed?' Sirius groaned. He was staring at his parchment now as if he expected it to vanish in a puff of smoke. He raised his hand. 'Professor?' he yelped. 'Professor, there must be some mistake.'

'What's that, Mr Black?' Professor Sprout ambled over and glanced at the roll in his hand. 'Oh, no mistake, I'm afraid. You really didn't put much effort into it, did you?'

'I…' Sirius stammered. 'But this class is _easy_!'

'Well, perhaps you took that too much for granted. All you cited in your book list was _1001 Herbs and Fungi_ and that Lovegood article about parsley and gnomes. And as you didn't even mention parsley—' She glanced smilingly at Remus. '—I have to wonder why you troubled to list it.'

'But…'

'At least three outside resources, and a reasonable rationale for every plant you included; that's what the instructions were,' Sprout said cheerfully. 'You just stuck Gillyweed in there without one word about how it might be useful around the house – and you didn't bother to mention any special irrigation. That's just shoddy work. But don't worry, Black; you can make up some of the grade on your exam.'

'But…'

'Next time don't take your grade for granted,' said the professor. 'That's the lesson to take from this.' She patted Sirius's arm consolingly. 'Live a little, learn a lot. Come on now, chaps. Projects away and let's get to work. Only a few weeks left, and a lot of you need to practice your potting techniques.'

_~discidium~_

Sirius was still fuming when they sat down in History of Magic.

'I can't believe it!' he said. 'How did Peter – _Peter_ – get a better mark than me?' He whirled on the plump little boy. 'How did you get a better mark than me?'

'It's only a guess,' said James; 'but I think maybe he didn't dash it off the night before, in between speculations about his cousin's study partners.'

'Hmph. Three outside resources. I'll give her three outside resources,' Sirius grumbled. His eyes glinted maliciously. 'You know, Sprout's next on our list of teachers to prank.'

'She's not,' James said. 'We did Arachne last, smearing treacle on her telescope lenses. It's Alfstin next, and then Sprout last.'

Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 'Uh… about that,' he mumbled. 'I was thinking maybe… could we leave Alfstin 'til September?'

'September?' James echoed. 'But we'll be in second year! What ever happened to reverse alphabetical order?'

'I just… I think it'd be better in September,' Sirius said.

James regarded him sceptically.

'All right, so I'm trying to keep my nose clean!' Sirius said. 'If we pull something on Alfstin my parents are bound to hear about it, and I'd really like to see you lot sometime this summer. Could we just maybe leave him for now?'

'I don't see why not,' Remus said, daring to voice his opinion. He held his breath as he waited to see how the others would respond.

'September?' James said gloomily.

'Consider it a personal favour to me,' said Sirius. 'We've already established that McGonagall doesn't rat people out, and I doubt Sprout would. What I've got planned for her… she's daft enough to find it funny. Alfstin can wait, can't he? He's not going anywhere.'

In the end, James agreed, but it was obvious that he was disappointed. Nevertheless he threw himself into the effort of executing Sirius's plan for Professor Sprout. It was quite a good plan, Remus thought; harmless and interesting and, as Sirius said, likely to amuse their good-natured young teacher. He found himself swept along in the furor of preparations, delighted by the intricacies of Sirius Black's plan. Thus occupied, he found it almost possible to forget the waxing gibbous moon that hung low beyond the dormitory windows every afternoon, taunting him with promises of torment.


	29. In the Frame

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: In the Frame**

Stumbling along beside Madam Pomfrey and trying to ignore the grinding ache in his hips as he did so, Remus did not notice that the matron had stopped until his arm jerked backward. He halted, forcing himself to raise his throbbing head to look at her.

She was wearing a peculiar expression; surprise and amusement and consternation all mingled together. 'What in the name of all that's good and holy…' she mumbled.

Remus did not have to follow her gaze to know what she was seeing, but he did anyhow. The three greenhouses were not reflecting the late afternoon light as they usually did, in a uniform golden orange. Instead, the sinking sun illuminated a vast array of colours. The small square panes of glass that comprised the walls and the roofs had been meticulously transfigured, their hue and tint altered so that they formed stained-glass pictures. Greenhouse One sported an enormous pumpkin wearing a floppy witch's hat. Greenhouse Two had a somewhat cubist rendition of a Venemous Tentacula. On Greenhouse Three, which was the largest, the plump, pretty face of Professor Sprout grinned out across the grounds. The six panes that comprised her left eye were charmed so that their colour changed at intervals, giving the impression that she was winking impishly.

It had taken them all week to work out how to do it. Remus had done a great deal of the colour-work, changing the first square of each hue so that the others could copy it. Peter had plotted out the pictures themselves on a grid beforehand, using a packet of crayons borrowed from Elsie. James and Sirius had poured their energy into finding a charm that would make it more difficult for the staff to reverse their efforts. As the pictures had stood all night and through the whole day, they had obviously succeeded.

'Remus!' Madam Pomfrey said, delighted wonder in her voice. 'You're smiling.'

He was, and despite the ache in his jaw he could not help it. He surveyed their handiwork – the product of a united group of mischief makers, a group of which he was an undeniably useful part – and he was filled with pride and delight. The memory of executing Sirius's plan was still fresh. On Saturday they had crept out under cover of twilight and James had unlocked the greenhouse doors. Standing in the humid warmth amid the plants, they had gone about their labour by the light of Peter's wand. It had taken nearly four hours, even with the three of them working with ruthless efficiency.

As they made their way stealthily back to Gryffindor Tower, Remus had realized that it was far too much exertion for the night before a transformation. But oh, it had been worth it for the dizzying sense of camaraderie, the joy that came from pursuing a common goal! Then there had been the unveiling the next morning, when he had stood with James and Sirius and Peter amid a crowd of laughing students while Professor Sprout took in their handiwork and bowed amiably to the assembled onlookers. Headmaster Dumbledore had looked on with merriment in his blue eyes, and even Professor McGonagall had seemed dangerously close to showing signs of amusement.

'It's funny, Madam, isn't it?' he asked softly. The caricature of the Herbology professor was still winking tirelessly. By the time he was abroad again, the glass would be set right and their achievement forgotten by the masses – but Remus rather thought he would cherish this moment forever, hoarded in his tiny cache of happy memories.

'It's certainly imaginative,' the matron said. She did so with restraint, but he thought he could hear the mirth in her voice. 'I wonder who on earth managed it.'

Remus tried to school his features. No one knew that he and his friends had been behind the prank, and he was anxious to keep it that way. James and Sirius rather wanted to take credit, but Remus preferred the safety of anonymity. It was a harmless joke, but he was quite certain it contravened several school rules at least. He had managed nine months at Hogwarts without winding up in detention, and considering his choice of friends that was something of a minor miracle.

Madam Pomfrey was watching him again, her eyes pensive. 'Whoever it was, bless their naughty little hearts,' she said fondly. 'I've never seen you smile before a full moon.'

His grin vanished as reality took hold once more. He hung his head. 'We ought to go, ma'am,' he said, gaze flitting to his long shadow on the grass. 'There isn't much time.'

It was the end of May, very nearly summertime. He had only a little more than six hours of moonlight to endure. As he descended into the dank tunnel and shuffled after Madam Pomfrey Remus tried to cling to that thought. The evening was warm, and the house still held some of the heat of the day, but even before he undressed Remus found himself shivering, quaking not with cold but with dread. He let the matron give him one of her swift, reassuring little hugs – his last human contact until he was himself once more human – and he made an effort to smile again as she left him. Alone now, he stripped and hunkered down in the corner to wait.

The pain began to come in spasming waves that shook his frail young body and robbed him of his last shreds of courage and dignity. He tried to scream as the anguish lanced through his spine and into his jaw and his mouth filled with blood as the fangs ripped through his gums. He had read once that wolves had forty-two teeth, and a child of twelve had only twenty-eight. That meant that fourteen new fangs tore into his mouth every month…

It was his last coherent thought before his mind deserted him, leaving what was left of the boy at the mercy of the wolf.

_~discidium~_

On Tuesday afternoon Madam Pomfrey came into the little isolation room off the main ward, frowning at her patient.

'That's quite enough schoolwork for today,' she said, bending down to collect the sheets of parchment that covered his knees. 'It's sleep that you need, and plenty of it.'

'Oh, no, Madam, please!' Remus exclaimed, dropping his quill so that he could clutch the little lap desk before she could pull it away. 'It isn't schoolwork, and I need to do it today.'

She looked at the chart he had been drawing up. 'That's a catalogue of charms the first years are meant to know, tabulated with the incantations, the wand movements and the desired effects. If it isn't schoolwork I don't know what is.'

'It's not,' Remus said, his pallid cheeks burning a little with embarrassment. 'It's… it's a birthday present.'

Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms over the bib of her apron. 'Remus, I have heard many strange excuses over the years, but if that is a birthday present I'll eat my cap. I've said over and over again that you mustn't get yourself worked up into a panic over exams, or you'll be in no fit state to sit them. Now give me that, and—'

'No, you don't understand,' Remus told her. 'It really is a birthday present. It's for Peter. He's twelve today, and I'm missing it, but I've got to have something to give him when I see him tomorrow, and I gave all my pocket money to Sirius when we went in together on a gift for James, and I don't think it was nearly half of what he spent, but it was everything I had and…' His voice trailed off, the flood of words leaving him breathless and exhausted.

The matron gave him a small, puzzled smile. 'A study chart? For a birthday gift?'

Remus nodded. 'It's… it's all I could think of to make in here,' he confessed. 'And he probably won't like it, but at least it's useful.'

'I'm sure he'll appreciate it very much,' declared Madam Pomfrey, wresting the lap desk from him at last and setting it on the chair beside the bed. 'But you can finish it later. You're worn to a shadow and you need your rest.'

She put a hand behind his shoulders, easing him forward so that she could rearrange the pillows. Remus let himself be lowered into a supine position, and curled onto his side as she drew the blankets over him. Her palm settled soothingly in the middle of his back. 'Sleep,' she whispered, and as if the word were an incantation he found himself slipping gently away.

_~discidium~_

The others were still in the dormitory when Remus returned from the hospital wing early Wednesday morning. James and Peter greeted him with the usual questions about his mother, and Remus offered the customary answers. He gave Peter his gift, rolled neatly and tied with a scrap of red ribbon that Madam Pomfrey had found for him. Peter was perplexed at first, and then very grateful; like Remus he was beginning to get rather anxious about exams, and he was glad of any help.

While on the topic of birthdays, of course, Peter wanted to show off his other presents. His particular favourite was a pair of model dragons that flew around in circles spewing fire at one another. Remus admired the toys enthusiastically, which delighted Peter to no end. Remus surmised that the other two had not shown a great deal of interest. James briefed him on the last two days' lessons, and Remus spent about twenty minutes trying to organize his schoolwork for the remainder of the week. Not until it was time to descend for breakfast did he realize that Sirius had not yet said one word to him.

'Hold up,' Sirius whispered, catching Remus by the sleeve as the others left the common room. The two first years waited in silence as the tower emptied around them. Remus tried not to meet his friend's eyes, excruciatingly aware of the fact that Sirius was studying his face intently – looking, no doubt, for the bruises he had been spared this month.

When at last they were alone, Sirius spoke. 'You didn't tell me you were going,' he said.

'No,' Remus murmured.

'Why not?'

For once, the truth would serve him. 'I thought that you would try to stop me,' he admitted.

Sirius's eyes hardened. 'I would've done,' he said forcefully. He gnawed his lower lip before adding hesitantly; 'You don't look so badly off this time.'

'I'm fine,' Remus said. 'Really, there's nothing to worry about.'

'And your mum?' Sirius chaffed his hand against his neck. 'How is she?'

'As well as ever,' Remus equivocated. 'Please, Sirius, don't fret so.'

'James was wondering again,' said Sirius. 'I haven't told him; I promise. But I think we should. I mean, I think you should. You can trust him.'

'It isn't as simple as that,' Remus murmured. 'I thought you'd understand.'

Sirius sighed. 'I guess I do at that,' he mumbled. Then he examined his friend again shook his head. 'Merlin's beard, you look tired,' he said. 'D'you walk all the way to Cornwall or something?'

Remus forced a smile at the feeble attempt at a joke. 'No,' he said; 'I somersault. It's not so bad going there, as it's chiefly downhill. Coming back is a bit of a trick, though.'

A barking chuckle sprang from Sirius's lips, surprising them both. 'That's the spirit,' he said bracingly. 'Let's go get something to eat, eh?'

_~discidium~_

That afternoon, Professor Alfstin was in an especially foul mood. He prowled up and down the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, brandishing his yardstick like a sabre and bringing it down with a punctuating _crack_ on some unfortunate student's desk, whenever he felt that his words needed punctuating. After the first few blows, most of the students had acclimatized and only jumped when their own tables were struck, but Peter gasped and stiffened in his seat every single time. Remus rather thought he was going to exhaust himself with the outpouring of nervous energy.

They were reviewing Disarming Charms yet again, in a last-ditch effort to prepare for the practical portion of their exam. Remus was glad of the subject matter, for he was quite confident in his grasp of the spell in question, and that enabled him to sit quietly and rest himself while the stalking and the ranting washed over the room like choppy waves on a weathered rock.

'Understand?' Alfstin said sharply, bringing down his stick in front of Betta MacFusty, who managed somehow to avoid flinching. 'Do _any_ of you little fools understand?'

No one said a word. Defence Against the Dark Arts was not a course where frank and open discussion was encouraged.

Alfstin sighed enormously. 'Don't just sit there with blank looks on your faces. You! Andrews! What is the advantage of disarming your opponent as promptly as possible?'

The twins looked at one another, clearly uncertain which Andrews he meant.

'You remove her ability to hex you, Professor?' said Athena.

'You throw him off guard so you can get in a curse?' tried Aeolus.

'Precisely,' said Alfstin, not acknowledging which answer he preferred. 'But it's important to remember that disarming is only a temporary measure. Do not assume for a moment that an attacker is harmless simply because he is not armed. He might have another wand on his person. He might be capable of performing powerful wandless magic. Or he might simply reach out and throttle you.' He surveyed the class disdainfully. 'None of you would be especially difficult to throttle.'

Elsie Appleby made a tiny, horrified noise at this prospect.

'Nevertheless, _Expelliarmus_ has its uses, and it behoves you all to familiarize yourself with its use. Last week I was appalled to see how few of you were able to control this simple spell. Let us hope you have all been practicing.'

He moved up to stand beside his desk and laid down the yardstick at last. 'Get those desks over against the wall and clear some floor space,' he commanded. 'Not like that!' he snapped at Tryphaena MacGregor as she started to drag her table. 'What have you got a wand for, you silly creature?'

This edict was not particularly well thought-out. Only about half the class were proficient at Levitation Charms – James and Sirius among them. The remaining half were divided into those who could manage a sort of jerky, bouncing motion that did eventually get the object where it was meant to be; those whose spells went wildly out of control, sending desks toppling or crashing or hurtling up towards the ceiling; and Peter Pettigrew, who couldn't manage to lift his table at all.

'What is this?' Alfstin bellowed, raising his voice to be heard over the chaos. 'Can't you even manage a simple charm? Stunted, mewling, _pointless _first years! What are you good for? What are you _here _for? WANDS AWAY!' he hollered, and several desks fell heavily to the ground as the students obeyed.

'That's enough!' roared the professor. 'Children. What am I supposed to do with _children_? Everybody into the middle of the room. Form two orderly lines facing one another – _if_ you can manage it. _Enthalpos_!' He flicked his wand and immediately the disordered desks snapped into a neat arrangement along one side of the room.

More daunted by this show of power than they had been by all the shouting, the Gryffindors scrambled into two lines. As there were thirty-one of them, someone was bound to be left without a partner, and Remus realized with a squirm of delight that as he had _three_ friends he didn't need to worry that it would be him.

Sirius and James stood next to one another, with Remus and Peter across from them. The unlucky odd one was Aeolus Andrews, who had somehow managed to get separated from his sister. He stood at the end of the longer line, looking mildly annoyed.

James was on his toes, whispering in Sirius's ear. Sirius glared at him and shook his head curtly. Remus shot the other boys a questioning glance, but before James could make any attempt to fill him in Alfstin strode down between the two rows, inspecting the students like foot soldiers.

'Stand up straight!' he snapped. 'Feet shoulder width apart, heels aligned. Don't look down! Try to behave a little less like infants!'

Lily Evans raised her hand. Alfstin whirled on her. '_What?_'

She shied away instinctively, but swiftly composed herself into an attitude of reproach. 'I don't think you ought to be hollering at us like that, sir,' she said primly.

'Oh, indeed?' Alfstin sneered. 'Well, Miss Evans, I disagree! I've never seen such a pathetic waste of space as this class, and if I don't tell you that who will?'

'Actually, she's right,' said Athena Andrews, who ordinarily was something of a flatterer. 'I really don't think the school Governors would like to hear how we're being treated. Or Professor Dumbledore for that matter.

Alfstin's face contorted in fury. The deep crevices of age made him look rather like a dried apple; a mass of scrunched wrinkles stained an unhealthy brownish-red. He descended upon the granddaughter of the Minister for Magic. 'How _dare _you presume to—'

The rest of his sentence came out in a deep, guttural croak. Alfstin paused, puzzled and irate. He tried to speak again. Again came the sound, like the mating call of a geriatric frog. Alfstin tried a third time, with the same result. This time several students tittered.

Remus looked across at James and Sirius. James was trying very hard not to laugh, but Sirius looked absolutely wretched. He had his hand rammed into his pocket and he was looking everywhere but at the teacher.

Alfstin drew his wand and jabbed it at his throat. He eyed the class with blazing eyes as he growled, '_Who did that?_'

No one answered.

'I ask again,' said Alfstin; 'and yet necessarily louder; WHO DID THAT?'

Peter and Elsie both cringed. Charlotte White looked rather ill. James was beginning to go a little purple about the lips with the effort of containing his laughter.

'You will stand here,' Alfstin said, stalking down the length of the room with his head swinging side to side like a serpent; 'until someone confesses. We will wait all night if we have to—_CRRROAK_!'

This time Remus knew for certain that the culprit was not James. His hands were balled into fists, and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. Sirius still had his hands in his pockets, and he was looking studiously away.

Again Alfstin reversed the spell. 'Very well,' he said. 'Twenty points from Gryffindor. If the guilty party does not confess I will make it fifty.'

James was no longer laughing. He was looking pointedly at Sirius, whose eyes were still roaming wildly. James elbowed him in the ribs and Sirius shot him a furious glance.

'Fifty points from Gryffindor,' said Alfstin. 'Another minute, and all of you will be in detention.'

Now James looked like he rather wanted to hit Sirius. The taller boy was avoiding his eyes. Remus understood. Sirius didn't want to confess – could not confess – because word of it would surely get back to his family. That would mean another Howler from his mother, another agonizing month of humiliation at the hands of the Slytherins, and indeed, who could say what else? He had also mentioned a desire to see the other boys over the summer; if he acted out now he would surely not be allowed that privilege. Remus, on the other hand, had a clean record and parents who would understand once he explained. He raised his hand.

'It was I, Professor,' he said softly. 'I did it.'

'You did not!' James yelped, stamping his foot and glaring at Sirius. 'Professor, it was me. I didn't like you shouting at Evans after she told you how you shouldn't be shouting. And you _shouldn't_ be shouting. And Andrews is right, and all. Our parents didn't send us to Hogwarts to be treated like a team of ditch-digging Squibs. _My_ father certainly wouldn't approve of your behaviour, I can tell you that much.'

Alfstin looked positively apoplectic. He bore down on James, and Sirius took half a step away from his friend. 'Just who do you think you are, Potter? You—'

'Exactly,' James said, thrusting out his chin. 'And it wouldn't hurt you to remember it, either.'

'Detention,' Alfstin said, swiftly and curtly as if it was the only thing he could think to say. 'Tomorrow morning at six o'clock at the front doors of the castle.' He turned on Remus. 'And you. Detention.'

'He didn't do anything!' James exclaimed. 'I told you; it was me!'

'He lied, Potter,' said Alfstin coldly. 'It's a filthy habit and exceedingly hard to break. We'll see what we can do about it.'

Remus felt the blood draining from his face at those scathing words. He _had_ lied, though he had done so to protect his friend. Yet that was what werewolves did; everyone said so. They told falsehoods. They twisted the truth. Lying half-breeds, creatures of deceit and Darkness. He felt the self-confidence that had sprung from the choice to help Sirius ebbing away, leaving him feeling chilled and scarcely human.

Professor Alfstin strode to the front of the classroom and sat down with a flourish of his robes. 'As for the rest of you; since obviously you cannot be trusted to use your wands, we will not be doing a practical component in today's lesson. Or, indeed, in any lesson for the foreseeable future. Move the desks back into place – _without_ magic – and copy out page 78 of your textbook.'

There were small noises of discontent throughout the room, but no one dared to voice a real complaint. As the banging and scraping of tables leant enough cover for words, Sirius moved to clutch at James's sleeve.

'James, you know that I—'

'_Coward_,' James hissed.

Sirius stiffened. 'But I didn't—'

'The only reason – the _only_ reason I didn't rat on you is because I'm not a nark,' growled James. 'Don't you dare speak to me again until you're ready to beg forgiveness from Remus.'

He turned his back, deaf to Sirius as the other boy whispered his name. Ashamed to be caught staring, Remus hurriedly took hold of a desk and began to drag it.

'Let me do that, it's easier for me,' Sirius said, grabbing the other side. He did not move the table, however, but leaned forward over it instead. His eyes were filled with hurt and worry. 'Remus,' he pleaded; 'you have to believe me. It wasn't me.'

'Then why did you look so guilty?' Remus asked softly.

He meant it as an earnest question, but Sirius took it for an accusation. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw, and suddenly his grey eyes were cold as slate. 'Fine,' he said. 'Fine.'

Wrathfully he lifted the desk and carried it to its place. He looked over his shoulder and said with wavering disdain; 'You'll have to fetch your own chair.'

~_discidium~_

That night at supper, James sat near the very head of the table, almost among the prefects. Sirius took a place at the foot, as near the door as he could manage. Remus and Peter, left to their own devices, took up their usual spot near the middle. When they returned to the dormitory a hostile silence reigned. James dressed for bed with militant precision, and Sirius stomped off to wash without saying a word to anyone. Peter went to sit on his bed, fiddling with his chessmen and trying not to look too nervous. Remus was afraid to leave James alone when Sirius might come back at any moment, so instead of getting onto the bed to change he settled for removing his belt and shoes, and swapping his socks for his slippers.

James got into bed but did not close his hangings. Sirius came back into the room and dug out his Potions textbook, settling on top of his covers to read.

'Turn off that lamp,' James snapped. 'Some of us have to be up at six to serve _your _detention.'

Sirius glared at him. 'You haven't even asked if I'm guilty!' he cried, sounding rather defensive.

'Do I need to?' James sneered. 'All that talk about not wanting to provoke him, when all the time you meant that you did want to provoke him – you just weren't man enough to get caught doing it.'

'Damn you, Potter, I _didn't_ do it!' cried Sirius, angry now. 'I told you we should wait until September; why would I turn around and hex him? I may be dunce of the month in Herbology, but I'm clever enough not to go around whacking hornets' nests, you know.'

James's expression softened marginally. 'Well, if you didn't, who did?' He turned to Remus. 'It wasn't actually you, was it?'

Remus shook his head. 'I thought it was Sirius.' He coloured deeply, and mumbled apologetically; 'You looked so miserably uncomfortable.'

'I was!' Sirius yelped. 'I knew we'd be the prime suspects. Alfstin's coming unstuck at the corners. I've been saying it for months, ever since we found out he's been hearing voices.'

'You berk, that was _us_!' James said, but he was laughing now. Abruptly he sobered. 'So you think that someone else in Gryffindor took the opportunity to hex him, knowing we'd get the blame.'

Sirius nodded. 'And it worked out better than they thought when Remus decided to reach right out and _take_ the blame.' He smiled graciously at the younger boy. 'Thanks, mate,' he said. 'I appreciate the sentiment.'

The warm glow of acceptance superseded, at least for a moment, his apprehension about his impending punishment. 'Now what do we do?' he asked.

'Serve our detention, first of all,' James said. 'And then find out who tried to put us in the frame. Hard to believe a Gryffindor could be that backstabbing.'

'Is there anything I can do to help?' Peter asked uneasily. He had been silent since returning to the dormitory, but now apparently satisfied that Sirius and James were not about to go for one another's throats he clearly felt obligated to offer.

James shook his head. 'Not tonight,' he said. 'But keep your ear to the ground, all right? If anybody's bragging about pulling one over on Alfstin – or on _us_ – you report it to me or Sirius immediately, understood?'

'Understood,' Peter said firmly.

'Fine. We really ought to get some sleep, though,' James said, tugging his drapes closed. 'Six o'clock in the bleeding morning,' he muttered.

'I'm sorry, Remus,' Sirius said. 'You know I'd never let you take the fall for me, don't you?'

Remus nodded. 'I just thought… I thought my parents might be more understanding than yours,' he tried to explain.

He wished he hadn't said it; Sirius looked half sick with remorse. He raised his wand to extinguish the light, and Remus saw that his hand was trembling. 'G'night,' he said huskily.

Alone in the dark, Remus groped for his blankets. Not troubling with his night things, he crawled into bed with his school robes on. So soon after his transformation it was blessedly easy to fall asleep.

_~discidium~_

It was still dark when James roused him. Remus was very glad that he didn't have to dress. His body was stiff and sore and he didn't think he would have had the strength to wrestle with his robes in his bed. He smoothed his rumpled garments as best he could, and knelt to put on his shoes.

'Don't wear those,' James hissed. 'Rumour has it when you've got detention with Alfstin it's plimsolls you want.' He was rummaging in the very bottom of his trunk where he kept his Muggle things. He produced a pair of blue canvas shoes with thick rubber soles. He grinned.

Remus shook his head. 'I haven't any plimsolls,' he whispered. He had owned a pair once, when he was about eight, but as he had never done much running or playing out of doors it had seemed a waste of money to replace them when they grew too small. His father always bought him sturdy, sensible leather shoes of wizarding manufacture, and the pair he had received for Christmas was no different.

'You needn't be nervous,' James said, coming around to nudge him with an affable elbow. 'Detention isn't so bad. It'll be over in an hour or two, and then all that's left is explaining to the parents. I'll write and tell yours what happened, if you want. It's not as though you did anything wrong.'

'I lied,' Remus said, remembering the teacher's words from the day before. What Alfstin did not know was that he lied every day. It was a lie to say that his mother was ill. It was a lie to say that he went home to see her. It was a lie to let Sirius believe that Father was beating him. His whole life at Hogwarts was built upon lies, and there was a part of him that was glad he was finally being punished for it. Perhaps this detention would repay a small portion of his cosmic debt, and delay a little longer the consequences of his larger falsehoods.

Hanging his head like a highwayman bound for the gallows, Remus managed somehow to struggle to his feet and follow James as the latter strode out of the dormitory.

They reached the Entrance Hall, but no one was there. James looked around and then checked his wristwatch. 'Five to six,' he said. 'Maybe he's late.'

'You don't think he wants us outside, do you?' Remus murmured, unable to look the other boy in the eye. What would James say, he wondered, on the awful day when the bastion of lies collapsed? If he could be so angry with Sirius, who was easily his best friend, over something Sirius himself swore he had not done, what would he do to Remus, the quiet little hanger-on who had deceived him for so long?

'Can't think why he would,' James said, shrugging. He strolled to the foot of the great marble staircase, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking on the stone floor.

'Then clearly you lack imagination as well as common sense.' A sour voice echoed to the vaulted ceiling. Professor Alfstin appeared at the top of the stairs, descending with a stiff-kneed gait as he clung to the banister for support. His weathered old face was creased into a scowl. 'Out!' he commanded, pointing at the front doors.

James hauled one door open and nodded at Remus to indicate that he should go first. Remus obeyed, stepping out into the early morning chill. Dawn was breaking over the mountains, and the grounds were bathed in a dilute rosy light. As Alfstin closed the castle door, Remus wondered uneasily what sort of task they would be set at this hour of the morning.

'Now I realize,' the wizard was grousing; 'that many of your professors subscribe to the newfangled notion that menial work is the path to a disciplined mind. Scrubbing and sweeping and dusting, fetching and carrying like a Squib. I say nonsense! Menial work leads to stooped shoulders, crooked spines, and a lack of proper self-respect.' He glared at Remus. 'And you haven't got enough of that as it is, or you wouldn't look like a dog about to be whipped.'

'Yes, sir,' Remus whispered. He knew that he ought to raise his head and square his shoulders, for that was what the teacher wanted. But the eerie accuracy of the simile was too much for his fragile and overtired mind, and he shrunk further in upon himself.

'I've got enough self-respect for both of us,' James said brazenly; 'so why don't you try your insults on me?'

'No,' Alfstin said, shaking his head so that his yellowing teeth creaked against one another. 'What you have, Potter, is arrogance. And arrogance calls for taking down a peg or two. Fortunately, one punishment will serve the both of you quite nicely.'

He stepped down onto the grass and flicked his want twice. Two glowing ovals appeared on the ground, one nested about five feet inside the other. The end result struck Remus as vaguely familiar, and he groped without success for a comparable image.

Fortunately, James was not so stupid. 'A racing circuit?' he asked, looking sceptical.

Alfstin did not exactly smile, but there was definitely an air of satisfaction about him as he nodded. 'Precisely. I want you both to run. Running is beneficial to the mind and the body. Healthy limbs breed healthy thoughts, and a tired body is less prone to insolence. As I said, that ought to take care of both of your deficiencies of character.'

With a flourish of his wand he conjured a wing-backed chair, and he sat down upon it, clutching the armrests with wizened hands. 'Hurry up, now; run.'

Remus pressed his lips together, fighting a wave of anxiety. He wasn't at all certain that he would be able to run. What he did know is that Madam Pomfrey would scold him roundly for it, so soon after the full moon. Two days ago she had reproached him for sitting up in bed to write out list of charms. She would never approve of this.

Yet what could he do? He had lied to a teacher and he had been found out, and now he must be punished. Beside him, James was looking thoughtful.

'How many rounds, Professor?' he asked.

'As many as it takes to sweat out your insolence, and twice that if you do not start immediately,' said Alfstin sourly. 'Do not make me repeat myself again.'

James offered Remus an encouraging smile and nodded at the grassy track. Drawing in a deep breath, Remus followed his friend as James broke into an easy jog. It wasn't so bad, he realized. Certainly his knees were a little stiff, but he was breathing steadily and almost keeping pace with James. Surely he could manage this for as long as he had to.


	30. Methods of Discipline

**Chapter Thirty: Methods of Discipline **

After his sixth round of the course, Remus was beginning to rethink his original assessment. He was losing ground; James was half a lap ahead of him already. His heavy shoes slipped and slid on the wet grass. Although his knees had loosened up, every step sent a jolting ache from his ankle to his hip. His breathing was shallow now, and more laboured. He was neither sturdy nor athletic at the best of times. Beneath the fat waning moon that was now setting beyond the Quidditch pitch, he had no strength to squander.

'I said _run_!' Alfstin barked. 'This is a punishment, not a stroll through an ornamental garden! Feeble, pampered little milksops. Pick up those feet!'

James doubled his pace and Remus struggled to do the same. By the end of another lap his heart was hammering in his chest.

'Faster!' roared the professor. 'Keep moving! You'll never catch a suspect at that pace! Double quick, now!'

'You're fine,' James hissed as he came around behind Remus, passing him by a full lap. 'Just keep going. He's not even watching us; if you just keep moving he'll get sick of it eventually.'

He dashed on ahead, and Remus drew in a ragged breath as he tried to do as his friend said. He managed for a few minutes, but his air was coming in short, desperate pants now and a sharp pain was starting in his side. He didn't know if it was just a stitch, or if the gnarled scar in his flank was stretching and twisting. James passed him again. His feet now felt severed from the rest of his body, and there were black spots in his vision.

The professor was shouting again, egging them on with a litany of unintelligible insults. Remus set his teeth and tried to breathe through his nose. This only intensified the mounting pain in his chest. His head was spinning and he could feel his pulse raging behind his eyes. Something brushed past him; James again, just a mass of flying limbs and black school robes. A moment later the dark blur doubled back and someone grabbed his elbow.

'C'mon, Remus, just lean on me,' a familiar voice urged. Remus tried to bring the face into focus, but all that he could see were two round discs of glass glinting in the glow of the sunrise. His back was a pulsing mass of pain and heat, but the air he drew in through his teeth was bitterly cold. It shrivelled his lungs and he knew that he was going to faint.

They hadn't been given permission to halt, but Remus could run no farther. His legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled into the grass. His right hand clawed at the turf. Someone was still holding his left arm. James, he thought vaguely, as if recalling something from another lifetime. He was still struggling for air, but it was as if someone had put a barrel hoop around his chest and was slowly shrinking it. He yanked his elbow away from the fingers that held it and clutched at his right flank, where the knot of pain was growing.

'Professor, I think we need to stop.' It was a familiar voice and Remus tried to place it, but all he could focus on was the next anguished breath. 'Remus can't go on like this.'

'You'll stop when I tell you to, Potter, and not before,' sneered someone who seemed very far away. 'Keep running or I promise you will regret it.'

'I'll run all morning if I have to,' said the other voice, proud and firm; 'but you can't make Remus go on. He's not strong enough.'

Remus knew that he ought to feel ashamed of his weakness, but he could not find the energy even for that. Every last shred of stamina he possessed was bent on dragging in the next breath. He could not even clutch at his burning side anymore; his left hand joined the right in the grass, its fingers curled so that his knuckles dug into the earth.

'We'll see about that,' the second voice said coldly. 'I think that given the proper motivation he'll find the strength, don't you?'

A paw, Remus thought with a pang of despair. Contorted like that, his left hand felt like a paw. The morning dew was soaking through his robes to wet his knees. He wanted to stand, or even to sit, but he could not move. He crouched there like an animal, unable to get air.

'W-what are you doing?' The first voice wavered now, nervous. 'Hey! Put that away! You can't – you _can't _use magic on a student!'

There was a noise, far away, like the slamming of a door. But no, that wasn't right. They were out of doors; there were no doors here… If only he could think. If only he could _breathe_.

'No? How fortunate then that I was not intending to.'

Remus drew in the first breath in an eternity that actually reached his lungs, and he was able to identify the speaker; Professor Alfstin. He should have known that all along, he thought angrily. Detention. His first detention. What would Professor Dumbledore think?

'If you're not intending to, then put it away,' James said warily.

'I don't think so,' the professor cooed. 'We'll see if the pallid little beast is _strong enough_ to sit there like a mongrel while his shoes are biting him.'

'_No_!' The exclamation was very loud, imperious, fearless.

'What?' Alfstin sputtered vitriolically. 'You wouldn't dare…'

'Oh, I'd dare, all right, and I reckon I'd come out ahead, too,' James said boldly. 'I'm young and I'm quick and I've been practicing, whereas I reckon you're just a superannuated old bully who goes about picking off the ones who can't stand up to you.'

Remus blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. What was going on? He had to know what was going on. It wasn't right for James to get himself hurt defending someone without even the courage to be honest. It wasn't right for Remus to lie there when his friend was putting himself in danger on his behalf.

'You arrogant, impudent, _recalcitrant_ brat!' roared the teacher. 'I'll teach you to stick your wand where it doesn't belong—'

'Aurelius!' a stern female voice exclaimed. There was that sound again; a door slamming shut. The front door of the castle, Remus realized distantly. 'What is the meaning of this?'

'I'm disciplining a student,' said Alfstin, but he sounded defensive now.

'Not with that, I hope. Potter, do put your wand away; the situation is under control now.' It was Professor McGonagall, always just and sensible. Remus felt a frigid flood of relief.

Someone was gripping his shoulders, leaning in to study his face. Remus tried to focus, but his eyes were still swimming with blotches.

'Professor!' James called. Remus could feel the force of the other boy's breath in his cold, damp hair, and so knew that he was close at hand – but the sound itself seemed to come from the end of a very long tunnel stuffed with cotton wool. 'I think he needs help.'

'Aurelius, put your wand away and _sit down. _I'll deal with you when I've seen the damage you've caused.' There were footsteps and a shadow fell across Remus's hands. 'Move back a little and let me look,' McGonagall said. James shifted, but his hands remained on Remus's back. 'Lupin? Lupin, can you hear me?'

He nodded, and the motion brought a flood of dizzying nausea. He gulped at the air, trying to fight it.

'Don't move,' a vicious voice said, very far away. 'Don't you move or you'll regret it.'

'You!' Alfstin snapped. 'I know you! You're Arcturus Black's boy, aren't you?'

'Here, now. Try to drink a little. It will make you feel better,' said McGonagall. Remus felt lean fingers on his jaw, and then someone was holding something hard and smooth to his lips. A glass, he realized. Water. He drank desperately, almost inhaling it in his haste. The fluid burned in his throat and sat uneasily in his stomach. He coughed feebly, and he would have fallen, save that James was pressed against him, bolstering him up.

'No, I'm Orion Black's… I mean, that's right, sir. Orion Black. Arcturus's boy. Now don't you dare move.' Remus recognized the voice. Sirius, sounding wrathful and commanding.

'Here,' said Professor McGonagall distractedly, handing something to James. '_Aguamenti_. Let him drink a little every couple of minutes, and I – I shall return shortly.'

Remus felt his friend's grip shift to his arm. He was breathing steadily now, if a little desperately, and his vision was clearing by degrees.

'How long has this been going on?' McGonagall demanded. Her voice was far away now, and Remus was relieved that she was not speaking to him. 'Answer me, Aurelius: how long have these boys been out here?'

'They were told to be down at six,' Sirius growled. Remus wondered dimly what time it was now.

'Thank you, Mr Black, but this is really none of your affair. Why don't you go and see to your friend?' asked the Head of House, cool but reasonable.

Remus heard footfalls on the grass, and suddenly there was another body next to him, warm and comforting. A hand brushed the wet hair from his eyes. 'What did he do to him?' Sirius asked, his voice pained.

James didn't answer. He was listening, as Remus was, to the goings-on behind them.

'Aurelius, explain yourself!" Professor McGonagall ordered. Her voice was tightly controlled, but Remus could hear the fury in it.

'Detention,' Alfstin's voice replied. 'I was punishing them for hexing and lying and disobedience. Only one thing for it.'

'There is a list of approved punishments that may be assigned at Hogwarts, and nowhere on that list does it mention running children into the ground at daybreak!' The witch sounded furious now, her control loosening. 'You have been warned against treating the students like law enforcement recruits! You cannot shout at them like a drilling officer. You cannot pepper them with insults. You cannot set your seventh years two hundred press-ups for failing to produce a corporeal Patronus. And you certainly cannot take already delicate boys and subject them to this kind of mistreatment.'

'Mistreatment, bah!' scoffed Alfstin. 'Running builds character. Good for the lungs. Good for the heart. Good for the sense of self. Harmless. Ministry approved form of discipline.'

'For Hit Wizard candidates, you doddering dunderhead, not twelve year old boys!' There was a silence, during which McGonagall obviously regained her composure. 'The Headmaster will here of this,' she said, more levelly. 'Now get out of that chair and go back to your office before I lose my temper.'

Alfstin moved off, muttering something to himself about lax discipline and paper-pushers undermining his authority. The castle doors opened and closed again, this time with a resounding slam.

Remus was breathing more slowly now, and the dark spots in his vision were clearing. He was shivering, too, his sweaty robes clinging in the morning chill. But James was at his left hand and Sirius at his right, and they pressed him between them, their arms crossed over his back in an attempt to keep him warm. A moment later he felt firm hands on his shoulders as Professor McGonagall helped him rise. His knees shook and his ankles wobbled, but somehow he managed to keep his feet.

The other two scrambled after him as he hobbled with her to the chair that Alfstin had abandoned, and let himself be eased into it. He felt an anxious hand settling on each elbow. Sirius and James.

'There, now,' the Gryffindor Head of House said in a low and sensible voice. 'Put your head down between your knees and take a few deep breaths.'

Remus did as he was told, and something warm and scratchy was tucked over his shoulders. A Conjured blanket, still crackling with magic.

'He shouldn't have been in detention, Professor,' James said wrathfully. 'He didn't do anything wrong; he was just trying to take the fall for S… for somebody else.'

'I don't want to hear it, Potter,' said McGonagall. 'You are both excused from detention, and I will speak to the Headmaster about this myself. The man seems increasingly incapable of differentiating between past and present students – and I cannot say that would be especially problematic, save that his past students were of-age witches and wizards preparing for a highly dangerous career.' She sniffed disapprovingly. 'Lupin, are you well enough to walk? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?'

He raised his head slowly, considering the question. His legs were trembling, but his head was clearer now. He did not think he was in any danger of swooning. 'Yes, ma'am,' he said. 'No, ma'am. I mean, I can walk, ma'am and I don't need to go to the hospital wing.'

She scrutinized him carefully through her spectacles. 'Very well. The three of you may go back to your dormitory. I will make arrangements to have breakfast brought to you. You are all excused from your morning's lessons.' She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. 'Do not leave the Gryffindor Tower for the time being; Professor Dumbledore may have questions for you.'

As the doors to the castle closed yet again, Remus turned to look at Sirius. 'You went to fetch her,' he said, realization dawning. 'But how did you know what we were about?'

Sirius smiled wanly. 'Followed you,' he said. 'I've been up since five, waiting to go.' Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the Invisibility Cloak.

'Give me that!' James hissed, snatching it from him and glancing over his shoulder to reassure himself that McGonagall had not seen. He concealed the Cloak hastily in his robes. 'How'd you like it if I nicked things from your cupboard?'

'It's a good job I did,' said Sirius. 'I thought we agreed we'd look out for Remus. Why did you let Alfstin bully him into running?'

'What was I supposed to do? He's a teacher and I was in detention for hexing him!' James sighed and drew a hand over his face. 'Never mind. Let's not fight about it; let's just get inside.'

Gently and capably, they helped Remus to his feet. The walk back to Gryffindor Tower seemed to last an eternity, but it was nothing to the humiliation of being paraded through the common room – filled with students waiting to go down to breakfast – like an invalid. Remus kept his eyes on his wet shoes as James and Sirius steered him through the crowd.

'Is he all right?' an anxious voice asked.

'Shut up, Evans, and mind your own business,' Sirius muttered through gritted teeth.

Remus tried to tell his friend to leave her be, but with so many eyes upon him he could not find the courage to speak. He let himself be led up the stairs, and suddenly he was sitting on the edge of his bed and James was kneeling before him, untying his shoes.

'Are you sure you're all right?' he asked. 'We'll take you to the hospital wing if we have to.'

'Don't know if he could make it to the hospital wing,' Sirius murmured. His hand travelled up and down Remus's arm. 'I… I didn't want you suffering for me,' he said, choking a little on the words.

'I couldn't let you get into trouble with Alfstin,' Remus whispered. His head was swimming and he wanted nothing more than to lie down, but his robes were soaked and grass-stained. 'It's my own fault I'm not a better runner.'

'You did just fine!' James said forcefully. He was peeling off the socks now. 'He was bang out of order, and – Remus! Your _feet!_'

His feet. His _bare_ feet. Stifling a cry of horror, Remus yanked his legs up onto the bed, scrambling to cover his toes with the sodden hem of his robe. The scars, the dozens of tiny white scars – and the crescent of teeth on his right ankle, and the indentation on his left heel where he had torn out a noticeable chunk of flesh when he was six years old… He buried his head against his knees, trembling.

Four hands landed on his back, gentle and solicitous.

'Did I touch one?' James asked worriedly. 'I'm sorry. I've never seen such awful blisters. I knew we should've found you some plimsolls.'

'You should get out of those wet things,' Sirius said, gentle concern in his voice. 'D'you want us to help you, or—'

'I'll do it myself,' Remus said, too quickly and too violently. The other two drew back a pace, and suddenly he longed for the comforting presence of their warm palms. 'I c-can do it myself…'

One of his friends drew his bedcurtains while the other put a clean set of robes in his hands. Remus trembled as he struggled out of his soiled clothing and into the fresh. They had not given him any socks, so he tucked his legs under his robe before reaching to jerk open one of the hangings.

Instantly the others were drawn, James and Sirius flanking the bed. Each had a large tray of covered dishes, which they set on the mattress. Breakfast.

_~discidium~_

Peter awoke while they were eating, looking rather like he wanted to ask questions but was afraid to know the answers. Remus found that he had very little appetite, but he took a piece of toast and managed most of a dish of sliced peaches. The others made quick work of the rest of the food, and Peter reluctantly headed off to lessons. James and Sirius were quiet as they moved the breakfast things onto Remus's trunk. While they were occupied, Remus got down from the bed and hobbled to his cupboard, taking out a pair of socks.

He scarcely dared to do more than glance at his feet and the waxy white globules on the balls and the heels. Hurriedly he pulled on the socks, trying not to feel the daggers of pain as he disturbed the fragile blisters. He straightened his robes around his ankles and lay down, curling onto his side.

A little after ten there was a knock at the door.

'What do you want?' Sirius demanded, barring entry to whoever it was in the corridor.

'I'm here to look in on Remus Lupin.' It was a vaguely familiar voice. Edgar Bones. 'Professor McGonagall sent me.'

'He's resting,' Sirius said belligerently.

'I'll be brief.'

Sirius made a discontented noise deep in his throat, but after all he could hardly defy the Head Boy when he had the authority of a teacher behind him. The door was opened, and out of the corner of his eye Remus saw the tall young wizard approaching.

'Hallo there, Remus,' said Edgar in a brisk and friendly way. 'I hear you and your friend had a little run-in with everyone's favourite professor.'

Remus nodded, wishing that he could sit up but not trusting his aching head and uneasy stomach to endure it. The Head Boy put one hand on his brow while the other groped on his wrist for a pulse. 'I'm no Healer, but you seem well enough,' he said presently. 'Worn out, I imagine?'

Again Remus nodded. He could feel Sirius and James watching him from the corner of the room, and he prayed that Bones would not subject him to any well-intentioned indignities.

The Head Boy, however, smiled sympathetically. 'Did you hear what he did to the NEWTs class last month?' he asked. 'Two hundred press-ups.'

McGonagall had said something about that, too, but Remus had paid it no mind. Now, he remembered what the Hufflepuff Beater had said to Andromeda Black about her shoes. He let out a puff of air that was as near to a laugh as he could manage. Her shoes were even more impractical for such activity than his.

'You've done us all a service; I hope you know that,' said Edgar. 'McGonagall is fit to be tied. She spent the last two hours in Dumbledore's office, and now Alfstin's up there. It's about time he was brought to task. It's unconscionable, bullying peaky firsties.'

He looked over Remus's semi-prone form at the other two boys. 'Which one of you is James Potter?' he asked.

'I am.' James sounded wary, as if unsure whether the authority figure was an ally or not. The last time they had had a brush with one another, James had been engaged in unsanctioned behaviour that had cost Gryffindor ten points.

'Are you all right?' queried Bones kindly.

'I'm fine,' James said, somewhat mollified. 'Thanks.'

The Head Boy nodded and got to his feet, apparently satisfied. He took out his wand and flicked it at the breakfast dishes, which vanished. 'If you're feeling up to it you can go back to class this afternoon,' he said. 'And if you need anything, just find one of the Prefects.'

'Great,' Sirius said brusquely, opening the dormitory door. 'Thanks. Goodbye.'

Edgar departed and the other two boys moved back near Remus's bed. Sirius sat down on the edge with his leg along Remus's back. 'Sod my parents,' he said very quietly, leaning to study the pale, exhausted face beside his hip. 'I want revenge.'

_~discidium~_

Remus awoke from a leaden doze when the dormitory door flew open with a bang.

'You've got to come!' Peter cried. 'Come quick!'

James looked up from his magazine. 'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Did you figure out who tried to fit us up?' Sirius demanded.

'No, no, it's Professor Alfstin!' Peter was very agitated, bouncing on the balls of his feet and wringing his hands. 'He's down in the Entrance Hall! He's… I think he's been sacked!'

'Over us?' Remus said worriedly, forcing himself to sit up. If he had cost Hogwarts a teacher…

'Never mind that; let's go!' Sirius said eagerly, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him up. 'Where is he?' he demanded.

'The Entrance Hall,' Peter said. 'He's got his trunks and McGonagall's giving him a right ticking off—'

Before Remus really knew what was happening he was trotting along, sock-footed, toward the front doors, flanked by Sirius and James. Remarkably his legs bore him up as they tore down staircases and along corridors, emerging at last at the head of the great marble stair.

The room was thronging with students, all intent upon the spectacle in the centre of the room. Professor Alfstin stood at the foot of the steps, his wand drawn. Two large trunks and a heavy-looking suitcase were levitating beside him, and he was shaking one wizened fist at Professor McGonagall. She was standing with her head tilted and her arms across, looking supremely unimpressed.

'I'm leaving, I tell you!' he hollered. 'I won't stand for it! My authority undermined, letting pupils off of detention because you don't like how I've decided to make them serve it—'

'Very well then. Go.' Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow. 'You've been standing there shouting for twenty minutes, Aurelius. It should be obvious, even to you, that no one is about to stop you.'

'You'll regret this, you will!' Alfstin went on. His face was purple and the wrinkles about his eyes cast peculiar shadows. 'What're you going to do for the rest of the term, eh? Who's going to teach the pointless little creatures if I leave? You'll regret it.'

'What I regret, Aurelius, is letting you near my students at all,' McGonagall said coldly. 'If you could not bring yourself to treat them as children at least you could have tried to treat them as humans.'

Remus thought uncomfortably that her eyes flicked in his direction as she said that, but it might have been a trick of the light.

Alfstin was apoplectic. 'You won't get away with this! I'll complain to the Board of Governors! I'll complain to the Ministry! I was getting awards for proficient service and teaching excellence while you were still in nappies, my girl, and I—'

The students were all waiting breathlessly to see how Professor McGonagall would take to being called 'my girl', but they never got the chance. There was a murmur from those standing nearest the Great Hall, and they parted to form an aisle as Professor Dumbledore came through the door. He had a solemn light in his eyes, and he was smiling sadly.

'Come, now, Aurelius,' he said gently. 'This does not become you.'

'Dumbledore!' Alfstin barked, whirling around. His trunks followed the motion of his wand, making an arc through the air. 'I won't stand for this! Either you censure this woman for undermining my disciplinary measures or I am leaving!'

'It was my understanding that you had already made up your mind to leave,' said Dumbledore. 'Indeed, you made it perfectly clear upstairs that nothing could be said or done to induce you to stay.'

Alfstin sputtered impotently.

'Please, Aurelius,' Dumbledore said, still very calm and pleasant. 'Wouldn't it be more dignified simply to go? There's a carriage at the gates for you, as you requested.'

'I… I…' Alfstin looked from Dumbledore to the sea of unsympathetic students to McGonagall, watching him coldly, and then back to Dumbledore. He closed his flapping mouth and drew himself up to his full height. 'Very well,' he said, indignation and fury in his voice. 'I know when I'm not wanted.'

'I doubt that very much, Aurelius,' Professor McGonagall remarked coolly; 'or you would have been gone long before this.'

'Minerva…' Dumbledore murmured, giving her a tiny reproving glance. She pursed her lips and stepped aside as Alfstin strode past. He was trying to look very grand and dignified, but the image was undercut when he had to bend his whole body to haul open the front door with one hand. He guided his baggage out of the castle and then followed himself.

McGonagall flicked her wand and the door slammed shut. There was a yelp from without and the sound of trunks clattering on the stone steps of the castle. A universal snigger rippled through the student body.

'Now then,' Professor Dumbledore said mildly, surveying the assembled throng; 'shall we have our lunch? Defence classes this afternoon are cancelled.'

There was a cheer of approval from the second and fourth years, and the students began to pile into the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore stood at the top of the stairs, watching them benignly.

'Sir?' Remus said timidly, pulling away from his friends to approach the Headmaster. 'Sir, I'm frightfully sorry…'

'Ah. Remus.' Dumbledore turned and smiled down at him. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'I trust you are unharmed?'

'Yes, sir; only tired,' said Remus. 'But Professor, I didn't mean to make Professor Alfstin resign. I'm sorry, sir.'

'Nonsense, Remus. It is I who should be apologizing. I have allowed him rather too free of a hand, I'm afraid. But alas, Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers are something of a precious commodity, and I have been much occupied with other matters this year.' The Headmaster shook his head regretfully. 'At the very least I shall try to find a replacement who does not have an aversion to children.'

He smiled again and patted Remus's cheek, then strolled off into the Great Hall.

Remus jumped as Sirius and James came up beside him. 'Well,' Sirius said; 'he's gone. So much for revenge.'

'It's just as well,' James said. 'You would only have done something daft and earned yourself another Howler. This way you won't be tempted. Besides,' he added, an evil look creeping into his face. 'We still need to find out who hung us out to dry.'

'No word on that, you said?' asked Sirius, turning to Peter.

'No,' Peter squeeked. 'No word at all. Not even a whisper.'

Sirius glowered. 'That's about what I figured,' he grumbled.

_~discidium~_

On Friday, Defence Against the Dark Arts was cancelled. On Monday, Professor Arachne was sitting at Alfstin's desk. She directed the Gryffindors to revise quietly while she sat grading a massive pile of star-charts. When the lesson ended she got up and swept out of the room before the first student even managed to stand

'I suppose he's really gone,' said Athena Andrews as the class got up to leave.

'I suppose he is,' her brother agreed, sounding smug. 'Hey, Potter!'

James turned, smiling amicably. He had his textbook cradled in the crook of his arm. 'Andrews?' he said.

'I wanted to thank you, old sport,' said the other boy, grinning wildly. 'For taking the blame the other day like that. Jolly decent of you. If your parents ever want anything from the Ministry, just let me know and I'll put in a good word for them with my grandfather. Can't say fairer than that, now can I?'

James blinked ponderously. Sirius made a snarling sound and moved to lunge at Aeolus, but James raised his hand and shook his head. 'Remus,' he said calmly, turning and offering his textbook. 'Would you hold this, please?'

Remus obeyed, watching anxiously. Peter took a nervous step backward.

James smiled again, but his grin was full of malice. 'Jolly decent of me, was it?' he said sweetly.

'I'll say,' Andrews agreed. 'I mean, no one yells at my sister, right? But it would've been rather inconvenient to be mucking about in detention. Unseemly, you understand. So I owe you a favour.'

'No, I don't think so,' James said coolly. Before anyone could react, he drew back his fist and shot it out, clipping Aeolus solidly in the nose. There was a sound of cracking cartilage, and the other boy yelped as blood began to spurt down the front of his robes. James shook his hand, wiggling his fingers and inspecting the reddened knuckles. 'I'd say we're even, wouldn't you?' he asked.

He turned on his heels and strode away, leaving Athena to fuss over her injured brother. Sirius followed, tossing his head disdainfully. Peter scurried after them and Remus stumbled along behind, glancing back over his shoulder at intervals and looking in horror at the spectacle left in their wake.


	31. The Last Days of Term

**Chapter ****Thirty-One: The Last Days of Term **

To his credit, Aeolus Andrews did not reveal to anyone – Professor McGonagall, Edgar Bones, Dorcas Meadowes, or Madam Pomfrey – the name of the person responsible for his broken nose. The matron put it right quickly enough, but his blackened eyes flourished long after Remus's blisters had healed. When he pointed this out to them James and Sirius seemed to accept this as a form of divine justice, for they made no move to escalate hostilities against the other boy. Nevertheless they gave Andrews a wide berth, and often when they passed near one another at meals or in lessons Sirius would favour him with dark looks of disdainful hatred.

The remaining days of the term slipped quickly by. Remus was too much occupied with revising to pay much heed to where Sirius and James went or what they did, but by and large they appeared to avoid detention – even in the wake of Hufflepuff's final victory on the Quidditch pitch, which left James in sour spirits for a week. As exams drew near Peter began to panic, and as the other two had no patience for such behaviour Remus found his own studies falling by the wayside as he attempted to help his friend.

Oddly enough, he discovered, teaching the material proved valuable. In breaking down complex concepts into simple words for Peter, Remus grew to understand them more thoroughly than he could have simply working through them himself. Coaching Peter in incantations and inventing little memory tricks to aid in the process cemented the words in Remus's mind. And the song he made up to help Peter remember the names and dates in office of the Ministers for Magic over the last four hundred years was so effective that even Sirius found himself humming it at the breakfast table.

Their first exam was Astronomy, held on the night of the new moon when star-gazing conditions were optimal. Remus felt he did well, although he went to bed that night with a niggling suspicion that he had confused Draco and the Hydra.

Herbology was fairly straightforward, although the ferocity with which Sirius attacked his re-potting was rather alarming.

'I'm glad I'm not a mugwort stalk,' James commented as the four of them walked back to the castle. 'Were you transplanting them or mustering them to war?'

'Easy for you to laugh, Potter,' Sirius said darkly. 'You got full marks on your term project; some of us weren't so lucky.'

'You mean some of us weren't so arrogant,' James teased.

History of Magic proved something of an ordeal – not because Remus was unprepared, but because the sheer length of the exam put a cramp in his quill-hand and an ache in his neck. It was rather disconcerting to watch James breeze through at twice the average speed, handing in his parchment forty minutes into the two hour exam.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts practical was cancelled for first through third year. Fourth and sixth years had theirs supervised by Professor McGonagall, while Professor Flitwick helped the Ministry examiner oversee the OWL and NEWT classes. Remus found the written exam to be alarmingly straightforward, and he surmised that it had been composed in a previous year by a teacher either far less exacting or far less intelligent than Alfstin. Nevertheless, he left that test with the distinct impression that he had done well.

On the whole, he was feeling very happy about his end-of-term performance until he walked into Transfiguration. On each table was a small wooden box with a screened lid on top of it. Elsie Appleby squealed in alarm when she saw what was inside, and James and Sirius grinned wickedly.

'For your final project,' Professor McGonagall announced, strolling up and down the rows; 'you are to transfigure your mouse into a snuffbox. Extra points will be rewarded for artistic flair and decoration. Points will be deducted for the presence of ears, whiskers, or vestigial limbs. You have one hour. Begin.'

Everyone had a different approach. James took his mouse firmly in his left hand and jabbed at it with his wand. The result was a brilliant gold snuffbox that he spent the rest of the hour embellishing with filigree and enamel. Sirius poked and prodded his mouse, watching it scurry around his desktop until five minutes before the end of the exam, when he produced a box of some kind of dark stone, carved all over with bizarrely contorted faces. Lily Evans spent half of the period plotting out her snuffbox on a scrap of parchment, and then twenty minutes executing her plan. Peter made at least sixteen attempts over the course of the hour, each of them accompanied by small sounds of disappointment or a melancholy 'Oh, bother.'

Remus merely sat, his wand limp in his hand, and watched the rodent exploring the corners of the box. It was a little grey dormouse with enormous black eyes and the tiniest pink nose Remus had ever seen. Its wee rosy paws looked almost like hands, and its long tail followed behind it with a swishing rhythm. After a while it tired of rooting around, and curled up against the wall to sleep. It was so small and sweet and its fur so silky-looking that no matter how he tried Remus could not bring himself to change it.

When the hour ended and all the others filed to the front to turn in their snuffboxes, Remus picked up the wooden crate and carried it to the teacher's desk. He lowered it very carefully so as not to wake the creature drowsing inside.

Professor McGonagall leaned forward to look into the box. She frowned. 'Mr Lupin, please wait behind,' she instructed coolly.

Sirius and James, who were halfway to the door, turned to come back. The professor shook her head sternly and waved them off. Five minutes later the room was empty save for Remus and McGonagall and the untouched dormouse.

'Lupin,' she said; 'I understand that Transfiguration is a difficult discipline. I do not expect perfection from my first years. Honest effort in my class will be given honest reward. What I cannot tolerate is fatalism. To ignore my instructions – to not even try – is an insult to me as your teacher, and an insult to Hogwarts as a whole. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, Professor,' Remus whispered, his eyes still fixed on the mouse.

'Even your friend Pettigrew tried, Lupin. Admittedly with less than spectacular results.' She indicated a brown furry box that still had a tail. 'Can you explain to me why you could not be troubled even to make an attempt at it?'

Remus swallowed painfully. 'I couldn't do it,' he mumbled.

McGonagall regarded him with disappointment in her eyes. 'Lupin, if you do not try you can never succeed.'

'No, Professor, you don't understand,' Remus said softly. 'I know the spell. I _can_ do it. I just… I couldn't.'

Her expression changed, but he did not recognize it. 'What do you mean?' she asked.

Remus did not know how to articulate his feelings without giving voice to truths too terrible to ponder. Even the fact that McGonagall knew his secret and had shown only sympathy and understanding was insufficient to put him at ease. At last he spoke, his voice so low that it was almost inaudible. 'What if he doesn't want to be a snuffbox?'

'I beg your pardon?' said McGonagall.

'W-what if he doesn't want to be a snuffbox?' Remus repeated, screwing his eyes tightly shut against the sudden wetness within them. 'What if he just wants to stay a mouse?'

For a long time Professor McGonagall was silent. She was quiet for so long that Remus managed to reign in his fragile mask of composure and dared to open his eyes again. She was watching him intently, her mouth very tight at the corners.

'I see,' she said at last, her voice very soft. 'You are making a conscientious objection to the assignment.'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Remus, grateful that she understood without him having to explain further. 'I suppose that I am.'

'Very well, Lupin.' McGonagall took out her wand. 'You may re-sit the exam right now while I grade your classmates' work. And if it pleases you to do so you can turn a snuffbox—' With a smooth flick of her wand she changed the little animal into a silver box with a tartan mosaic on the lid. '—into a mouse.'

'Yes, Professor,' Remus said gratefully. 'Thank you, Professor.'

He picked up the snuffbox very carefully, cradling it in his hand as he carried it back to his desk. It was a more complex spell than the one the rest of the class had been set, but in the end he managed to restore the dormouse to its original form – with the small exception of the tartan markings now visible on the fur of its back. The mouse did not run from him, but nuzzled contentedly against his palm. He used his little finger to stroke it behind its tiny, soft ears.

Professor McGonagall made a few final notes before restoring the last snuffbox to its original form. She looked up at Remus, and a faint smile touched her lips. 'I see you've managed nicely,' she said. 'Bring it up here and let me look.'

'Yes, Professor,' Remus said, gathering up the wee creature and moving to the teacher's desk. 'Only he's not an it. He's a he.'

'So he is,' she said soberly. 'Now then, run along. I daresay you're late for dinner.'

Remus gathered his things and left the classroom. As he went he rather fancied that he could hear Professor McGonagall murmuring softly to the mouse – or else to herself.

_~discidium~_

The Potions exam was a nightmare. Remus had studied doubly hard for this exam, but he simply couldn't focus properly during the written portion. As for the practical, Professor Slughorn had them brewing a simple Astringent Solution. It should have been easy, except that Remus spilled his peppermint spirits, ground his quince petals too finely, and wound up with blackthorn juice all over his hands. His best efforts to remove the stains proved fruitless, and he was still sporting purple palms the following morning at breakfast, when Sirius announced that today they were going to take a day off from revising.

'You haven't been revising anyhow,' James pointed out, reaching for the pot of strawberry jam.

'I know _I_ haven't, but the rest of you have – which hurts me very much, by the way, Potter, as I know _you_ don't need to – and I'm getting dangerously bored.' Sirius thrust out his lower lip, pouting piteously.

James shot Remus a humorously wary look. Remus smiled. _Dangerously _bored was likely an apt description. Although the circumstances surrounding Alfstin's departure and the onset of examinations had curbed Sirius's appetite for mischief, it had seemed inevitable that he would come around before the end of term.

'What do you propose we do?' James asked. 'I suppose we really couldn't finish term without one more detention.'

'Oh, yes we could,' Sirius said fiercely. 'I've been so good all month. I'm not going to risk having a letter sent home now. We're all going to get together this summer, aren't we?'

'I probably can't,' said Peter. 'My mum doesn't like it when I'm away from home. It's quite enough when I'm gone all year at school.'

'Well, the three of us, then,' Sirius said. 'Right?'

'Fine by me,' said James. 'Remus?'

'Oh, yes. Yes, please!' Remus said, smiling eagerly. He had never imagined that Sirius was earnest about the desire to include him in his plans for the summer. It would be so much easier to get through two long months away from school if he could see his friends.

'So we're keeping your nose clean,' said James.

Sirius nodded. 'Doesn't mean we can't have fun. It's a beautiful day; why don't we go down to play in the lake?'

'Isn't that forbidden?' asked Peter worriedly.

'Nonsense,' said Sirius, his tone implying that he was following the simplest of logic. 'If it was forbidden they would have moved it into the Forbidden Forest so as to avoid future confusion. Besides, as long as we stay in the shallows the Giant Squid can't get us.'

Remus knew that his friend was teasing, but Peter looked nervous.

'I could do with a swim,' said James thoughtfully, polishing off his scone. 'All right, I'm game.'

'Me, too,' said Peter, still a little uneasy but anxious to participate.

Remus said nothing. He loved bathing; like any good Cornish boy he had learned to swim almost before he could walk. But swimming with his friends was out of the question. He could only use Muggle beaches, and quiet ones at that. Even then he was the object of horrified and pitying stares. More than once some well-meaning stranger had asked if he had been in some kind of dreadful motor accident.

In the dormitory, the others raided their trunks for something suitable to wear. James had proper bathing togs – expensive ones, of course. Peter took a pair of his flannel pyjama trousers and gleefully cut them off at the knee in a gesture that horrified Remus, who could not imagine defacing perfectly good clothes for a morning's entertainment. Sirius sifted through every garment he owned, littering his bed with fine woollen robes and cambric nightshirts and piles of elf-made underthings, but in the end he took out his Muggle trousers and pulled them on, rolling up the cuffs above his calves. He stood boldly in the middle of the room without his shirt, the very picture of vigorous good health.

'What about you, Remus?' asked James. 'Surely you've got something that will do.'

'I haven't,' Remus lied. He had not brought his own bathing things to school, of course, but he did have a pair of second-hand Muggle trousers that he might have worn – if only he were like the others. 'I don't swim.' His stomach twisted; another lie. 'I'll just sit on the bank and watch. I don't mind.'

That was a third lie, but it didn't seem as wicked as the others. He followed his friends down through the common room and out onto the grounds. It was indeed a beautiful day; the sun was shining and the air was deliciously warm. To Peter's relief, there were other students playing in the shallows, those without bathing clothes either attired in makeshift facsimiles or simply ignoring the damage to their school robes.

James chose a deserted stretch of water, and the three boys kicked off their shoes, wading out into the lake. Peter squealed in anguished delight.

'It's cold!' he cried, giggling.

'You'll get used to it,' James promised.

Remus settled himself on the grass, crossing his legs beneath his robes and trying not to feel envious. The sun was already beating down on his black work robes, and the thought of plunging into cold fresh water was delicious. Yet he had long ago become resigned to the fact that there were joys he could not share in, and swimming with his friends ranked high among them.

Sirius was out far enough that the water lapped his hips. He waded with an exaggerated stride, his arms working with the effort of hauling his waterlogged trousers after him. But he sprang against the lakebed and dove forward into the water, skimming below the surface for several yards before emerging with a crow of delight, cutching at the waistband of his trousers and shaking his head wildly so that droplets of water flew in every direction.

'Hey!' Peter yelped, touching his ample belly as if to confirm his suspicions. 'You got me wet!'

Sirius shot a wicked look at James, who grinned and nodded. The two of them marched over to Peter. Each seized hold of an arm, and a moment later they had him backwards, ducking him under the water.

They released him immediately and he emerged sputtering and coughing, but laughing through chattering teeth.

'Potter's not properly wet yet!' Sirius announced, lunging after James. Peter gleefully joined in the chase. Presently they caught their quarry and his head was forced under. He surfaced with his unruly hair streaming water, trying to clutch his spectacles so that they wouldn't come off his nose.

'You wanker! That's not fair!' he chortled, sending a great splashing wave all over Sirius. This earned him a swift and sodden reprisal, and soon the three of them were engaged in combat, spraying one another with water and laughing uproariously.

'Why don't you go in and join them?'

At first Remus thought it was only the naughty, dangerous voice within him egging him on to abandon common sense. But the voice in his head did not have a Manchester accent.

He looked up to see Lily Evans standing over him, _The Standard Book of Spells_ in her arms. He shook his head. 'I can't,' he said.

'Sure you can,' she said, sitting down next to him. 'They're not out that deep, and even if you did find a drop-off or something there are bigger students all around to help. Some of them are really quite good swimmers.'

She nodded her head at an auburn blur speeding along parallel to the shore; one of the older Smythe sisters, swimming lengths with a powerful front stroke.

'Go on,' Lily urged. 'I can see you want to.'

Remus did want to, very much, but he knew he could not. He had managed to keep the truth from the others for almost the whole a year. He could not jeopardize that now.

'You could take your shoes off and just wade at the edge,' suggested Lily. 'I'll come with you, if you like.'

Remus shook his head. 'They'd splash us,' he said; and for once the excuse was not a lie.

Lily wrinkled her nose, watching the roughhousing boys with distaste. 'I suppose they would,' she said. 'How are you finding the exams? I was really expecting something much more difficult in Potions. I don't know if Professor Slughorn really knows how to challenge his students.'

Remus said nothing, unwilling to disagree with someone he scarcely knew and yet unable to say that he, too, had found the exam easy.

'I thought Astronomy was tricky,' Lily tried again. 'I'm sure I got the magnitudes of Mizar and Mirak reversed.'

Remus nodded, trying to be polite. It as easy to forget, when accompanied by James and Sirius and Peter, how difficult it could be to make conversation. 'I mixed up Draco and the Hydra,' he ventured softly.

Lily smiled and opened her mouth as if to say something kind and pleasant, but behind Remus someone cleared his throat. 'Aren't you coming, Lily?' a low voice asked. 'You promised.'

Remus glanced over his shoulder at the stooped shape of Severus Snape. Lily's smile widened and she got to her feet. 'Of course, Sev,' she said happily. 'Shall we find some shade?'

They moved off together, conversing quietly. Remus sighed. He knew that he ought to be grateful just to have the friends that he did, but at times like this when they were off doing things of which he could have no part it was difficult not to wish that he had someone else to turn to for companionship.

'Remus, come on!' Sirius called, waving enthusiastically. 'Just hike up your robes and wade out a little.'

Remus shook his head. 'I'm fine here,' he said, forcing his voice to carry. He straightened his spine and tried to look less dejected. They would tire of the water eventually, and then perhaps they would want to do something he could join them in.

As much as he tried to belong, and as much as the others let him into their world, Remus realized uncomfortably that he was still an outsider. He was separated from the others by his curse, and by the desperate need for secrecy. They let him play at being one of the group because they could not imagine the truth – because James found him pleasant and amusing and Sirius saw him as a wounded little victim worthy of protection and Peter, well, Peter obviously needed someone to help him keep up with the rest of the class. If they ever found out who and what he truly was…

Despite the heat of the day, Remus shivered. As long as he could keep up the dreadful pretence that Sirius had concocted he was safe. He tried not to think of how it would hurt his mother to know the lies he was telling. He tried not to imagine the shame in his father's eyes when he realized his own son was betraying him just to hide the horrible truth. In a little over a week he would be home with them. He wondered if he would find it difficult to settle back into his old, quiet routine after the struggles and adventures of Hogwarts.

_~discidium~_

Charms was the last of their exams; challenging but thoroughly pleasant. Of all his professors Remus rather fancied he would miss Flitwick the most over the holidays. The first years had a few days of free time before the end of term, and James and Sirius spent most of their time out on the grounds with Peter following blissfully in their wake. But Remus had another obligation before he went home for the summer, and he dreaded it more than any Potions final.

'Why are you packing already?' Sirius asked, coming into the dormitory on Sunday smelling strongly of new-mown grass and sunshine.

On his knees beside his trunk, Remus found himself unable to look his friend in the eye. 'I like to be prepared,' he prevaricated.

'But we aren't leaving until Wednesday! You're just going to have to unpack it again.' Sirius flopped on his bed, cupping his chin in his hand.

'I've put aside the things I'll need 'til then,' Remus said, motioning at his satchel, which held his ragged transformation robes, a fresh school uniform and an assortment of newly laundered undergarments. 'You ought to pack, too,' he added for good measure, as it was the sort of advice he was wont to offer. 'Then you won't need to fuss over it at the last minute.'

'I'm not exactly eager to be gone,' Sirius muttered, a shadow crossing his sun-browned face. 'I would have thought you wouldn't be, either.'

Remus closed his eyes briefly as he settled his books in the bottom of the trunk. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and busied himself in folding his cloak. 'I miss my mother,' he said softly, trying not to feel the pang of shame that came with the clear implication of two omitted words.

'But two whole months…' Sirius said, an edge of despair to his words.

'It's not as if it happens every day,' Remus whispered. The lies were so easy to tell now. If only they were easier to bear.

'No,' said Sirius leadenly. 'No, not every day.'

'You'll be able to get away for a while, won't you?' asked Remus. 'I mean, to visit James or something.'

'Or you,' Sirius said. 'I've heard Cornwall is nice in the summer.'

'It is,' Remus said. But the thought of the others frolicking in the lake sprang to the forefront of his mind. 'But I really don't know…'

'In my experience,' Sirius murmured; 'parents are usually on their best behaviour when other people's children are around.'

The dormitory door swung open and James came in. He was grinning enormously, and there were fragments of clover in his hair. 'Found one!' he grinned, holding up a stalk with four leaves. 'Told you I could.'

'It doesn't count if you transfigure it,' Sirius said, rolling onto his back and letting one arm drape over the side of the bed. 'I win. Pay up.'

'You do not win! I was on my hands and knees for hours looking for this thing! _You_ just don't want lose the five Galleons.' James grinned enormously.

'You bet five Galleons on a four-leafed clover?' Remus asked softly. The uncomfortable thought occurred to him that he had no pocket money with which to buy food on the train. He wondered if Professor McGonagall might let him have a sandwich to take if he confessed to her. It would be humiliating to admit the straights he was in, but he saw no other choice. The full moon fell on Monday night. He would not have the strength to sneak into the kitchens on Wednesday, and he could not go a whole day without anything to eat, not so soon after a transformation.

'Yes he did,' Sirius said smugly. 'And _that_ is a fake.'

'It isn't!' James protested indignantly.

'Yes it is,' said Sirius.

'Is not. Peter will vouch for me. Won't you, Peter?' he asked as the podgy boy trundled into the room.

'It's real,' Peter agreed, nodding raptly. 'He found it out by the groundskeeper's hut.'

'It's not; you transfigured it,' Sirius said again. This time he pointed. 'That fourth leaf hasn't got any veins.'

James looked at it and groaned. Sirius shook his head, clicking his tongue reprovingly. 'Attention to detail, Potter,' he said in an admirable impression of Professor McGonagall. 'You could learn a thing or two from Mr Lupin there.'

'Humph,' James said, stomping over to his cupboard and rummaging in his heavy pouch. He fished out five gold coins and tossed them to Sirius, who caught all but one. It rolled across the floor, coming to rest against Remus's shoe. James smirked. 'Too bad, Black,' he said. 'It belongs to Remus now.'

Remus was sorely tempted to pocket the coin, but his conscience wouldn't let him. 'Don't be silly,' he said, getting up on his knees to pass the Galleon to Sirius.

'Thanks, mate,' Sirius said, winking as he stowed the money carelessly in his robes.

James surveyed the room as if he were seeing it for the first time. He frowned, perplexed. 'Why are you packing already?' he asked.

_~discidium~_

On Tuesday night, while the rest of the school was enjoying the end-of-term feast, Remus lay in his bed in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey sat beside him, holding his head up with one hand while she spooned savoury beef tea to his lips. He was too weak and too weary to feed himself.

'I don't like this at all, Remus,' she said in a low, uneasy voice. 'You ought to be in bed for another day at least. I'm going to owl your mother and tell her we're keeping you here to rest. Your parents can simply make other arrangements to get you home.'

'No, Madam,' Remus protested. His voice was hoarse, grating painfully against his raw throat. He let her give him another spoonful of broth and tried to speak more convincingly. 'I'm such a bother to everyone as it is. I couldn't ask them to come all the way across the country to fetch me.'

'Stuff and nonsense!' Madam Pomfrey snorted. 'Your father could Apparate right to the castle gates. Or there's the Knight Bus; they could always come that way.'

Remus shook his head, despite the dizziness the motion brought. 'It's a long way from Cornwall, ma'am; it's much too hard to Apparate so far, especially with another person. And the Knight Bus is too expensive.' At six Sickles a passenger, it would cost more than a Galleon even if only his father came for him. He had not forgotten how much they had spent on his medicines over the Christmas break; he could not burden them further. 'I can take the train, Madam. I'll manage.'

'I don't like it,' Madam Pomfrey repeated. 'You're not well, and I can't close that wound properly until it's finished draining. That could take another two days.'

Remus's fingers found the thick pad of wadding just below his left ribs. The wolf had gored itself again – not nearly so violently as it had at New Year's, but badly enough that he was wilting for want of blood. He meekly accepted another mouthful of broth.

'Father can mend it,' he said. 'Or we could go to the…' He stopped, choking on the words. 'Father can mend it,' he repeated, praying that it was true.

'I'm sure any reasonably competent wizard can mend it, with the good start it's been given,' Madam Pomfrey said primly; 'but I don't like the idea of you spending all day being jolted and jostled in a crowded train.'

'Professor Dumbledore agreed,' said Remus, quietly defensive.

'Professor Dumbledore doesn't always know what's best where healing young bodies are concerned,' said the matron, rather brusque. At Remus's stricken expression she softened. 'Oh, dear, I'm not really looking at this from your point of view, am I? Of course you want to get home as soon as possible. You must miss your parents dreadfully.'

It was true, Remus thought, that he did miss his mother and he would be glad to see Father again. But more than anything he wanted to avoid placing a burden upon them. They had had almost six months now without the obligations of a sickly child. He was anxious as to how they now viewed his place in the household.

'I can go home on the train,' he said once more. 'I want to, really.'

Madam Pomfrey looked at him for a long time, lips pressed tightly together. But confronted with his anxious, sunken eyes she yielded. 'Very well,' she said with a sigh. 'But I'm going to have Edgar Bones check on you during the ride, and see you safely to your parents on the platform. He's a sensible young man, and he knows a thing or two about field care.'

'You won't tell him why I'm poorly, Madam, will you?' Remus said anxiously.

She patted his hand. 'Of course not.' She smiled briefly before resuming her brisk, business-like manner. 'Now, if you're going home tomorrow you need your rest. Finish up the rest of your broth, and then you must get some sleep. I'll fetch you a little something to help you on your way.'

Remus submitted to her ministrations gladly. As he drifted off to sleep he felt a thrill of anxiety, wondering whether he would truly be able to manage the journey home.

_~discidium~_

Madam Pomfrey was repacking his satchel, tucking little stoppered vials in among his clothing. 'This one is for pain; take a sip when you need it. This one is to help replenish your blood. That's a dram at noon, and another when you get home tonight. Tell your mother you're to take it three times a day. Here's some more liniment for the scar; it's bound to heal better than the one on the other side, but all the same I want you to attend to it. Your bandages should be changed every night until the draining stops, and then your father can close it. If he _can't _manage it I want you to send an owl to the school, and Dumbledore will get in touch with me so that I can come down to Falmouth and mend it myself. Do I make myself clear?'

Remus nodded. He was propped up in bed with his breakfast tray on his lap. His stomach was uneasy, but he had finished his porridge and a piece of toast and marmalade. As Madam Pomfrey turned her back to finish packing, he broke one of the scones in two. There were two rashers of bacon on the plate, and he slipped them between the halves. He had his handkerchief ready on the coverlet, and he hastily wrapped the broken scone and the two others in the square of linen. He hid it swiftly under the corner of the bedsheet.

'There we are, dear. Do you want me to help you get dressed?' she asked.

Remus shook his head. 'I can manage,' he assured her.

He did manage, but only just. By the time he had his robes and his shoes and his belt all in place, his knees were quaking and his head felt light. He tucked his packet of pilfered food into his satchel, hoping it would not be too badly crushed on the way to the train. Then he sat down, resting his head on his hand until Madam Pomfrey came back into the little room.

'Your escort is here, Remus,' she said, smiling a little. 'He'll take you down to the train and get you settled. You've got a twenty minute lead on the other students, so there'll not be any spectacle.'

Remus got to his feet and picked up his bag carefully. He was glad it held only clothing, for he never would have had the strength to lift his books. He moved to the door, careful to keep his gait as steady as he could. He did not want Madam Pomfrey to think him too weak for the journey.

He hesitated on the threshold, reluctant to say goodbye in front of Edgar Bones. 'Madam?' he said softly. 'Thank you. For being so kind to me, for taking such good care of me, even though…'

'Even though nothing,' said the matron, drawing him into a tender embrace. 'You've been nothing but a joy to care for all these months, and I'm going to miss you dreadfully over the summer.'

A lump was forming in Remus's throat. 'I d-don't know how I can ever repay you,' he said tearfully. 'Y-you've been so good to me…'

'You can repay me by keeping healthy and safe over the summer, and coming back to me in September with that handsome smile of yours,' Madam Pomfrey said firmly, though her voice was a little husky. 'Now off you go, before I change my mind and keep you here.'

She kissed the crown of his head and ushered him out into the main ward. Remus halted when he saw who was to accompany him to the station. It was not the Head Boy, whom he realized abruptly would have more important tasks to tend to this morning than the travel arrangements of werewolves. It was the groundskeeper.

He was enormously large, far larger than Remus had thought – having seen him only at a distance about the castle or seated at the staff table. His shaggy black beard and massive shoulders gave him a very daunting appearance, but he was smiling warmly.

'Hullo,' he said, holding out one gargantuan hand for Remus to shake. 'I'm Hagrid. I'll be seein' you down ter the station.'

'Thank you, sir,' Remus whispered, quite overwhelmed.

The jovial smile widened. ''Aven't you got a name, lad?'

'Remus,' he croaked. He swallowed hard and tried again. 'Remus Lupin.'

'Well, then, Remus, we ought ter be on our way,' said Hagrid. 'Come along now, an'—'

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat, frowning pointedly at Hagrid.

'—an' I'll carry you,' the groundskeeper said. 'Madam's orders,' he added, before Remus could protest. 'Can't 'ave you wastin' your strength walkin' down to the gates, not when you're feelin' sick-like.' He bent down and before Remus knew what was happening he was secure in the man's massive arms.

'Goodbye, Remus,' Madam Pomfrey said, now sounding quite on the verge of tears. 'Do take care, love. I'll see you next term.'

Remus wanted to offer his farewells again, but he was afraid that he would begin to weep if he did. In any case, Hagrid was lumbering out of the room now, bearing him along. Soon they emerged in the bright summer sun, and the groundskeeper covered the distance to the gate at least twice as quickly as Remus had ever imagined possible. There was a carriage without any horses waiting for them, and Hagrid settled Remus on the foremost seat before climbing in himself. He filled the entire back seat and most of the space in the carriage. Remus was glad of his slight build; otherwise they would have been rather cramped.

The ride passed quickly, for Hagrid was chatting happily about summertime and first years and the work he was planning to get done over the holidays. He seemed a very pleasant sort of man, if a little loud for Remus's liking, but the boy was weary and sore already, and he did not hear much of what was said.

When the carriage stopped Hagrid squeezed himself out, rocking the vehicle alarmingly as he did so. Then he leaned in and offered his hand to Remus.

'Reckon you can make it to the train on yer own power?' he asked. 'Madam's a dear lady, but a bit pertective at times, don' you think?'

Remus nodded, smiling at his newfound ally who seemed to understand the awful embarrassment of being sickly – in spite of the fact that Remus had never seen such a vigorous mountain of humanity. With his slender hand clasped in Hagrid's massive one, he managed to get onto the platform where the Hogwarts Express was waiting.

'Where do ye want to sit?' asked Hagrid, gesturing at the long train.

'The very back compartment,' Remus said. 'We always sit in the very back compartment; that's where my friends will look for me.'

The man escorted him to the proper door. ''Ere's where I leave ye,' he said. 'I don' much like trains; them tiny little corridors give me the collywobbles. Now, you mind ye take care, like Madam said. Terrible thing, dragon pox, if it ent treated proper.'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said, trying not to smile at Madam Pomfrey's clever fib. It wasn't a lie; not really. She was only trying to protect him. 'Thank you, sir.'

'Don' mention it,' Hagrid said. 'But if ye see me about next year do drop in an' say hullo. I'm partial to Gryffindors, ye know. Come up to the cottage some time for a cuppa an' a nice chat.'

'I will,' Remus promised, his heart fluttering eagerly at the thought of _next year_. He had been so certain that he would not even outlast this year. 'I'll see you in September.'

Hagrid nodded, and thought he had only met Remus half an hour before he looked rather misty-eyed. 'Now you go an' sit down,' he said gruffly. 'Ye're needin' yer rest.'

Remus obeyed, making his way to the back compartment. His legs were trembling by the time he reached it and he sat in his customary place next to the window, pressing his palm against the dressing beneath his robes. He looked out of the window. Hagrid was standing on the platform; he waved eagerly and Remus waved back. Then the groundskeeper lumbered out of sight. Through the glass Remus could hear happy voices, chattering away in the distance. The other carriages were arriving, he realized. Resting his head against the window, he settled in to wait for his friends.


	32. Alibi Derailed

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Alibi Derailed**

Remus just beginning to doze off with his cheek against the window when he heard a very familiar laugh. A moment later, Sirius Black's voice rang down the length of the carriage. 'I'm telling you; the value of scrambled eggs to the railway traveller is grossly underestimated.'

'I still don't understand how that equates to permission to ram them up your nose,' James retorted. 'Unless you were _trying_ to make Charlotte White sick.'

'Traveller's jitters,' Sirius said philosophically. 'Nothing to do with me.'

The compartment door rattled as someone stumbled against it, and Sirius laughed. 'Now, now, no shoving, Potter. We don't want to wind up on top of one another again, now there's no Remus to pull us apart.'

'I still don't understand why he went home early,' said Peter. 'And why didn't he take his trunk?'

'Because it's easier to send it by rail, obviously,' James said. 'What _I_ can't understand is why he didn't say goodbye. Surely he knew he was leaving, if he took the trouble to pack on Sunday. Why doesn't he ever tell us when he's going?'

'Because he's scared I'll try and stop him, that's why,' said Sirius.

'Why would you stop him?' James asked. 'There's something you're not telling us, isn't there? Something you know that we don't.'

Sirius's silhouette against the window-stash turned to look up the length of the car. 'Not out here,' he said. He slid the door open and backed into the compartment. He was carrying a large brass cage in which Hermes perched, feathers ruffled indignantly.

Remus sat up as straight as he could, bracing himself. Sirius glanced over his shoulder and frowned. 'Hey, mate, this is our compartment, so you can just shove off and — _Remus!_'

It came out as a strangled yelp, Sirius spinning around to face him properly. James appeared beside him, surprise etched across his face. A moment later Peter poked his head around the swinging cage and the now shrieking owl. He was smiling.

'Remus!' he said happily. 'We thought you left without saying goodbye.'

'Where've you been the last two days?' James asked, skirting around Sirius and taking the seat beside Remus. His pleased astonishment wavered as he took in the sight before him. 'Remus? Are you okay?'

Sirius was staring at him too, utterly dumbfounded. 'You… here… how…' he stammered.

'Close the door,' James hissed, jerking his head at Peter. When the four of them were sealed off from the commotion in the corridor he turned back to Remus. 'Where were you? What happened?'

'Nothing. Nothing happened,' Remus said, praying desperately that they would believe him. There were no marks on his face this month, and the fresh scars on his arms were hidden by the long sleeves of his robe. But he knew that he was pallid and wan, thinner than before with deeply shadowed eyes. 'I just… my mother's ill, and…'

'Cobblers,' Sirius said. He deposited his owl next to the door, taking the other window seat and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to look Remus in the eye. 'You can't keep telling that lie.'

A cold dread took hold of Remus, as if all his life's blood were pouring out of the drain in his side. He was pressed into a corner on a train that was about to start off for London. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide – and he could never have managed to run in any case, the state he was in. Panic fluttered up into his throat as Sirius reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist. He closed his eyes, trying to shrink away.

'C'mon, Remus; you can trust them,' Sirius coaxed softly. 'No one will think any less of you.'

'What is it?' James asked. He sounded as if he was trying very hard not to show his true feelings. 'What's wrong?'

'_You're_ ill, aren't you?' Peter said anxiously. 'Oh, I knew it. I _knew_ it. Is it catching?'

'I'm not… it's not…' Though he knew he was still ghastly pale, Remus felt the heat of shame burning in his cheeks. Lies. Always more lies.

'He's not ill!' Sirius said fiercely. 'And it's not catching.'

There was a squealing of wheels as the Hogwarts Express lurched into motion. Remus could not quite suppress the whimper of suffering as he was jolted against the seat. His hands balled into involuntary fists as he fought to keep from crying out properly. Fortunately no one seemed to notice. Peter overbalanced and sat hard upon the opposite bench. James reached out to catch Hermes's cage before the owl could tumble to the ground. And Sirius lost his precarious perch on the edge of the seat and crashed forward, releasing his hold on Remus's arm as his tailbone smacked loudly against the floor of the compartment.

'Sod it!' he cried. 'You'd think they could give a bloke some warning; sound a horn or something.'

Adding insult to injury, the deep sonorous tone of the locomotive's whistle echoed loudly ahead. James sniggered and Peter grinned, sitting up straight and smoothing his rumpled robes. Sirius picked himself up from off the floor with an indignant huff, rubbing his backside disconsolately. He leaned over Peter to snag the birdcage from James, and he stowed Hermes in the luggage rack. The owl screeched in annoyance and Remus closed his eyes against the throbbing that started up in his head at the harsh sound.

'Aw, hush up,' Sirius said fondly, crooking a finger into the cage for the bird to nip at. He fished in his pocket and brought out a lint-covered owl treat, which Hermes accepted with the dignified air of a gentleman deigning to take a token of apology from a favoured servant. Sirius clicked his tongue and wrinkled his nose at the bird, who watched him superciliously.

'I really ought to get one of those,' James mused. 'Mind you, if I did my parents would only expect me to write.'

Sirius's expression shifted to one of discontent. He sat down and folded his arms across his chest, swinging one foot off the edge of the seat and studiously ignoring the owl's imperious hooting.

Remus gnawed on his lower lip. His head ached and his injured left side was pulsing, a web of anguish under his robes. He surreptitiously pressed his hand over the dressings, trying to ease the pain. The potion Madam Pomfrey had given him was tucked in the satchel resting next to his shoe – so near, and yet impossibly far away. He had only to lean forward to reach it, but he could not drink it here. He wanted it desperately; he was beginning to feel rather nauseous now. But he dared not take it.

If he took it the others would see, and they would wonder, and above all he had to avoid awkward questions. Sirius was relentless and James had boundless energy. They would never leave him be if once they started, and Remus was too tired and addled to put up much resistance. It took such careful attention to keep all the falsehoods straight, to avoid contradictions and conundrums that would only lead to more questions. Just now he had scarcely enough focus to keep himself upright on the seat.

He realized abruptly that James was speaking to him.

'—the end-of-term feast,' he said. Remus smiled faintly, hoping that further answer was not required.

'It was wonderful!' Peter said enthusiastically. 'There were six kinds of pudding; treacle tart and lemon custard and chocolate cakes as big as wagon wheels and a sort of a trifle with oranges and sugared violets and coconut and—'

Sirius made a disgusted noise, and Peter fell silent. James looked thoughtfully at Remus. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'Where were you?'

'Home,' Remus said, his voice hoarse and rasping. 'I always go home.'

'No,' Sirius said, grey eyes suddenly intent upon the smaller boy. 'No, that doesn't add up. Why would you leave on Monday afternoon, and come back Wednesday morning just to get onto the train to take you back south?'

Remus felt his mouth go dry. He hadn't thought of that; of how it would look if he disappeared, claiming to go home to see his mother, only to return in the nick of time to leave again… for home. If he had indeed been called away, he would have simply remained in Falmouth. He moved his lips, groping for a plausible lie, but none came to hand.

'Where were you?' Sirius asked. His lips were white and he looked rather drawn about the eyes. 'Where were you really?'

No, Remus thought frantically. Not now, not when he had almost made it through the entire year without the truth coming out. He had been so eager to meet up with the other boys over the holiday, to have all of the summer to look forward to seeing them again in September, to have a few months more of friendship and happiness before he lost all that he had gained. It couldn't happen now. It couldn't.

'H-he doesn't come to the _school_, does he?' Sirius's voice wavered, and there was a dawning horror in his eyes. 'Merlin, Remus, surely he wouldn't do _that_…'

'Who wouldn't do that?' James demanded. 'What the hell are you talking about, Black?'

Now Sirius was the one under interrogation. Remus closed his eyes and allowed himself a ragged breath. He had to think. He had to come up with some kind of an answer before Sirius turned his attention back to the werewolf in the corner.

'Potter, I can't… it's not my story to tell,' Sirius said, gesturing vaguely. 'I'm sorry. It's just not.'

James turned, bringing his left knee up onto the seat. 'Remus?' he said expectantly. 'What is he talking about?'

They were all looking at him now; James intently questioning, Peter perplexed and worried, and Sirius wearing an almost pleading expression. 'Remus,' he murmured; 'you can trust him. You know you can trust him.'

Remus realized with a pang of anguish that did not come from any part of his battered body that it was possible to get himself out of this situation. He could deflect their questions and turn them away from the awful truth. All that he needed to do was utter an almost equally awful lie.

'It's m-my father,' he stammered. Sirius closed his eyes, exhaling painfully. James and Peter looked at him blankly, uncomprehending. 'M-my father,' Remus repeated. The horrible words were sticking in his throat. The wrenching guilt dug into his viscera and he hung his head. 'H-he beats my mum,' he whispered, unaware that he was adopting Sirius's words.

All at once he was inundated by reproving images; Father sitting on the sofa with Mother's head in his lap, stroking her hair while she slept; Father smiling indulgently as his wife coaxed him out into the little brown automobile; Father coming up behind her while she did the washing-up, slipping a tender arm about her waist and kissing the nape of her neck; Father in the upstairs hallway, cradling her against his broad shoulders while she wept, unaware that in the next room the reason for her sorrow lay wakeful and watching.

James was watching him, pity and consternation on his face. Peter had a finger in his mouth, as he always did when he felt overwhelmed. Unable to look at them Remus cast his eyes in the opposite direction – only to see Sirius staring intently at him. There was something strange in the other boy's eyes. It was admiration, Remus thought. Or envy. But neither made sense.

'I go home to help her,' Remus said hollowly. 'But sometimes…'

He could not say it. Now he saw his father kneeling over him, lips white and wand trembling as he sealed countless horrible wounds. He saw his father rooting around in a cupboard in a dreary room at St Mungo's, searching for a blanket to cover a werewolf's bloody nakedness. He saw his father, weary and drawn after a long and thankless day at the Ministry, managing to smile when Remus hobbled across the sitting room for a hug. He saw his father standing by the counter in Ollivander's shop, watching with sombre pride as the wand chose its eleven-year-old master.

He tried to curl away from the others, to shrink in upon himself as if by doing so he could mitigate his shame, but he was already against the wall and there was nowhere he could go. He felt a hand on his arm, gentle and hesitant.

'Remus…' It was James. 'I… I don't know what to say. I…'

'Please,' Remus whispered. 'Please, could we not talk about it anymore? Please?'

'Of-of course,' James stammered. 'Of course. If it makes it easier…'

'It does.' The words were scarcely more than exhaled. Remus had his eyes screwed tightly closed. His head was bowed. He could feel the rocking of the train in his very bones and he wished for a single miserable moment that the seat would vanish from under him and let him fall onto the tracks, so that the train and his friends and his lies might leave him behind in the damp of the Midlands.

'You ought to lie down,' Sirius said, his voice cheerful and bracing – but forced. 'You look worn to a shadow; you could do with some sleep.'

Worn to a shadow. That was what Madam Pomfrey had told him the night before. If only it were true. Remus would have liked to be a shadow; a grey ethereal thing incapable of feeling fear or pain or remorse. No different beneath the moon than it was beneath the sun. Silent, insubstantial, unworthy of notice.

'C'mon,' James said. He was standing now, hands out to help the smaller boy. 'You can have the whole bench.'

Somehow they eased him down across the well-worn cushions. Sirius bundled something up and put it under his head to serve as a pillow. Realizing that he was turned in towards the other seat, Remus rolled over. Agony shot into his ribs as his weight settled on his wounded side, but he bit his tongue and bore it silently. He was glad now that he had not taken the potion. His suffering was just. He had brought it upon himself, and he deserved it. It was his penance for the lies, the hateful and ungrateful lies, that he had told about his father.

Somehow, despite the pain and the deep, caustic guilt consuming him from within, he fell into a heavy sleep.

_~discidium~_

He awoke to the sound of crinkling foil and low, happy voices murmuring nearby.

'… nineteen Frogs and seventeen Agrippa cards between us,' James snorted quietly. 'I smell a fix.'

'I was really hoping to get Ptolemy, too,' said Peter.

'Sirius? D'you want the last Cauldron Cake?' asked James.

'No, thank you.' Sirius did not sound the least bit cheerful. His voice was leaden and he had said _thank you_ without the slightest hint of humour. Remus opened one eye. The light on the back of the seat had a distinctly golden cast to it. It was late afternoon. He wondered if Edgar Bones had stopped in as Madam Pomfrey had said he would, and he wondered what his friends had made of the visit.

The pain in his side was duller now, though his neck was stiff and sore. Remus realized abruptly that could smell chocolate. His stomach wrenched discontentedly. He had eaten nothing since his sparse breakfast; he was ravenous.

He wondered if he could find the strength to sit up. His head felt heavy and he knew that he was in no fit state to be out of bed. He pressed his palm against the seat and tried to hoist himself into an upright position.

He needn't have worried. As soon as he began to stir, Sirius and James were bending over him, gripping his shoulders and bracing his back and helping him to swing his legs down onto the floor. They sat on either side of him so that he would not fall.

'Welcome back,' James said, smiling affably. 'D'you sleep well? You missed the trolley, but the witch said we could find her up front if you woke hungry. Are you hungry?'

'May I have my bag?' Remus asked in lieu of an answer. His voice was very hoarse, even for the second day after the moon. He realized he was desperately thirsty.

Sirius retrieved his satchel from the corner, setting it carefully in Remus's lap. Remus slipped his hand inside, reluctant to open the bag properly lest the others should spy the potions within. After a minute's fumbling his fingers closed on the little linen bundle, and he drew it out. Cautiously he unwrapped it, his heart sinking a little as he realized that the scones had indeed been crushed. Crumbs varying in size from grains of sand to marbles clung around the two cold, rubbery pieces of bacon. He picked up one of the larger bits between finger and thumb, but it was hard and almost stale, and his mouth was very dry. He chewed it painfully and forced himself to swallow, aware that the others were staring at him.

'Is that all you have?' Peter asked worriedly. Sirius shot him a quelling glare, and a moment later he was gone from the compartment, his heavy footsteps pattering away up the car.

'You ought to be kinder to him,' Remus said softly, taking another piece of scone and choking it down.

'Here,' James said, reaching across the compartment to snag a half-empty bottle of pumpkin juice.

Remus took it gratefully and drew a long draught of the cool fluid. His throat felt less tight after that, and he was able to manage a little more of his pilfered dinner. He picked up one of the rashers and tore off a piece with his teeth. It was cold and unpleasantly slick, but the salty tang flooded his mouth with spittle, and after that the remains of the scones went down much easier.

'Remus,' ventured James at last, when several minutes had elapsed in silence. 'Why didn't you tell us? About your father, I mean.'

Remus's stomach churned. 'It's not… it doesn't happen so very often,' he said helplessly. He was trying to remember when the lies had first started; how this unwieldy weight of deceit had begun to grow. When he had first let them reach out to him, he thought bitterly. When he had first allowed them to see him as a human instead of a werewolf.

'No, only practically every month,' Sirius said, his voice low and terse. 'It's not right. Your mum, she should just cope on her own and keep you well out of it.'

'I've heard this sort of thing happens a lot in mixed marriages,' James said gently. He put a comforting hand on Remus's knee. 'You know it's not your fault, don't you?'

Remus could not look at him. Of course it was his fault; the whole tangled snare of lies was his own. He had built it up to protect himself, and now he was finding that protection very hard to live with indeed.

There was a loud banging noise, and the compartment door shuddered. Someone was kicking it.

'Open up,' came Peter's voice from without. James reached to push open the door, and the plump blond boy came in. His arms were overflowing with packets of Chocolate Frogs. 'She didn't have much left,' Peter said, depositing his spoils on the vacant seat; 'only these and a few broken Cauldron Cakes. But at least it's chocolate, Remus. Go on, have some!'

'Oh, no, I couldn't…' Remus said.

'It's a present!' Peter said, thrusting one of the little boxes into Remus's lap. 'Only if you get a Ptolemy I get to keep it, okay?'

Sirius was smiling gratefully at Peter. He reached over and curled Remus's fingers around the box. 'Go on,' he said. 'Everything looks a little brighter when you've had some chocolate.'

Then somehow, in spite of everything, the four of them were laughing together while Sirius and James chased the leaping sweets around the compartment and Remus and Peter sorted through the packets looking for Ptolemy.

_~discidium~_

The sun was setting over London when the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross Station. There was a great flurry of activity as James and Sirius and Peter got their belongings off the baggage rack. Remus had only his satchel; everything else was somewhere with his trunk.

'Listen…' James said awkwardly, pausing on the threshold to look back. 'You stay in touch, all right? I mean, if things get bad you could always kip at my place for a few days. My parents wouldn't mind.'

Remus smiled wanly. 'Thank you,' he said.

Then James was gone.

'Goodbye!' Peter said, looking from Sirius to Remus and back. 'Do be sure to write. I'll send you ever so many owls. Have a…' His face crumpled a little and he looked away from Remus. 'Have a wonderful summer.'

Then he scampered out of the compartment.

Left alone, Sirius and Remus looked at one another. Remus could see the dread in the other boy's eyes, but he knew that some of it was meant for him, too.

'Don't worry about me,' he whispered, longing to offer reassurances that he could not give; not without the truth. 'I'll be all right.'

'Sure,' said Sirius, his voice a little husky. His eyes wandered toward the ceiling. 'I mean, we're always _all right_, aren't we?'

'Sirius, it isn't really… it's not what you think it is. It's not.' Remus cursed himself for his careless tongue, but he had to try to console his friend; he couldn't bear to think of Sirius locked up in his loveless home with nothing to do but worry that somewhere on the other end of the country Mr Lupin was beating on his friend.

Sirius curled his lips into a smile that came nowhere near his eyes. 'All right,' he said. 'I still… if it would help, I'd like to come visit you. I've been so good; surely she'd let me go.'

'I'll ask Mother,' Remus promised.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder at the window. 'You reckon she's out there waiting for you?'

Remus nodded.

'Well, best go on, then.' Sirius tried again to smile. 'And Remus? Take care.'

'You, too,' Remus murmured.

'You bet.' Sirius smirked. 'I promise I'll keep well away from dress robes.'

He was grinning his practiced grin as Remus left the compartment, toiling down the corridor on legs that were already trembling.

When he reached the door, taking the steps cautiously one at a time, he saw a lean, familiar figure in faded work robes elbowing past crowds of reuniting families to reach him.

'Father!' Remus called, as the strong arms took hold of his shoulders, bearing him up and helping him down onto the platform.

'Remus. Welcome back,' Mr Lupin said. He shielded his son from the jostling students and guided him over toward the wall. Once they were out of the thick of the throng he stood back to look at the boy. His pleased expression faded swiftly to one of overburdened worry. 'Remus, you're w—'

'Worn to a shadow,' Remus muttered, casting his eyes away. 'Please don't fret; it's only the second day. I…' He remembered something suddenly. 'I forgot to take my potion! My Blood-Replenishing Potion. Madam Pomfrey gave it me and I forgot…'

'Where is it?' Father asked. Despite the furrows of care on his brow he sounded calm and strong and capable. It was such a relief to let someone else take charge that Remus scarcely noticed the ache in his shoulders as he hefted his satchel. Mr Lupin dug out the appropriate vial and the little glass cup. 'How much?' he asked.

'One dram,' said Remus. A moment later he was bolting down the thick carmine fluid. 'I didn't mean to forget,' he apologized; 'I fell asleep in the compartment and it just happened.'

'No harm done,' Father said, but he was studying Remus's face closely and he did not seem especially confident in his assertion. He guided his son to a bench and settled him upon it. 'You sit here, and I'll go and find your trunk.'

It was then Remus realized that his mother had not come to greet him. He knew it was better for her – and indeed for him – not to have to suffer the long drive between London and Falmouth. Still there was a small, petulant part of him that wished she were here now. It was a terribly lonely thing, sitting huddled on the edge of a happy crowd, utterly alone.

He tried to spy his friends, but the milling multitude was too thick. The slow process of leaving Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had begun; students were passing through the barrier in twos and threes under the direction of a guard.

At last Father returned, dragging Remus's trunk behind him. He set it down at the boy's feet and sat beside him, wrapping one hand behind his back so that Remus could settle into the crook of his arm. 'Just rest a while, Remus,' he said quietly. 'There's no sense in shoving and struggling; we'll wait until the crowd thins a little.'

Remus was in no fit state to argue, and would never have done so in any case. He let his tired body relax against his father's sturdy chest. He could hear the man's heart beating beneath his ear. The Blood-Replenishing Potion was taking effect, and he felt the chill leaving his fingers and toes. He allowed his heavy lids to drift closed over his fever-bright eyes.

_~discidium~_

He woke this time as someone was settling him down onto something soft, curled like a small child between the arms of a chair. He heard slow footsteps moving off. A door opened, and closed, and from somewhere beyond it came the crack of Disapparition.

A warm, gentle hand descended on his brow. He could smell mashed spuds and rosewater. 'Remus?'

He was in her arms before he realized he had moved. After the long, trying day filled with worries and lies and dreadful questions the comfort of his mother's embrace was a balm for his wounded spirit.

'Welcome home,' Mother whispered, burying her face in his hair. 'Oh, dear heart, are you all right? Such a long journey so soon after…'

'I'm fine,' Remus promised. 'Don't worry. Please don't worry about me.'

She smiled sadly. 'Remus, I'll always worry about you – even if you become Prime Minister. How was the train?'

Remus did not know how to answer. He made himself smaller in her arms. He wanted to confess his transgressions and to ask her forgiveness, but he could not. The lies would hurt her so. He had to bear that on his own. 'Peter found a Ptolemy card in the Chocolate Frogs,' he said, lighting upon the only truth he could share with her.

Mother laughed a little. 'Was he looking for one?'

Remus nodded against her shoulder.

'Are you hungry, love?' she said at length. 'I've fixed a lovely cottage pie; it's good and hot.'

Remus let himself be led to the table, where he ate meekly of the plate set before him. Mother sat in her usual place, watching him contentedly. When he paused in his meal she pushed a tall glass of cool milk against his hand. He drank.

'Where's Father?' he asked abruptly, realizing they were alone in the kitchen.

'He…' Mother paused as another crack rang out beyond the window. 'Here he is now.'

He came into the house carrying Remus's trunk. His face was grey with the effort of Apparating three times in rapid succession and twice with a burden. He hefted the baggage onto the floor by the door, and stumbled to a chair. 'Cottage pie?' he said, glancing up from Remus's plate to give his wife a weary smile.

'What else?' asked Mother sweetly. She went to the cooker and filled a dish for him, setting it down and smiling. She poured herself a mug of tea and sat down again between her husband and her son. She reached out to brush a tendril of hair from Remus's eye. 'Home at last,' she said, her voice low and reverent.

'Yes,' Father mumbled, falling to with his fork. 'Home at last.'

Not until he was tucked into bed in a clean nightshirt, dopey from a dose of the potion meant to ease his pain, did Remus realize that there had been something strange about the whole encounter. Something forced, he thought, as if they were putting on a show for his benefit.

Uneasy but exhausted, he slept again.


	33. Lonely Games

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Lonely Games**

When Remus got up shortly after ten the following morning, his father was already long gone for the day. This was just as well, for Remus knew that he was still pale and peaky, the unmistakeable signs of his transformation writ all over his face. He descended to the kitchen, clad in the neatest of his play robes, to find his mother on hands and knees, waxing the floor.

She looked up and smiled as he entered. Remus realized with a pang of remorse that there were shadows under her eyes. Had he merely failed to notice them the previous evening, he wondered, or had she lain awake all night fretting about him?

'Good morning, dear heart!' she said merrily, kneeling back on her scuffed blue pumps and wiping her hands on her apron. 'Skirt along next to the icebox; I haven't done that bit yet.'

He obeyed, treading carefully and winning through to the table without disrupting her hard work. He tucked his feet up beneath him and put his chin in his hands, watching her.

'You must be ravening,' she said, doubling her pace. 'If you'll just give me ten minutes I'll fix you some breakfast. What would you like? Porridge? Eggs? Beans on toast?'

'Whatever is easiest,' Remus said quietly. Then he frowned. His mother was a skilled cook, and habitually disdained tinned food. 'You don't make beans on toast.'

'Oh, your father's taken quite a shine to them of late,' Mother said blithely. 'And they certainly stretch the housekeeping a little farther.'

Remus searched her expression for any sign of worry. He couldn't find it, but his stomach churned uneasily. 'Beans on toast, please,' he said. It was quicker than porridge and much less expensive than eggs. 'You needn't fix it for me; I can manage.'

'Remus, don't be foolish,' she said, giving the floor one final swipe and rising with a small sigh of exertion. 'I've been waiting for months to have the chance to cook for you again, even if it is only beans on toast.'

She moved to the table and bent to kiss him, then wiped the wax from her hands and stowed the rag and the tin on the shelf under the sink. 'Don't you want to tell me about school?' she asked. 'At Christmas it was all you could talk about.'

That was all the invitation Remus needed. His lingering fatigue and the scratching in his throat were forgotten as he launched into an account of his recent months at Hogwarts. He told her about his little triumphs in Transfiguration, and about the dormouse and Professor McGonagall's kind accommodation. He explained about Peter's birthday gift and the shared revising sessions. Mother chuckled ruefully when he told her about Sirius and the Herbology project. Carried away by his happy reminiscences he was halfway through explaining their greenhouse caper when he realized she was no longer smiling.

'Remus, I don't think you ought to be making trouble at school,' she said, rounding the table to put his breakfast before him. She laid out his fork, knife and napkin as if she were setting the table for a fine supper, and straightened the faded china plate. 'After all the care that Professor Dumbledore has taken so that you can attend, it seems terribly ungrateful.'

'Oh, no, we didn't make trouble,' Remus said hastily, anxious as her words touched on his secret fear. 'We didn't damage anything and we didn't hurt anyone; it was just a joke. Professor Dumbledore thought it funny, truly he did. I think,' he confessed, smiling a little; 'that even Professor McGonagall thought it funny.'

Mother did not look convinced, but her expression softened as she studied his face. 'Well, so long as no harm was done,' she conceded. 'But Remus, truly. You mustn't do anything that will make the Headmaster regret his generosity.'

'Yes, ma'am,' murmured Remus.

She smiled at him and moved to the icebox to pour him a glass of milk. 'You ought to take your medicine, too,' she said, measuring out the Blood-Replenishing Potion. 'Is the wound still weeping?'

'Only a little,' Remus told her. 'Madam Pomfrey mended it beautifully.

'How is the other side?' Mother asked tremulously.

Unconsciously Remus touched his hand to the ridge of scar tissue on the crest of his hipbone. 'It's fine,' he said, promising himself that it was not truly a lie, since it pained him only now and again and only itched at night. He took his dose of potion and nodded at the bottle. 'You ought to put the rest away,' he told her. 'We might… _I_ might need it next month. I know it's very dear.'

His mother regarded him sadly. 'Remus, we have enough money to see you get your medicines,' she said.

'How did you pay for the ones I needed at Christmas?' he asked.

Mother could not meet his eyes. 'You know that your father takes care of that sort of shopping,' she murmured. She stoppered the flask and looked at it. 'How should it be stored? It would be a terrible waste if it spoiled before we used it.'

'I don't know,' Remus confessed. 'I can check; surely it will be mentioned in my Potions text.'

He began to rise, but his mother put a hand on his shoulder and steered him back down. 'Eat your breakfast first, love,' she said. 'There's nothing quite so unpleasant as cold beans on soggy toast.'

Remus ate, trying to savour the sweet tomato sauce and the soft white beans. But somehow the dish that had seemed such a treat when he was younger left him dissatisfied and disillusioned. Nevertheless he ate everything on his plate, washing away the taste with the cold milk. He gathered his dishes and carried them to the sink, where he washed and dried them carefully, and cleaned the little saucepan in which his mother had heated the beans. When everything was put away he went upstairs to unpack his trunk.

_~discidium~_

After a dinner of leftover cottage pie and stewed pears, Remus settled in the sitting room to work on the essay Professor Binns had set over the summer. Three hours later he had a firm outline and a list of topics to research if he could get to a wizarding library. He was also thoroughly bored.

He went up to his room again, clearing a space on his bookshelf for his school books. By then it was nearly time for supper, so he went down to the kitchen to see what his mother was doing. He found her at the table, doing sums on a scrap of newsprint. There was a furrow between her brows and her lips were drawn very tightly. When she realized she was being watched she straightened and smiled.

'Do you mind cottage pie again, love?' she asked. 'It's never quite as good on the third day.'

Remus didn't mind, and said as much, but when his mother laid places for two he hesitated. 'Where's Father?'

'Still in London,' she said, turning to rummage in the drawer full of napkins longer than was strictly necessary. 'I'm afraid he won't be home until late tonight.'

Remus sat quietly as Mother served up the last of the cottage pie and cut thick slices of brown bread. Afterward she fixed some cinnamon milk for Remus and a cup of tea for herself, and they sat together in the sitting room, looking out at the twilit street. Remus found himself scanning the sky, and it was not until the clock struck nine that he realized he was watching for owls.

'I ought to go to bed,' he said at last, getting stiffly to his feet. 'Could you… would you mind changing my dressing?'

'Of course, Remus,' Mother said, but her tone was rather absent and her eyes were still fixed out the window.

Unwilling to pester, Remus went upstairs alone. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, and was just about to pull his nightshirt over the soiled bandages when Mother came into the room, carrying the little box of gauze and her embroidery scissors. She removed the old compress and applied the new one with practiced hands, pausing to study Madam Pomfrey's handiwork.

'It really is much better than the other,' she said softly. 'She takes good care of you, doesn't she, Remus?'

Remus nodded. 'The best of care,' he assured her.

'And does she…' Mother swallowed with some difficulty, her eyes travelling to the other scar. 'Is she kind to you?'

'She treats me just like an ordinary boy,' Remus said. He smiled wryly. 'She fusses a little, and she scolds me if I spend too much time on my schoolwork when I ought to be resting, but she's very good to me.'

'I'm glad,' said Mother, tying off the bandage and tucking in the ends. She reached for the nightshirt as if to lift it over his head, but she caught herself, flushing a little. 'I suppose you don't need me to dress you, do you, dear heart?'

Remus shook his head and slipped into the garment, revelling in the luxury of being able to do so without fear of disturbing his bed hangings or losing his balance and tumbling off the mattress. 'When _will_ Father be home?' he asked when he had finished.

His mother was studying the wardrobe drawer as if she had never seen it before. 'Late,' she said quietly. 'Very late. Now sleep well, and mind you say your prayers.'

'Yes, Mother,' Remus said. He allowed her to tuck him into his bed – which felt so small and hard and narrow in comparison to his great four-poster at school – and kiss his brow before slipping from the room and drawing the door closed behind her. He murmured his prayers as swiftly as he could, anxious to obey her. Then he turned onto his right side and tried to sleep. But though he lay awake until the clock downstairs struck one, he did not hear his father come in.

_~discidium~_

On Friday morning he was up at half seven, but Remus was still the only one at the breakfast table. Mother fixed him a coddled egg with toast and some milk porridge, and sat with him, nursing a cup of tea. She made quiet and pleasant conversation, asking him about his lessons and talking contentedly about the garden. But the shadows under her eyes were darker now, and the tendrils of grey shimmered prominently against her brown hair. Remus wondered how long she had lain awake last night, waiting. And he wondered if she had waited long enough to hear what he had not.

When Remus had eaten and done his washing-up he went out to sit under the rosebushes while his mother weeded the little vegetable patch. Near midday an owl appeared overhead, but it was flying very swiftly at a great height and Remus knew it was not meant for him.

After a dinner of tongue sandwiches and parsnips, Remus found himself once more in the sitting room, this time with his mother's battered old copy of _The Queen of Air and Darkness_. As the afternoon dragged on and the clock on the mantel ticked off the minutes, he found his attention drifting from the book. He wondered if his home had always been this quiet. He seemed to remember many long and lonely afternoons, but never had the silence been so oppressive. He could hear his mother in the next room, washing the walls with a damp flannel, and now and then a motorcar rumbled down the street outside, but otherwise there was nothing but the sound of the clock and his own shallow breaths.

He listened in vain for a gleeful laugh or a sarcastic snort or an indignant roar. No eager feet pounded up and down the stairs here. There were no portraits gossiping quietly with their neighbours; no fourth year girls tittering in the manner that James found so ineffably exasperating; no Dorcas Meadowes clearing her throat pointedly whenever Sirius tried to clamber up onto the mantelpiece in the common room; no eager and innocent questions from Peter. Remus almost would have settled for the embittered mutterings of Mr Filch; anything at all but this endless hush.

At last, a little before three, Mother came into the room. She had changed out of her housedress into a faded lavender frock, and she was pinning on her hat. 'I'm going down to the shops to fetch a bit of fish for supper,' she said. 'Would you like to come?'

By shops she meant the Muggle shops down in the high street. If he wanted to go with her he would have to go upstairs and change into his buttoned shirt and trousers. He would attract the stares of strangers, for his eyes were still shadowed and his face was pale. Remus shook his head.

'Thank you, no,' he said, nodding at his book. After the rumbling of the little brown motor faded away into silence, he felt he ought to make an effort to read again. But the well-meaning young princes of Orkney with their indifferent mother reminded him too much of Sirius, and he put the book away with a dejected sigh.

He wondered what the others were up to. James was probably out in the sunshine, practicing on his broomstick and daydreaming about September when he would at last be allowed to try out for the Gryffindor team. Sirius would be in the big London house that he was so loath to speak of, and Remus hoped that he had not yet run afoul of his strict parents. Perhaps he was spending time with his little brother, whom he seemed to find by turns tolerable and irritating. Or perhaps his Uncle Alphard was visiting. Remus hoped so. As for Peter… Remus realized uncomfortably that he knew very little about Peter. He lived near a Muggle village somewhere, and he had cousins 'up' in Birmingham, and he spoke incessantly of his mother, but beyond that Remus had no sense of what his home life was like.

He reflected uncomfortably that Peter had no sense of _his_ home life, either. Or rather, he and the others had entirely the wrong impression. They were likely thinking, if they spared him a thought at all, that he was shut up with a battered mother and a violent and wrathful father, helpless and terrified and miserable.

At least he was miserable, he reflected. He was miserable with boredom and loneliness and the ache in his side. And if he paused for a moment from thinking wistfully of his friends the uncomfortable question surfaced again; where was his father?

Of course, at half past three on a Friday he was likely at the Ministry of Magic, at his little desk in the crowded education office. But where had he been long after sundown on a Thursday? And why had he left so early that morning?

Or indeed, Remus wondered; had he even been home at all?

The front door opened, and Mother came in with her shopping basket over her arm. Her tired face lit up with an earnest smile as she looked at Remus, and she walked through to the kitchen. A little later, the salty smell of broiling fish began to waft into the sitting room. When he heard the rattling of the gas cooker Remus got up to set the table. He laid three places with care, folding the napkins neatly and trying to emulate his mother's careful placement of the silverware. He used a cloth to pick up the glasses so as to avoid leaving fingermarks, and acting on a sudden impulse he brought down his great-grandmother's brass candlesticks to place in the middle of the table.

When his mother turned with the dish of roasted potatoes, she paused at the sight of the table. A curious expression flickered through her eyes as she smiled. 'It's beautiful,' she said. 'The matches are on the windowsill.'

She need not have told him, for they were always kept there – close to the stove but not too near the sink. Eagerly he lit the candles. They were only Muggle paraffin, not the rich beeswax used at Hogwarts, but they shed a welcoming glow across the little table. With the bowl of French beans set next to the potatoes, and the platter with the fish garnished with sprigs of parsley fresh from the garden the effect was very homey and enticing.

Mother glanced at the clock hanging over the door. It was almost a quarter to seven. 'I suppose we should eat while it's still hot,' she said, trying to smile.

Suddenly Remus wished he had not set three places. He sat down on his chair with his hands in his lap while Mother brought the pepper shaker and a pitcher of water floating with chips of ice. She hesitated before she sat, glancing briefly at the empty chair. Then she took Remus's plate and began to fill it for him.

'I'm afraid the grocer had no asparagus left,' she said pleasantly. 'He promised that the beans are lovely and fresh.'

'Thank you,' Remus murmured as the plate was set before him. He gripped his fork but could not bring himself to eat. The empty place across the table seemed to taunt him. This was what comes, it seemed to say, of slandering the ones who love you. This was the harvest of his lies. It did not matter that his father did not know – could not know – the horrid things Remus had said to his friends. He had pretended away his loving sire, and now the falsehood was manifesting itself in truth.

He almost dropped his fork when he heard a loud crack ringing out in the back garden. Mother looked up, her pale face suffused with sudden hope. There was a sound from the back door of the deadbolt being turned, and heavy footfalls echoed in the entryway.

Remus wanted to cry out and to run to greet his father, but his remorse kept him in his seat. He turned his head toward the door as Mr Lupin came around the corner.

His robes were rumpled and his hands and face were streaked with dust. There was a smudge of ink to the right of his mouth, which was set in a hard line. The grim angles of his face made him look far older than his thirty-three years, and there was a dull and defeated look in his eyes.

'Ross,' Mother said, smiling warmly and gesturing at the table. 'We very nearly began without you.'

'You ought to,' Father mumbled, looking down at his grubby hands and chaffing his fingers together. 'I need to clean up.'

He came further into the room, however, and bent to rest his chin briefly against Remus's head. 'How fares my young wizard?' he asked.

'I'm well,' Remus said softly. 'What…'

He felt his mother's shoe pressing gently against his foot and he closed his mouth.

'What do you think?' Mother said, nodding at the candles. 'Remus laid the table himself.'

'It's charming,' Father said. He almost sounded sincere. 'Go on and eat; I shall be down directly.'

He left the room and Remus could hear him trudging up the stairs. Far away the sound of running water began.

'Eat, Remus,' Mother urged gently, though she made no move to touch her own food.

With mechanical obedience Remus took a small slice of potato and chewed it very slowly. He was reluctant to swallow, for that would mean that he would have to take another mouthful, and he did not feel capable of eating until he was certain that his father would come down again.

Fifteen minutes passed before the footsteps were heard on the steps again. Father came into the kitchen, dressed in his oldest robes – too shabby to be worn in company, but comfortable and clean. His face and neck were pink from scrubbing, and his fringe was damp. He glanced at the table and sighed softly. 'I told you not to wait,' he murmured. He drew out his wand. '_Refoveo_.'

Abruptly the potatoes radiated warmth again, and tendrils of steam rose off the beans. Mother smiled. 'You know,' she said; 'I've always wished I could do that. You're very fortunate, Remus, to have your father's gift.'

'I trust he's got more than my share of it,' Mr Lupin said, settling in his chair and reaching to fill his plate. He inhaled deeply of the scent of the meal. 'No one broils a cod like you, my dear.'

Mother lowered her eyes demurely at the compliment, but a moment later she was watching her husband intently as he began to eat. Remus noticed how very quickly his father's utensils moved, though he chewed his food carefully and seemed to relish every bit. Presently Remus felt himself calming a little. His father was home, and they were having a peaceful family meal together. He carefully drew some of the flaky white flesh from the bones of the fish, and began to eat.

There was little conversation, which was unusual. He also had the distinct impression that each of his parents was trying very hard to avoid looking the other in the eye. It was a tremendous relief when the fish was eaten and the serving bowl was empty and Mother whisked away the last of the roast potatoes to be chopped and fried at breakfast. Remus got up to help her clear the table, and stood patiently next to the sink to dry the dishes as she did the washing-up.

Father retired to the sitting room, and presently the comforting crackle of the fire was heard. When Remus and his mother were finished tidying the kitchen, Mrs Lupin led the way to the front of the house. She collected her hoop and floss and settled in her rocking chair by the fire to work on her embroidery. Remus almost took the vacant armchair beside her, before thinking better of it and moving to sit beside his father on the sofa.

'Well,' Father said, somehow wrangling a weary smile. 'Tell me all about the summer term. You must have a hundred stories, and I've not heard one of them.'

So Remus obiged, trying to offer tales that his mother had not heard yet either and minding all the while that he did not mention anything uncomfortable or frightening or morally ambiguous. He was achingly aware that his parents were using his voice to fill the void in the room where they could not or dared not speak to one another. Yet it was an illusion of family harmony, and he clung to that desperately.

At ten o'clock he took his leave, embracing Father and kissing Mother's cheek. He went upstairs to sit for a while in his room, trying to settle himself before he prepared for bed. He went to brush his teeth and then came back to his bedroom, stripping off his robes. Only then did he realize that he had forgotten to ask for help with his bandages. The wound needed checking, also. He was almost certain that it was finished draining, and that meant that his father could close it. Tugging his dressing gown over his bare shoulders he padded barefoot to the top of the stairs.

He was halfway down when he heard the low, grave voices from the sitting room. Although he knew it was naughty to eavesdrop, he could not help himself. Over the years he had become resigned to the fact that if he was ever going to learn what his parents truly thought he had to listen when they thought he was not. Carefully, silently, he lowered himself so that he was sitting on the sixth step. One hand clung to the banister over his head, so that his elbow swung level with his chin. He strained his ears to hear.

'…bear it much longer,' Father was saying. 'I'm sorry, Dorothy. I know that no woman wants to hear this, but…'

'It's not a question of what I want to hear,' said Mother. 'It's a question of what you mean to do.'

'You know what I mean to do!' Father's voice grew no louder, but it was harsh and hoarse.

'And you know how I feel about it,' Mother countered softly. 'I'm only asking that you wait. Just three months. Maybe, given time, you'll find it's not so unbearable. Maybe, given time, you'll reconsider.'

'Damn it, Dorothy, you're not going to talk me out of this. My mind is made up, and that's all there is to say.'

'I'm sorry, Ross, but that _isn't_ all there is to say.' Mother's words were still calm, but there was a steely edge to them now, very like the edge that had crept into her voice when she dealt with the nosey witch in the St Mungo's waiting room. 'Can't you at least try to explain what you want, what you need?'

'It's not as simple as that. You don't understand.' He sounded bitter now, and Remus knew that he was avoiding his wife's eyes. 'You're a Muggle and you can't understand.'

'Fourteen years, Ross,' Mother murmured mournfully. 'Does that count for nothing?'

'Of course it does, but it's not enough.' Father let out a leaden sigh. 'This isn't the life I wanted, Dorothy.'

There was a long hush. When Mrs Lupin spoke at last her voice was scarcely audible. 'We none of us have the life we wanted.'

Father groaned: a noise of wretched remorse. 'Oh, God, I didn't mean to suggest that you haven't suffered, sacrificed—'

'Don't,' she whispered. 'Please don't.'

They were silent for so long this time that Remus almost thought their conversation was at an end. But then his mother spoke again, her voice gentle and reasonable. 'If it were only the two of us it might be different, but there's Remus to consider.'

His fist closed on the bannister, so tightly that he was amazed it did not shatter beneath the force.

'I will always do whatever I must in order to provide for my son.' The words were strained, laced with angry determination.

'I know that,' Mother said. 'All I'm asking is that you wait a little longer. Wait until September when he's safely off to school. Maybe then…'

'I'll have had a chance to reconsider.' Father's voice was broken, heavy with despair. 'I've told you my mind is made up.'

'I've changed your mind before this,' murmured Mother.

There was a terrible hissing noise; an anguished intake of breath that seemed to suck all the warmth from the house. 'Dorothy, you know – you _know_ that I never would have done it!' he cried, no longer caring for secrecy. Even if Remus had been tucked up in bed he would have heard every word. 'I wasn't in my right mind! They were just words! I _never_ would have done it.'

'Hush, Ross. You'll wake him.' There was a swishing of skirts as Mother rose. 'Hush.'

Father was speaking again, his voice low and shattered and almost inaudible, as if muffled against something soft. Remus did not want to hear any more. He scrambled to his feet and pelted up the stairs, not knowing or caring if they heard him go. He closed the door of his room and flung himself upon his bed, limbs tangled in his dressing gown. His heart was hammering in his chest and his hands clutched his pillow desperately. He buried his mouth against it to muffle the noises of desolation.

Remus slept very little that night.

_~discidium~_

The next morning Remus went down to breakfast pale and frightened. His father was sitting at the table with _The Daily Prophet_ spread in front of him and a cup of tea in his hand. Mother was at the cooker, fixing fried bread and last night's potatoes. Three eggs were boiling over the other flame. Soon enough the food was on the table, and Mother and Father ate methodically. It seemed that they were wholly unaware of what he had overheard the night before, for surely if they had known they would have said something, _anything, _to reassure him. Remus watched them silently, scarcely able to pick at his meal. As soon as he felt he could he asked to be excused.

He spent most of the day in the back garden, anxious to avoid the salient silence inside. He dared not think on his parents' quarrel, and so he lay on his back in the shade of the house and stared up at the clouds, wishing desperately for an owl bearing greetings from one of his friends. Sometime after one Mother came out to bring him a plate with a sandwich and some slices of cucumber. He ate, for he was beginning to feel rather light-headed with hunger, but he scarcely tasted the food.

By suppertime Mother and Father were speaking again, in the same deliberately benign way that they had been for days. Remus tried to join in the conversation when they urged him too, but it proved nearly impossible.

On Sunday morning Father went out immediately after breakfast. Remus waited for Mother to announce that it was time to go to church, but she did not. She prepared him a cold dinner but ate nothing herself, and when he went upstairs to work on his History of Magic essay she settled in the sitting room. In the quiet of his little room, Remus found himself unable to focus on his homework. After a while he got up and returned to the main floor of the house, seeking his mother's company.

She was curled on the sofa with the big leather photograph album on her lap, and she was weeping. Silently Remus slipped from the room. Then he did something he had never voluntarily done. He went down into the cellar, with its bloodstained floor and its scratched and ravaged walls. He settled on the very bottom step with his knees drawn up to his chest, and he sat there for hours in the dark and tyrannical damp, until he was too stiff with cold to endure it any longer.

On Monday Mr Lupin returned to work, and Remus found it easier to pretend that the events of Friday night had never occurred. He tried to tell himself that he had likely misunderstood what had been said, and that his parents still cared for one another and that they still cared for him. He tried again to work on his paper for Professor Binns, and managed to put in a good four hours' work. By then, however, he had reached the point where he could go no further without better books. So he brought out Mother's chess set – his now, as James had said months ago – and set it up at the kitchen table to practice.

He played half a dozen games against himself, unable to win despite two checkmates for White, three for Black, and an impressive stalemate. He was just about to put the pieces away when his mother came in from the garden to join him. She was serene and smiling, and he was grateful for the diversion. He set up the chessmen again while she washed her hands.

A game with mother took four times as long as a game with Sirius, but it was far less delightful. Mother played sombrely and very well, and Remus rose to the challenge with equal sobriety. But she did not croon with delight when she won, nor study the board indignantly when she lost, and there was no lively banter throughout. After the fourth game, which he won by the skin of his teeth, Remus claimed that he was tired and went up to his room.

There was nothing to do there, either, save to languish with his unhappy thoughts. When at last he was called down to supper, Father was not there. He came in at dusk, just as Remus was heading up to bed, looking weary and pale and downtrodden.

On Tuesday an owl came at last, but it was from Hogwarts, bearing Remus's end-of-school report. Mother reviewed it happily, praising him for his high grades in Charms and Herbology and History of Magic. Even Transfiguration and Astronomy were very good, and his Defence Against the Dark Arts grade was higher than he had dared to hope. The one bleak spot on the page was Potions, which he had only just managed to pass. When he tried to apologize, Mother laughed and kissed him.

'We've all got something we simply can't do well, dear heart,' she said. 'For me it was Maths. Don't fret about it; you'll work hard and you'll get by. I'm ever so proud of you.'

It was impossible not to believe her.

That evening Father came home shortly after eight, vanishing upstairs for a long bath without even a word to his wife. Remus remained in the sitting room, trying to keep out of the way. When he went up to bed at last, he was met with a very strange sight. His parents' door was ajar and his father was lying in the middle of their bed, naked to the waist. Mother sat on a chair next to the bed, rubbing a strong-smelling linament into his back and shoulders while he made tiny noises of painful gratitude. Seeing Remus in the doorway, Mother raised one finger to her lips in a gesture of silence before returning to her gentle ministrations. Utterly bewildered, Remus shuffled to his bedroom. He lay awake for hours trying to work out why, if his father had meant the things he had said the other night, Mother was labouring so tenderly over him - and why, if Father no longer wanted this life with her, he would allow her to do it. Strive though he might he could not understand.

By Wednesday, Remus could no longer find even a pretext of industry. He sat curled up on one side of the sofa, staring at the mantelpiece. Everything upon it was ingrained in his memory, for it had stood inviolate for as long as he could recall, but he stared at it anyway. On the left was the little willowware pot of Floo powder. Beside it, a little bronze figurine of a rearing horse that his mother had won at a fair in Dublin when she was only seven. There was a gilt frame with a picture of Mother and Father on their wedding day, smiling and rocking in one another's arms. Now and then they kissed. They looked so young and contented and radiant. It would have been impossible for an outsider to imagine how now, less than fifteen years later, they had become so aged and careworn.

Beside the photograph was a tiny pair of leather shoes; wee hand-stitched baby shoes with yellow lucet laces. They were oiled and cared-for and they had never been worn.

Last of all, on the right-hand side of the mantel, was another photograph, this one in a frame made of shells. In it a tiny boy toddled to and fro in the sand, waving a small wooden spade and laughing uproariously. His hair was brown and downy, and his shining eyes were large. He wore a pair of blue bathing bags, and his bare little chest and his wee round arms and his dimpled hands and his short sturdy legs and his bare, dancing feet were smooth and cream-coloured, without fault or blemish. He was only just four years old, and he was blissful and innocent and happy and whole.

Remus buried his face in his arms, unable to look any longer at the remnants of the things he had destroyed. The merry young couple was gone now, replaced by a man and a woman beaten down by strain and worry, who seldom kissed now, and who never danced. The baby shoes were empty; for the feet that should have filled them had never kicked in the open air. And the little boy was lost forever, vanished into the moonlight. In his place was a thin and sickly changeling, an inhuman creature – scarred and pale and hollow, with lips that uttered nothing but lies.

'Remus?' Mother spoke softly. She was standing in the doorway, a dishcloth in her hand. Her eyes were very gentle, but sad.

He did not answer her, but it seemed she was not looking for a reply. She crossed the room and sat next to him, putting out her hand to squeeze his arm. 'Remus, it's more than two weeks until the moon,' she said.

He closed his eyes, his throat closing as he tried to cling to his composure.

'It's more than two weeks until the moon,' she repeated. 'If you wish, if you like, you may write and invite your friends to tea. Would you like that?'

He looked at her, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. For nearly a week he had been left without anything to distract him from the strife between his parents and his own desolate thoughts. The idea of seeing James and Sirius and Peter again, even for an afternoon, was almost more than he could fathom.

'May I?' he breathed. 'Oh, Mother, may I truly?'

She smiled, and her eyes were shining now. 'Of course. We'll ask them for Friday. You go and make up the invitations, and I'll write to their parents. Then we can go down to the Owl Post Office and send them.'

Remus scrambled to his feet and fairly flew up the stairs. As he descended to the kitchen with quill, parchment and ink, he realized happily that he was recovered, at least in body, from his latest transformation; he was not sure that he had ever before moved so swiftly. It was not until very late that night, after the letters were long gone and he had retired for the evening, that it occured to him that if James or Peter had told their parents what Remus had said about his father they would never be allowed to come.


	34. Social Engagements

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Social Engagements**

Remus was perched on the stool in the kitchen corner, watching Mother sort through the apple bin. She worked swiftly and efficiently, turning each ruddy sphere in her hands as she gauged the firmness of the flesh and the texture of the skin. The sweet, fresh apples she set aside to be laid back carefully when the job was done. The bruised fruit went into a bowl to be made into applesauce later. And the old, wrinkled ones found a home on a plate sitting next to the cooker.

Remus knew better than to ask if she was going to throw them away. His mother was adamant that food was not to be wasted. She called it a sin, in the lilting voice that always meant she was echoing the words of her long-dead grandmother, and said that those who wasted food lived to know the bitterness of hunger. But when she put away all but one of the fresh apples and began to peel the withered ones, he frowned.

'I thought you were going to make something to serve at tea,' he said, puzzled. They had gone to the shops that morning to pick up the sandwich things; cucumbers and crab meat and a large, rather costly loaf of fluffy white bread. Mother had explained as she carefully counted out the pound notes and shillings that when one had company, one served the very best that one could afford. Yet here she was, peeling old apples.

'So I am,' she said, her paring knife smoothly stripping away the desiccated brownish skin. The apple beneath was speckled with bruises and yellow patches.

'But what are you going to do with old apples?' asked Remus.

She smiled mysteriously. 'You'll see.'

When they were all denuded of their skin she swept the parings into the bin and took out her grater. Positioning it over the plate she set about reducing the apples to a heap of coarse shavings. The sweet, cloying smell filled the kitchen. Then she put them into a saucepan with an ounce of water and lit the cooker. While the apples began to cook she took three eggs from the icebox. Deftly she separated them, tossing the yolk from one half-shell to the other so that the white fell into a little bowl. She put the yolks in a second bowl and beat them vigorously.

The apples were soft now, congealed into a textured puree. Mother took them from the heat and stirred in sugar and a splash of cider vinegar. She added the beaten yolks and spooned the whole mixture into one of her pie-plates.

'No crust?' Remus asked.

'No crust,' said Mother. She opened the oven and slid the pan inside, glancing at the clock to mark the time. Then she turned her attention to the egg whites, whipping them briskly with a fork as she added sugar little by little. When they began to form stiff peaks as she lifted the fork, she stopped. Shortly afterward she removed the pan from the oven and spread the raw meringue on top of the nearly-baked apple mixture. Back into the oven it went, and ten minutes later it emerged, looking for all the world like a pie.

It smelled scrumptious, and Remus's mouth began to water. 'What is it?' he asked.

'Apple amber pie,' said Mother. 'It might be made of old apples, but it tastes of heaven and I'm sure neither your friends nor Mrs Potter will have tried it before.'

The owls had come yesterday. A post bird bore a note from Peter, saying that his mother didn't mind the idea of tea, so long as he was home in time for bed, and that he would come by Floo sometime after two o'clock. The Potters' majestic owl had brought the reply from James, who had noted that despite his best efforts Mrs Potter had accepted Mrs Lupin's invitation to join the party, though Mr Potter was happily unable to attend. Hermes had turned up last of all, just after sunset. Sirius's hastily scrawled note explained that he was waiting for the right moment to ask permission, but as he'd been ever so well-behaved all week he could see no reason his request should be denied.

Remus had scarcely slept last night, but this time it was delight and not anxiety that kept him alert. After seven days left alone with his unhappy thoughts, he looked forward to the arrival of his friends as a parched traveller regarded a distant oasis. He could almost forget the horrible things that had transpired on the train in his eagerness to see the others again.

Mother washed her hands. She plucked up the lone fresh apple and wiped it on her apron before handing it to him. 'To hold you over until tea,' she explained.

Remus ate it hastily, biting into the crisp sweetness with relish and taking care not to dribble juice down his front. He was feeling very tidy and presentable in a pair of his school robes. Mother had trimmed his hair the previous evening, and when he had studied himself in the mirror afterward he had noticed happily that there were no longer shadows under his eyes.

'When you're finished,' Mother said; 'you can go out to the garden and cut me a bundle of chives and three nice big flowers for the rose petal scones.'

Rose petal scones were a particular summer delicacy, and Remus hastened out to find the largest and freshest flowers. White bread and butter, two sorts of sandwiches, rose petal scones, and an exotic apple pie without any crust – it was a lavish and exciting menu. He had harboured a secret and rather guilty fear that James's mother would find Mrs Lupin's cooking inferior or provincial. As he gathered the slender, sharp-smelling chives to mix with the crab, Remus was now quite convinced that such would not be the case.

_~discidium~_

On the stroke of two there was a sound of Apparition in the back garden. Remus ran to the kitchen window. There, by the rose bushes, stood a bespectacled boy, his arm linked with that of a graceful silver-haired witch.

'Mother!' Remus called. 'James is here!'

His mother came down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was wearing her red silk frock – which though old and rather outmoded was bright and very becoming – and she had dressed her hair quite elegantly. Despite the streaks of grey it made her look much younger than she was wont to appear. She smiled when she saw the look of eager joy on his face.

'Shall we go out and greet them, then, dear heart?' she asked.

Remus nodded, hurrying to open the back door. The thought that he ought to hold it open for his mother flitted through his head, but he was too eager to pause. He charged out onto the grass, bolting toward his friend. James hurriedly detached himself from Mrs Potter, grinning broadly.

'James!' Remus cried. Then he remembered his manners and straightened his shoulders. 'How do you do, Mrs Potter?'

'How do you do?' she said, nodding graciously to acknowledge the greeting. 'Remus Lupin, I presume. James has told me a great deal about you.'

Remus felt some of his joy ebbing away. Had James told her everything? Did she know of the terrible lies he had told? And worse, would she say something about it?

But Mrs Potter was still smiling as she held out her hand to Mrs Lupin. The younger woman took it. 'Welcome to our home. I'm so pleased you could come,' she said. 'Dorothy Lupin, at your service.'

'Marjorie Potter,' said James's mother. 'Thank you for your kind invitation. My husband regrets he was unable to attend. He is occupied in London; St Mungo's hospital is matriculating the new Trainee Healers today.'

'How very lovely,' Mother said, but a shadow flitted across her face. She recovered swiftly and added; 'I do hope he will have another opportunity to visit. Remus talks of nothing but his friends from school.'

James shifted from one foot to the other, clearly growing impatient with the women. Remus ventured a smile at him, and felt a tiny burst of relief when it was reciprocated.

'Such a charming garden,' said Mrs Potter, turning to look around. Her bright cerulean robes swished as she did so. 'Roses really do add a sort of timeless grace, don't you think?'

'So I have always believed,' said Mother, looking pleased. She took great pride in her roses.

'But my dear! You ought to plant something in that little bed,' Mrs Potter said, pointing at the strip of earth along the west fence. 'Acanthus, perhaps?'

Remus felt his mouth go dry. There had been acanthus there once…

'No,' mused Mrs Potter; 'That wouldn't suit the rest of the garden at all. What about hollyhocks? Or lupins!' She laughed; a pleasant, silvery sound that drove away the ghosts of the past.

'_Mum_…' James groaned, looking positively mortified. 'Don't you think they probably get that joke all the time?'

His mother smiled indulgently at him. 'Don't mind him, Dorothy; if he had said it himself he would think it frightfully witty.'

'Not at all, Mrs Potter,' said Mother. 'As a matter of fact I had thought of putting in sweet peas one year, but somehow never got 'round to it.'

'Marjorie, my dear! You must call me Marjorie.' Mrs Potter swept over to admire the roses again. 'Do tell me how you get such beautiful big blooms!'

'Can we go inside?' James said in a loud stage whisper. 'Once my mum gets started on flowers she can bang on all day.'

Remus glanced at his mother, who nodded encouragingly. 'This way,' he said unnecessarily, leading James to the back door. In the little entryway James wiped his feet with care. He adjusted his spectacles and studied Remus thoughtfully.

'You look better,' he said. 'I take it… I mean…' His eyes flicked back toward the garden.

Remus flushed, his stomach fluttering dreadfully. 'I…' He could not give further credence to his horrible lies. 'It's been a very quiet week,' he said instead. 'I'm so glad to see you!'

'Same here, mate,' James assured him, squeezing his shoulder. 'So! What should we do?'

Remus hadn't the faintest idea what a boy ordinarily did when his friends came calling. 'Peter will be here soon,' he said. 'He's coming by Floo. P'raps we should go and wait for him?'

'All right, then,' James said. When Remus did not move, he grinned. 'Lead the way,' he prompted.

Remus obeyed, and a moment later they were in the sitting room, James taking a swift inventory of the shelves. He even leaned behind the rocker to peer into Mother's workbasket. Then he knelt on the sofa, looking out the window. 'Lore, your neighbours are _close_!' he said. 'There must be twenty houses on this street!'

'Twenty-four,' Remus said softly.

James whistled. 'Must be impossible to get up a game of Quidditch.'

Remus shrugged. He had never tried. He knew he was creating an awkward lapse in the conversation, but he was not sure what to say.

It was a difficulty that James had never experienced in his life. 'Is Sirius coming?' he asked eagerly. 'After all the trouble we went to keeping him out of trouble, he'd better get his furlough.'

'He wrote back yesterday to say he hadn't asked yet,' Remus said; 'but that he didn't see why he couldn't.'

James grinned. 'Good! I have to say, I was surprised to get your owl. I thought for sure it would be Sirius making the first social advances.'

Remus was spared the need to think of a reply when the fireplace suddenly erupted in green flames. A round, stocky shape appeared in it, rotating very fast. A moment later, Peter Pettigrew came scrambling out, ash flying from his shirt and his trousers and his wispy blonde hair. His plump face was radiant with a happy smile.

'James!' he exclaimed. 'Remus! Oh, thank you for having me! Thank you so much!' He looked around. 'What a nice little house!'

'Thank you,' Remus said, pleased. 'Did you have a pleasant journey?'

He grimaced at the awkward sound of the words. It was the sort of thing that Muggles said to one another, but as Peter's trip had been a matter of seconds it seemed rather asinine.

But Peter wrinkled his pointed nose. 'Dizzying,' he said. 'I don't like Floo travel, but Mum and Mary are off visiting Gran today, so I had to find my own way.'

'Who's Mary?' James asked absentmindedly. He was now studying the neat row of titles on the bookshelf.

Peter's ears went rather pink. 'My sister,' he mumbled. Casting about for some form of distraction, he settled on the shell-covered frame on the mantel. 'Oh! Is this you, Remus?' he asked, scurrying over and standing on the tips of his toes to look at it. 'You're so little!' He looked perplexed. 'I thought you said you couldn't swim.'

'He's not swimming; he's only playing in the sand,' James pointed out, glancing over his shoulder briefly before turning back to the books. 'I've never heard of half of these,' he said. 'Have you read them?'

'Most of them,' Remus fibbed. In truth, he had read every single one, and more than once. 'The Muggle ones belong to Mother.'

'_No Exit_? Is it any good?' James asked. 'Novel or nonfiction?'

'It's a play,' said Remus. 'It's very interesting, but not in the least bit cheerful.'

'You _read_ plays?' James raised an eyebrow. 'No wonder you don't mind History of Magic.'

'Remus, can we see your room?' Peter asked eagerly. 'Where are your toys?'

Remus glanced at James, who shrugged and turned away from the books. 'I could probably find it on my own,' he said; 'but it _is_ your house.'

It was wonderful to have someone to say dry, humorous things. Remus smiled enormously. 'Come on,' he said.

They followed him up the narrow steps, and he reflected what a strange and pleasant thing it was to be the leader. He opened the door to his bedroom and ushered them inside.

'Nice,' James said factually, looking around as he had done downstairs. 'A bit small, but it's homey, you know?'

'More books?' Peter said, clearly nonplussed.

'Some of them are school books,' Remus said, pressing his back against the wardrobe. Suddenly his room seemed rather small and bare. He wondered what the others' looked like.

'Brilliant!' James said, looking out the window. 'You can see over all the houses right down to the sea!'

'It must be wonderful to live by the seaside,' Peter said earnestly. 'We went to Dover last summer; it was ever such fun.'

'D'you reckon we could go down to the beach?' James asked. He looked Remus over. 'Don't you have any Muggle clothes?'

'Of course I do,' Remus said quietly. Like Peter, James was wearing a buttoned shirt and flared denim trousers. His garments, however, were obviously expensive and he wore them with an ease that Peter could not manage. The style was clearly meant for lean, athletic types like James. Thinking of his own spindly frame Remus was glad of the merciful lines of his robe. 'Tea will be served shortly, though; I don't think we'd have time to go down to the water.'

'Shame,' said James. He paused, listening as the sound of pleasant female voices wafted up the stairs. The two women had come into the house. He glanced furtively at Remus. 'Is your dad…'

'He's working,' said Remus. The coil of guilt reformed, like molten lead conglomerating into a knot in his gut. 'James, you haven't told anyone what I said, have you?'

James shook his head, and then looked at Peter, who did the same – but far more nervously.

'I'm glad it didn't stop you coming,' Remus whispered, unable to look at his friends. How difficult would it be, he wondered, to recant? Would they be angry? Hurt? Horrified?

Curious, he realized despairingly. They would wonder why he had told such a terrible falsehood. They would never believe that there was nothing to hide. He would lose any hope of deflecting them again. He had made his choice, and he had to endure it – even if the gnawing remorse threatened to drive him mad. It was this lie or the truth, and he knew he would never be able to bear it if they knew the truth.

'Remus?' It was Mother's voice, low and pleasant at the bottom of the stairs. 'Time for tea.'

The others followed him, and this time Remus was not pleased to be the one in the lead. They were following him on the other line, as well; believing what he had said – all the awful things he had said.

The table was laid with the good lace cloth, and set with Mother's wedding china. The dainty plates of food looked charming, and there was a rose floating in a bowl of water in the centre. The two women were sitting, and Peter and James quickly took chairs too. Remus slipped into the remaining place; the mismatched chair brought out from his parents' room. The sixth chair had been tactfully drawn away from the already crowded table: Sirius still had not arrived.

Mother poured tea for Mrs Potter, and then offered it to James, who accepted, and Peter, who politely declined. At her gentle prompting Remus began to pass around the plate of bread and butter and the platters of wee triangular sandwiches. Mother fetched a glass of milk for Peter, and then served Remus and herself from the teapot. Mrs Potter smiled cordially.

'My, what a feast you've laid for us,' she said, taking a sandwich. 'I imagine the crab here must be ever so fresh!'

'One of the delights of living in Falmouth,' Mother agreed.

Peter bit into a scone and made a surprised noise around it. 'It tastes like flowers!' he exclaimed.

'Roses,' Mrs Potter said happily. 'My dear, I haven't had these since I was a little girl. Do try one, James; they're heavenly.'

'I'm sure they are,' James said, winking at Mrs Lupin. 'Remus didn't mention you were such a good cook.'

'Thank you,' Mother said graciously. 'Remus tells me that you're very interested in…' She hesitated ever so slightly as she tried to recall the correct pronunciation. '…Quidditch.'

'I'd say so!' James laughed. 'I'm really quite good, you know. I plan on going out for the House team in September. You ought to see me at seventy-five feet; not even a wobble. Mind you, it'll be different at Hogwarts because the wind off the mountains throws a wrench in the works.'

'James was quite scandalized to learn that Remus has never been to see a professional match,' Mrs Potter said, beaming happily at her son. 'We'll have to remedy that now they're friends; James never misses if he can help it. We're hoping to take him to the World Cup in Luxembourg the summer after next.'

This sent James off into a lengthy dissertation on the World Cup two years previous, which he had attended in Côte d'Ivoire. The conversation wound around to West African wizarding culture and Erumpent-spying safaris. Soon Remus felt his gloom creeping away to a dark pit deep within his chest. It was impossible not to smile at James's lively descriptions of all the wonderful things he had seen abroad. When he told of his father's seasickness on the journey home, his gestures and expressions were so comical that even Remus laughed.

At last it came time for the apple amber pie. Mother cut perfect wedge slices and set one before each guest.

'Apple pie!' James exclaimed. 'But it's got meringue on it.'

'And no crust,' Peter pointed out.

'It's an old family recipe,' said Mrs Lupin, giving Remus his piece. It was chilled now and looked absolutely enticing, but Remus waited nervously until Mrs Potter tried a bite.

'It's simply exquisite!' she exclaimed, smiling charmingly.

'Mmm,' Peter agreed, his mouth full.

Remus finally dared to try it. It was delicious; sweet and yet faintly tart, with a consistency almost like mousse. If he had not known better, he never would have guessed that it was made with old apples.

Mother had been watching him thoughtfully all throughout the meal. As the boys devoured their dessert in silence, she turned to Mrs Potter. 'It's so good for Remus to have his friends to visit,' she said quietly. 'I wonder whether James wouldn't like to stay for a few days? Perhaps the first weekend in August?'

'Rather!' James said, forgetting that he had just taken a bite. A piece of the apple filling spewed onto the tablecloth and he plucked it up, swallowing and grinning sheepishly. 'I mean, _rather_! Puddlemere U is playing the Falcons on Saturday the fifth.' He turned to Remus. 'We could get you out to a pro match at last!'

He had not even looked to his mother for permission, but Mrs Potter did not seem in the least perturbed. 'I think he would love to,' she said to Mrs Lupin.

'You're welcome too, Peter,' Mother said. 'I could write to your parents about it tonight.'

'Oh, I can't,' said Peter contentedly. 'We're going to Birmingham to stay with the cousins in August.' He took another forkful of pie. 'But thank you,' he said as an afterthought.

'It's brilliant!' James said. 'Remus! We can go down to paddle in the sea, and we can see Pendennis Castle! There's a ghoul in the gun tower, you know.' He turned to Remus's Mother. 'Sirius can come too, can't he?'

'Of course he may,' said Mrs Lupin; 'if his parents allow it. Didn't you say he was coming today, Remus?'

'He wrote that he was going to ask,' Remus said uncomfortably. He was beginning to feel anxious about that. Sirius had not sent word to say that he was not coming, and he remembered what James had written about owl lockdown at Christmas. He wondered if Sirius had run afoul of his mother.

'Aw, he probably forgot,' James said. 'He'll just _have_ to come out in August, though! We'll have such a grand time!'

'It's settled, then,' said Mother. Her lips were working strangely against her smile, and her eyes seemed rather glassy. 'Friday the fourth?'

'Thursday the third!' James countered. 'Dad can bring me. Ooh, I'll need a sleeping bag! Can we go up to London tomorrow, Mum?'

Mrs Potter nodded. 'We can pick up the tickets at the same time. That will be our gift, of course,' she added, when Mrs Lupin started to protest. 'We've saved a small fortune on Quidditch tickets this year, with James away at school. Five, then, or four?'

'Five,' James said firmly. 'Sirius'll show, or he'll have me to answer to.'

They discussed the arrangements further while James and Peter each had another slice of the apple amber. Then the boys excused themselves from the table and moved into the sitting room.

'It's brilliant!' James said, leaping gleefully in an attempt to touch the wooden beam that spanned the ceiling. 'We'll have such fun! Maybe we can talk the parents into letting you and Sirius come out to my place afterward. Get you both away from the awkward home—'

'Shh!' Remus hissed desperately, straining his ears to try to assess whether his mother was listening. Amicable voices were still talking in the kitchen, now discussing the history of the Lupins' house. 'James, Peter, I need to… it's the things I said on the train…'

He did not have a chance to finish, because the fireplace burst to life in a flurry of green flames. Peter jumped, and James turned eagerly. Remus waited, expecting to see the dark spinning shape of a Floo traveller.

Instead, Sirius Black's head appeared, hovering amid the flames.

'All right?' he asked, a lazy grin on his face.

'You!' James declaimed, pointing an accusatory finger. 'You're late! Stop mucking about and get over here; I think there are still some sandwiches left.'

'And a pie without any crust,' Peter added, smacking his lips. 'It's delicious.'

'Yeah, about that…' Sirius shot a hangdog look at Remus. 'Thing is, I can't come.'

'What d'you mean you can't come? You wrote and said you could!' James said indignantly.

'He said he would ask,' corrected Remus. He looked solemnly at his friend's disembodied head. 'Did your mother… I mean…'

'He means "what did you do?",' said James, the voice of authority. 'I thought you were keeping your nose clean.'

'I was. I am. I've been so good it's sickening,' Sirius said. 'I even went to Sunday lunch at the sodding Malfoy Manor with a grin and a "good day, Lucius". I'm not in trouble, I just… can't come.'

'Well, why not, then?' demanded James.

'Never you mind, Potter. Look, I'm sorry. Maybe… maybe we can meet up in Diagon Alley when we get our new books list or something.' Sirius looked patently uncomfortable, keeping his eyes on the fire tools that stood on the hearth.

'Diagon Alley? We've been invited to spend a weekend in August!' James said. 'Remus's mum is going to write your parents to say you're invited. Then we're going to see what we can do about getting you two out to my place.'

'I can't come,' Sirius muttered, still avoiding the other boys' gazes. 'Mum said…'

'Said what?' James prompted when the silence grew too prolonged.

Sirius glared at him. 'Nothing. Never mind. Forget it. I can't come, and that's all there is to it.'

'I don't understand why you can't come,' James said obstinately. 'And unless you want me to grab you by the ear and yank you right through that fireplace I suggest you own up to whatever it is.'

Sirius looked at Remus, some kind of entreaty in his eyes. Then he sighed and lowered his lids. 'Mum says I can't go to the homes of any children she hasn't had to dinner,' he said hastily, as if by forcing the words out swiftly he could induce his friends to move on.

James looked utterly baffled. 'So what's the problem? We'll come to dinner.'

'No!' Sirius yelped, his head bobbing alarmingly in the flames. 'No, that's not possible.'

'Of course it's possible. I'll have Mum dash off the owl tonight. Your mother wouldn't mind, would she, Remus?'

'Mine would,' Peter said firmly, in a voice that clearly implied he had no intention whatsoever of going near Sirius's home. 'I'm sure she would.'

'No,' Sirius said. 'No. You're not coming to dinner and that's final.'

'But if we don't you'll be trapped there all summer!' James said. 'We're going to meet up here in August, and go to see the United game, and do all the sorts of things you do when you visit a mate by the seaside, and if you can't come you'll miss it all.'

Sirius looked absolutely miserable. 'Then I'll just have to miss it,' he said wretchedly. 'Dinner with my family isn't the sort of thing I'd wish on my worst—' His head whipped around so that his hair floated amid the flames. 'Get out of here, you nasty eavesdropping sneak!' he snapped at someone the others could not see. 'You're not allowed in here while the family are using the room, so get back downstairs where you belong!'

He remained contorted for a minute, and then finally turned back toward his friends. 'You don't want to come to dinner with my family,' he said. His gaze shifted from James to Remus. 'You really don't.'

'Maybe not,' James said. 'I've never much liked stuffy pureblood dinner parties, but if that's what it takes to get you down here for shelling and Quidditch then that's what it takes. My mother will be in contact with your mother tonight.'

He uttered the last sentence very grandly, like a young duke making diplomatic arrangements. Sirius looked at him, gratitude and discomfiture warring for purchase on his face. 'I… fine,' he said. 'Fine. If you're sure you want to do this for me.'

'Not just for _you_,' James scoffed. 'Remus and I want to see you too, you know, and your bodyless head isn't exactly what we had in mind.'

'I'd come,' Peter said, though his expression clearly said he wouldn't; 'if only Mum wouldn't take it so badly. I'm not coming in August anyway. We're going up to Birmingham to—'

Sirius turned his head again, and this time his voice was polite and almost contrite. 'Yes, sir,' he said. There was a long pause. 'Yes, sir. I'm just giving my regrets for missing tea. Mother said I might.' Another pause, briefer this time. 'Yes, sir. Two more minutes.'

He turned back, trying to grin. 'I've got to go,' he said. 'I… are you sure about this?'

'I'm positive,' said James firmly.

'Only fools are positive,' Sirius muttered. He paused, as if waiting for a laugh. When none was forthcoming, he snorted. 'You three make me so sad,' he said sagely. He glanced over his shoulder. 'Listen, I really have to go. It doesn't do to keep Order of Merlin recipients waiting for the Floo.'

'Take care,' Remus said, wishing there was more that he dared to offer.

'Keep your nose clean,' James warned.

Then Sirius was gone. The flames vanished, and the fireplace stood cold and empty.

_~discidium~_

That evening, long after the others had left, Remus sat in the sitting room. Dusk was gathering outside, and he perched on the edge of the couch, unable to settle down. He was awash with conflicting emotions. It had been wonderful, so unspeakably wonderful, to see James and Peter. For a few hours the house had been alive with activity. Even after they had left Mother had moved about happily, humming to herself as she cleaned up the tea things. Over supper she had prattled on about all the wonderful things Remus could do with his friends when they came back to stay. But Remus was also apprehensive and haunted by guilt, and he had eventually slipped away to let her get on with making her applesauce without an audience.

Now he found himself taking furtive glances at the fireplace, half wishing it would spring to life again and Sirius would look in. There was something Remus wanted very much to say to his friend. But of course the hearth remained dark and Sirius did not appear.

A little after eight the back door opened, and Remus could hear his father coming in. The sink ran for four minutes before he finally heard his mother's voice.

'Was it that bad?' she asked softly.

'Worse.' It was scarcely more than a grunt.

'There are sandwiches in the icebox, and I saved you a slice of apple amber pie – though I'm afraid the meringue is beginning to weep,' Mother said softly.

'That's when it's best,' Father said, sounding almost eager. Then his tone shifted. 'You haven't made apple amber pie since we lost...' He stopped.

'James Potter and his mother came to tea today, and Peter… oh, the one named Peter,' Mother said. 'The sandwich things were rather more dear than I'd thought and I didn't think it wise to stretch to a whole pound of butter, so I fixed a dessert without any pastry.'

'You had Remus's school friends to tea?' Father's voice was low and horrified now. 'In this house?'

'There's nothing wrong with our house,' Mother said primly. 'And yes, I had Remus's school friends to tea. They're very sweet boys. You should hear James Potter talk! No one else could get a word in edgewise.'

Father sighed. 'Dorothy, we talked about this.'

'And James is coming to stay for a few days in August, round about the waning crescent,' Mother said firmly. 'It will do Remus good to see more of his friends.'

'Damn it, Dorothy, I've told you—'

'If you can do what you want, then I think it's only fair to do what I want,' Mother said. 'The cellar is locked and everyone was with either Remus or I the whole time. If they lived with him for ten months without guessing, one afternoon together won't make a blind bit of difference.'

There was a silence broken only by the clinking of dishes. Remus wondered whether they knew he was listening. But at length his mother spoke.

'Ross, I've been thinking a great deal this last week,' she said, her voice very low.

'Not again,' Father muttered. 'Not tonight.'

'Hear me out.' A chair scraped across the floor. 'If it's really so terrible for you, if you're so miserable, then of course we can't go on like this.'

Silence. Remus held his breath.

Finally his father let out a hollow noise that was not quite a laugh. 'Can't we?' he said bitterly.

'Listen to me. I can't bear to see you like this. Something has to be done. But if you're going to… if you're going to do it, then you mustn't be rash. You need to plan your move carefully. Find a situation first; something nearby.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'You need to know where you're going, Ross. You can't just leave. Run towards, not away.'

'I'm not running away!' Father barked. He exhaled heavily and Remus could hear the noise of his hands chaffing against the long day's growth of beard. 'I need you to rethink having that boy back here.'

'Ross…'

'No, now you need to listen to me. It's dangerous. You don't understand how quickly gossip spreads at Hogwarts. If one of them finds out, the whole school will know before the first day of term.' Father's voice was very heavy. 'I think… I think at least one of his classmates knows already.'

Remus felt his pulse quickening. Someone knew? Who? And how did his father know about it?

'What do you mean?' Mother's voice was hoarse and frightened.

'There was a boy at the station,' Father said. 'Remus didn't see; he was half asleep already. But a boy was staring at him. It had to have been five minutes at least. I… I've never seen that kind of hatred on a child's face before.'

'It's impossible,' Mother said firmly. 'If anyone knew Remus would have told us. He would have been—'

'—half sick with panic,' muttered Mr Lupin. 'I know. Maybe this boy… maybe he'll keep quiet. But we can't run the risk of having anyone else figure it out. He can't have friends to stay.'

'It's too late, Ross. It's already settled, and it would break his heart if we forbade it now. You haven't had to watch him this week; so lonely and desolate. Today he was smiling, he was laughing. Those boys are good for him.' Mother sounded so very certain, and there was that note in her voice that meant she had made up her mind and no one would dissuade her.

'For now,' Father muttered darkly.

Her voice lost none of her conviction when she said; 'Now is enough for me.'


	35. A Formal Invitation

_This chapter is lovingly dedicated to Gertrude, who for ninety-six years was a paragon of sacrificial love._

_Health Disclaimer: There is no amount of alcohol safe for consumption in pregnancy. This was NOT known in 1959. Just sayin'._

**Chapter Thirty-Five: A Formal Invitation**

It arrived on Monday afternoon, carried by the large and wicked-looking owl that always delivered Sirius's post from home. Remus was rather afraid to go near the bird as it perched wrathfully on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, but Mother, undaunted, took the envelope from its foot and turned it over in her hands.

'It's addressed to you, dear,' she said, holding it out.

Remus apprehensively broke the green wax seal. Inside was a stiff piece of parchment, dyed black and sporting raised printed letters that seemed to have been rubbed with something that rendered them in shimmering silver against the dark surface. It read:

_By Invitation of Arcturus Black, Order of Merlin First Class,  
>the Presence of One<br>__**Master Remus J. Lupin**__  
>is Requested Promptly at Two of the Clock, Tuesday Eighteenth July<br>for Dinner and Social Discourse  
>at<br>__**Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London.**_

_Attire Formal, Additional Guests Not Welcome.  
>The Courtesy of a Response is Required by Return Owl.<em>

'What is it?' Mother asked. Wordlessly Remus handed her the missive, eyeing the Black family owl warily.

'Who is Arcturus Black?' Mrs Lupin said at length.

'Sirius's grandfather,' Remus said. 'I think he lives with them.'

'_Dinner and social discourse_,' murmured Mother. 'My goodness; that rather puts afternoon tea to shame, doesn't it?'

'I suppose I can't go,' said Remus, torn between loyalty to his friend, who was relying upon him to come so that Mrs Black would give leave for a weekend away, and an irrational dread. He was hardly an authority on the conventions of polite society, but it seemed to him that an invitation that included the words '_not welcome'_ in any capacity at all was not graciously meant.

'Do you want to go?' Mother was watching him carefully, her expression unreadable.

'I…' Remus considered his words carefully, eyes fixed on the black parchment. 'I want Sirius to come and stay in August,' he said. 'His mother won't let him come unless she has James and me for dinner.'

'_To_ dinner, Remus,' Mother corrected reflexively. 'Saying_ for _dinner makes it sound as if she might eat you.'

Remus let out a puff of air somewhere between a laugh and a snort. Of course that was absurd. He knew that Mrs Black had a vicious temper and a cruel tongue, and he had surmised that she was heavy-handed in meting out punishment to her son, but she was surely not as monstrous as he imagined. He recalled what Sirius had said about parents' behaviour in the presence of the children of others.

And then he thought of James and Peter, who despite the terrible lies Remus had told about his father had still been brave enough to come to tea. Surely Remus owed that same loyalty to Sirius, who was innocent of any deception.

'I want to go,' he said at last. 'Mother, please may I go?'

There was a little too much grim determination in his voice. Mrs Lupin gave him a sharp, uncertain look.

'Please,' Remus said earnestly. 'Please may I go?'

She smiled. 'I don't see why not,' she said. 'Are James and Peter going as well?'

'Not Peter,' Remus said. 'He's up in Birmingham visiting family. But I'm sure James will be there; he's the one who pressed Sirius into inviting us.'

'I'm sure it's all right, then,' Mother said. 'Do you know anything about Sirius's family?'

'He has a younger brother named Regulus,' Remus said, hoping he did not sound too evasive. He pointed at the first line of the invitation. 'And his grandfather was elevated to the Order of Merlin at the Easter Honours.'

'And what is the Order of Merlin?' Mother asked.

'It's… it's sort of like a knighthood, I think,' Remus told her. 'Sirius had to go to the Honours ceremony and a great feast afterward.'

Mother looked at him and moved her hand so that her fingers brushed the fraying collar of his old play robes. 'Well, I can't see why you shouldn't have the chance to go,' she said. 'Surely your father can take half an hour from his day to see you safely there.'

She moved out of the room, the heels of her shoes clicking gently against the floor. A moment later she returned, her old oaken lap desk in her hands. She set it on the table and took out a fountain pen and a sheet of creamy stationary, somewhat yellowed with age. The name _Mrs R. Lupin_ was printed on the top in delicate copperplate letters.

'I think…' Remus hesitated. 'I think perhaps you ought to use parchment instead.'

Mother paused, pen poised. 'One ought to respond to a formal invitation on one's personal stationary,' she explained. 'I had these made for the letters of thanks after your father and I were married. It's very fine linen paper; the best.'

'I know,' said Remus, his stomach squirming uncomfortably. He did not want to hurt his mother's feelings, but he knew that such an epistle would not be well received. 'It's only that Sirius's family… they're a very magical family. I don't think they would ever use paper. Parchment is better, even if it's plain.'

With a tiny shrug, Mother took out a small sheet of parchment. She opened her pen and wrote, in her clear and elegant hand:

_**Master Remus J. Lupin  
><strong>__accepts with pleasure the kind invitation  
>of<br>__**Arcturus Black, Order of Merlin First Class,  
><strong>__to dine on Tuesday Eighteenth July  
>at two o'clock.<em>

'That's all?' Remus asked.

Mother nodded, taking out an envelope and waiting patiently for the ink to dry. 'Simple, dignified and to the point,' she said. She handed the parchment to him. 'Go on; seal it up and send it away.'

Remus folded the parchment with care, creasing it precisely with his thumbnail. The Lupins did not use sealing wax, of course; he licked the tip of the envelope and pressed it closed. To his surprise, his mother produced from the desk a little disc of gold foil, which he affixed over the flap with a spot of paste. The cruel-looking owl was watching him, and ruffled its feathers when he drew near. Remus took a step back, startled. The bird sprang from the back of the chair, snatched the envelope from his hand, and swooped out the kitchen window. Remus watched as it gained altitude, vanishing into the low-lying clouds.

It was settled: he was going to dinner at Sirius Black's home.

_~discidium~_

Between waiting anxiously for news from London, Remus had found himself occupied with the problem of the things he had overheard since coming home from Hogwarts. These fell into two categories, and he could not decide which one was more awful.

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that his father intended to leave the family. Remus could see no other possible meaning to his words. Of course this was not the life that Father wanted. Who would want to labour away in obscurity, only to come home each night to a sad, weary wife and a lying werewolf? Who would want a son that became a bloodthirsty monster every month? Who would choose the shame of rearing a half-breed? Who would tolerate a son who lacked even the courage to deny slanderous charges of violence against the man who had sheltered him despite his curse?

Remus knew that it was no more than he deserved, to have his father leave. But his mother did not deserve it. She had never been anything but a loyal and loving wife. She cherished Father as she cherished Remus, and she had done her utmost to make the little house a safe and comfortable home. It was not her fault that the cellar smelled of blood and horror. It was not her fault that when the full moon arose there was no peace to be had. She loved her husband dearly, and it was unjust that she should lose him through no fault of her own.

Equally dreadful was the prospect of trying to manage without magic on the night of the transformation. When Remus was at home his sire's wand was needed to seal the cellar door, to reinforce the Imperturbable Charm that kept the shrieks and howls from the curious ears of the Muggle neighbours. Without Father, Remus could never transform at home again. Nor could he travel to Hogwarts and back two or three times in a summer. Without magic the journey would take almost a full day each way – and he was not at all certain that one could even reach Hogwarts by motor. Perhaps he could remain at the school always, never again coming home in the holidays… but that would leave his mother alone, without her son and without her husband, in an empty old house on a street full of strangers.

Remus did not know what to do. He wondered if he might persuade his father to stay if he promised to go away himself, to never again return home. But he was only a boy and the prospect was terrifying. He did not know what happened to werewolves whose parents did not want them anymore, but he could imagine.

At least his father seemed to be yielding to his mother's suggestion to wait. He returned home every night – later than ever before and always dirty and exhausted, but civil and kind. Remus did not understand how his father could want so desperately to abandon his family, and still treat them with the sober affection he had always shown. He kissed Mother tenderly and he gave Remus his evening hug, just as he always had. At those moments Remus longed to talk of what he had heard, to beg his father to stay, to vow whatever he had to in order to persuade him. But to do so would be to admit he had been eavesdropping, spying, sneaking, like a craven lying half-breed.

When it became too awful to think about his parents' situation, Remus had turned his attention to his father's words about the boy on the platform. It seemed inconceivable that anyone could know his secret and yet remain silent about it. Certainly there were those at Hogwarts who might dislike him for other reasons, but Father had spoken of hatred, terrible hatred. Remus wished that Father had said something else about the boy; what he looked like, what he had been carrying, what House he was in. Anything at all that might have helped Remus identify him.

Without that, there was nothing Remus could do. Whoever it had been, the secret would not remain contained for long if someone knew. All he could do was hope that somehow his father had made a mistake.

With these thoughts to keep him company, dinner with the Black family began to take on the colour of a welcome excursion; a distraction from his other troubles. At least Sirius would be there, and James. And then they would be able to come to visit in August. It might be the last happy time Remus would ever have; he had to treasure it. Clinging to those thoughts it was easy to ignore the niggling feeling that in agreeing to visit Sirius in London he had made a terrible mistake.

Unfortunately, his father lacked that particular perspective.

'Are you mad? What on earth have you done?'

Remus sat at the table, hands in his lap as he stared down at his half-eaten mutton chop and his mashed spuds. There was no doubt this time that his father knew he could hear. Mr Lupin had left him at the table only a moment ago, dragging Mother after him and closing the sitting room door with a bang. The sound of his voice carried through the wall.

'I accepted an invitation to dinner, Ross. I didn't promise our firstborn to the Kraken.' Mother's voice was calm and steady with reason. 'All I am asking you to do is take your dinner break late next Tuesday so that you can see him safely to his friend's home. I'm sure he can come back here by Floo once it's over, but I don't like the idea of him arriving with ash all over his clothes.'

'His friend's _home_?' Father yelped. 'I told you; I _told you _these people are dangerous! Bad enough he mixes with their spoilt son: I will not have Remus going into that house!'

'Ross, don't be absurd,' Mother said, rather primly. 'Remus has perfectly lovely friends, and there's no reason at all he shouldn't visit them. Sirius Black sounds like a delightful boy – a little shiftless in his studies, perhaps, but kind and witty and considerate. I'm sure his parents can't possibly be as dreadful as you seem to think.'

'Maybe not,' muttered Father. 'I don't know his sodding parents. But I do know Arcturus Black, and he's a nasty piece of work. He's bitter and cynical and spiteful, and I've never seen such a bigoted old man.'

'Many old men are cynical and spiteful; that doesn't make them dangerous,' Mother reasoned. 'The Ministry of Magic seems to think quite highly of him.'

'So he bought himself an Order of Merlin!' scoffed Mr Lupin. 'Half the Ministry is up for sale to the highest bidder; I've said that often enough.'

'Forgive me, Ross, but your present views on the Ministry are bound to be a little skewed,' said Mother. 'As someone who has been rather harshly judged himself at times, I would have thought you would give Remus's friend the benefit of the doubt.'

'There's a difference between giving the benefit of the doubt and sending our son off to the slaughter!' Father yelped. 'These sort of people – you remember that woman at St Mungo's. She's the same breed. Bad enough that Remus is a half-blood. If they realize – if they even _suspect_ about the wolf—'

'And why should they suspect?' Mother demanded. 'You always do this; you assume everyone sees and everyone knows. Why do you think Remus gets so anxious about it? Because the very idea paralyses you with fear. Twenty eight and a half days out of twenty nine he's a perfectly normal child, Ross. He hasn't got a mark blazoned on his forehead. He hasn't got a great silver "_W"_ stitched to his robe. He's known those boys, he's shared a _room_ with those boys for almost a year now, and none of them suspect. And don't start again about that brat at King's Cross!' she cried, as if cutting him off before he could speak. 'I'm not convinced you saw what was in front of you instead of what you expected to see.'

For a minute there was silence. 'Even if you don't believe me when I say the Blacks are nothing but trouble,' Father said at last, clearly exerting an enormous effort to sound calm and lucid; 'why would you respond to this sort of thing? I've never seen such a cold, impersonal bit of writing. The flaming Code of Conduct has nothing to match it!'

'Have you ever received a formal dinner invitation?' asked Mother.

'No.' Mr Lupin sounded rather sullen, as if he sensed she was about to make an irrefutable point.

'Well, I have. They're all worded that way, Muggle and Wizard alike. I replied in two dozen words myself. While I admit the bit about _additional guests not welcome_ is in rather indelicate taste, it's a perfectly ordinary social offer.'

'It's embossed with real silver leaf!' Father roared. He exhaled heavily. 'Dorothy, be reasonable. Issues of blood prejudice and lycanthropy aside, what were you thinking? What is he going to wear? How is he going to feel in a house like that? You wouldn't send him to sup at Blenheim Palace just because he happened to be friendly with the Spencer boy, would you?'

'Our son,' Mother said, very distinctly; 'is a sweet and gracious and intelligent child. We have raised him properly, and his manners are sufficient to serve him at any table, however grand or humble. If he were friendly with Prince Andrew himself I would not think it amiss to send Remus to dine with _his_ family. I am certainly not about to let absurd wizarding conventions stand in the way of my son having a perfectly ordinary childhood experience.'

Father seemed to choke on the words. 'A perfectly ordinary childhood experience?' he sputtered hoarsely. 'Dinner with Arcturus Black?'

'Tea at a friend's home is an ordinary childhood experience,' said Mother, unflappable. 'Look at the time on the invitation, Ross: two o'clock. It will be no different than the little do I put on for his other friends last week, and that was lovely.'

'Except _you_ invited their parents,' Father challenged. 'You do know why they don't want us there, don't you?'

'I should imagine it's because they feel it would be rather dull for us. I'm sure Mr and Mrs Pettigrew felt the same way; they declined to come with Peter,' Mother said. 'Either that or they would prefer a quiet children's party to a houseful of guests.'

'No, damn it, it's because—'

His argument died away, suddenly muffled into a noise that sounded suspiciously like a kiss. Remus raised his eyes, wishing the door were ajar so that he could reassure himself that the quarrel was at an end.

'You're very sweet to worry,' Mother said; 'but I'm afraid that the matter is settled. It would be hopelessly impolite to back out now. I'm sure you wouldn't want to run afoul of the man who has half the Ministry in his pocket.'

'That was bloody uncalled-for,' Father muttered, but he no longer sounded angry. There was a pause, and he let out a leaden sigh. 'But Dorothy, what _is_ he going to wear? _Attire formal_, and we can scarcely keep him in school robes.'

'Well,' Mother said. 'What do wizards wear on formal occasions?'

The door opened and they came back into the kitchen, Remus picked up his knife and fork hastily and tried to make it look as though he had been eating all the while. The meat was cold now, and it felt dry and stringy in his mouth. He chewed methodically as his parents sat down, Father trying to explain the intricacies of dress robes to his wife.

_~discidium~_

Remus was sitting up in bed that evening, trying to pick away at his History of Magic essay yet again, when there came a soft knock at his door.

'Come in,' he said, expecting to see his mother with a cup of warm milk – as they had no drinking chocolate at present.

Instead, his father's careworn face appeared, followed by his dressing-gown-clad figure. 'May I have a word?' he said softly.

Remus nodded, setting aside his book and the curled length of parchment and drawing up his knees so that his father could sit down on the foot of the bed. He was apprehensive, but he made an effort not to show it. He curled his arms around his blanketed legs and waited for Father to speak.

'I suppose you heard every word your mother and I were saying,' he mumbled, looking rather shamefaced.

'I couldn't help it,' Remus confessed.

Father sighed and drew a hand across his eyes. 'Remus, do you know anything about Sirius Black's family?'

The simple answers that had placated Mrs Lupin would not serve here. 'They're pure-bloods,' said Remus, choosing his words with care. 'They're sometimes rather unpleasant. And I think they must be very rich.'

'All of that is true,' said Father gravely. He paused to study the boy's thin face. 'Why do you want to go to dinner with them? Or tea, or whatever this is.'

'Sirius can't come to call if Mrs Black doesn't meet me first,' Remus explained. 'Sirius needs to visit. He wants to get away from London for a few days. He's been talking about it for weeks.'

The wizard did not seem to understand. His brow was furrowed and his weary eyes were lifeless and perplexed.

'He's my friend,' Remus added, scarcely whispering the words.

At last Father nodded. 'I see.'

'H-he isn't spoilt,' ventured Remus. 'Sirius. He isn't.'

'I should not have said that when I knew you could hear,' Father muttered. 'There are many things I said tonight that you should never have heard.' He shifted his weight on the mattress and leaned forward to look his son firmly in the eye. 'Your mother is right. The Blacks have no reason to suspect, unless your friend has told them.'

'Sirius doesn't know,' said Remus hollowly, trying not to think about the hateful way he now protected his secret. 'None of my friends know.' A thought occurred to him. 'Mother said something about a brat at King's Cross,' he murmured carefully, not meeting his father's eyes. 'What was she talking about?'

'Never mind that,' Father said. 'It isn't important. She's quite likely right: I saw what I expected instead of what was there. Remus…' He put out his hand and gently raised the boy's chin so that he could no longer elude his gaze. 'Remus, do you understand that I am not ashamed of you?'

A flood of contrary evidence surged to the forefront of Remus's mind. The way his father could not bear to look at him for days after a transformation. The tone of humiliation he always took when anyone spoke to Remus using words like _werewolf _and_ half-breed_ and _beast_. The fact that he had never once reassured the boy, as Mother did, that he could have a rich and normal life despite the curse. And latest of all this talk of abandoning his family and tonight's assumption that Remus was unworthy to call on Sirius at home.

'You needn't say that,' Remus whispered, tears prickling in his eyes. 'I know how hard you've tried to love me.'

Father's hand fell away, and Remus felt a wrench of despair. He couldn't even bear to touch the werewolf any longer.

'Remus, I do love you,' the man mumbled, his voice hollow and broken. 'I do love you, and I have never been ashamed. You must try to understand that. I am only trying to protect you.'

Then why did he want to leave?

The question eclipsed all other conscious thoughts, but Remus could not bring himself to give voice to it. His father was speaking the words that he had ached to hear, but somehow it seemed impossible to believe them. Once again he was plagued by all the things he wished he had the courage to ask, but he dared not speak. It was better not to know than to hear the truth.

'I understand,' he lied. Another lie. Always more lies.

His father nodded briefly, painfully. He got to his feet and moved to the head of the bed, bending down to draw his son into a close embrace. 'I love you and I am proud of you,' he said. 'Your mother is right about that, too; you are more than capable of deporting yourself properly in front of Arcturus Black, and if your heart is set on going I will take you. If this is what you want to do, you may do it.'

'It is,' Remus whispered, afraid to say more lest his voice should break.

He felt his father's lips press briefly against the crown of his head, and a moment later he was alone in the little room, listening to the heavy footsteps retreating across the hall.

_~discidium~_

_Gilded Tomes by Gheris_ was the wizarding bookshop in Falmouth. It was tucked away in a little alley off of Killigrew Street. Mrs Lupin parked the Morris Minor by All Saints Church, and she and Remus walked the rest of the way. Remus had to lead, because the entrance could not be seen by Muggles. He rounded the corner, past the rundown chemist's shop, and stopped before a bare metal door in the brick wall. Mother was watching him patiently, her handbag tucked under one arm. When he hesitated she smiled encouragingly. He closed his fingers on the rusty iron handle, and felt the tingle of magic as the entryway appeared before him. The door was suddenly made of prettily carved oak, stained glass panels in its little round windows. The knob beneath his fingers was polished brass. An awning and a window sprang from the wall beside him; behind the glass a bright display of books with moving pictures on their glossy covers glinted enticingly.

Remus opened the door and held it for his mother, who stepped quickly inside. He followed her, inhaling deeply of the smell of books.

'May I help you?' The proprietor, a plump wizard with small round spectacles, came hurrying around the counter. Remus felt suddenly rather awkward and conspicuous in his Muggle clothes. The brown corduroy trousers and soft flannel shirt – long-sleeved, of course – made him feel thin and gangling and half-dressed. The bookshop owner was looking at them with some consternation; likely alarmed to see such very convincing Muggles in his purportedly concealed establishment.

Mother, of course, was not in the least perturbed. 'Indeed you may,' she said pleasantly. 'I am looking for information on dress robes for young men.'

'Dress robes!' The shopkeeper looked immensely relieved. 'Of course! Textiles and fashion, right this way, ma'am. For a young man, you said?'

Mother nodded. 'My son,' she said, a proud smile touching her lips as she looked at Remus.

The man looked substantially less than impressed, but he was anxious to make a sale. 'Certainly, certainly; a fine lad! We've several comprehensive volumes; the very latest from London and Paris.'

'Go on and browse, Remus,' Mother said, glancing over her shoulder as she followed the prattling wizard. 'I'm sure we'll be here a while.'

Remus had hoped for precisely this. He made his way straight to the back where the dusty History of Magic volumes were shelved. Quickly he brought down three that had been mainstays of his research at school, and he sat cross-legged on the floor to thumb through them. He had brought a pencil and a dog-eared little notepad, and he set about searching for the names, dates and quotations that he needed for his essay.

Strictly speaking, such behaviour was not permitted in bookshops. Storekeepers wanted their customers to buy, not to browse, and nothing was more distasteful to a busy businesswizard than a peaky little child routing about in the stacks with no intention of purchasing. Remus had been told off many times before for such behaviour, but the nearest wizarding library was at Oxford – too far for Mother to reasonably drive, with petrol prices being what they were. In the ordinary way of things Remus might have asked his father to take him on a quiet Saturday afternoon, but he was desperate to avoid inconveniencing his sire. So he was left with subterfuge. At least he was fairly certain that Sirius and James would approve of his independent spirit and his disregard for the rules.

Besides, Mother had the shopkeeper occupied. Remus could hear them several shelves over, flipping through glossy and expensive-sounding books while Mother posed questions about styles and materials. Of course, the wizard was not an expert in clothing, and he was clearly growing exasperated with the overly curious customer.

'Really, madam,' he said at length; 'your tailor would be far better equipped to advise you on these matters. Now, if you'd like a good solid reference for the home I do recommend this one here…'

'Wool with silk binding,' Mother was murmuring, as if she could not hear the man. 'Suitable for formal dinner parties, would you say?'

'Suitable, yes. Quite suitable,' said the shopkeeper. 'Would you like to take this volume, then?'

'Not today, I think. Thank you for your time; I'll be sure to stop in again. Remus?'

He scrambled to his feet, hastily replacing the books and stowing his pad in his pocket. 'Here,' he said, coming round the shelf and taking the hand his mother offered.

She smiled once more at the wizard, who was now looking exceedingly annoyed. 'Good day,' she said pleasantly. Then they left the shop.

'Let me have that notebook and your pencil,' Mother said as soon as they stepped into the street.

Surprised, Remus produced the requested articles. 'How did you know?' he asked.

She smiled. 'I know how you think. Did you get what you need?' She flipped open the pad to a blank page and began to sketch.

'Most of it,' Remus said. 'Enough to make a good start, anyhow.'

'I'm pleased to hear it.' Mother sighed. 'Perhaps when your father isn't quite so busy at work he could take you into Oxford.'

'I don't mind. I can manage,' said Remus. He stood up on his toes to peer at the drawing she was making. 'Are those really dress robes?'

She nodded, adding another horizontal line and pausing to scrutinize her work. 'Yes. We'll get you properly suited well in time for Tuesday, I promise.'

Mother started down the pavement, a determined jaunt to her walk.

'But…' Remus let the protest die on his tongue. They could not afford dress robes, and even the cloth to make them from scratch was far too expensive. He didn't want to burden his parents any more than he already had done. 'I can wear my school robes,' he said as he finally caught up to her half a block from the motorcar.

'_Attire formal_,' Mother said. Remus searched in vain for the worry line that settled to the right of her mouth when she was thinking about money. She was smiling almost mischievously.

_~discidium~_

Remus stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, wearing a set of his school robes while his mother, armed with her flannel pincushion and her large sewing sheers, set to work draping pattern pieces. She had a scrap of muslin scavenged from the rag bag, and she was working on a collar.

'Just turn a little to the left,' she said around a mouthful of pins, smoothing the fabric and taking a tiny tuck at his collarbone. 'Now, it's important to remember that if there are any ladies present you must help the one at your right to sit. Draw back the chair for her, and when she is seated gently push it forward until she plants her foot.'

'You don't think there will be, do you?' Remus asked nervously. 'Ladies, I mean. It's only supposed to be James and me. Sirius doesn't have any sisters.'

'Nevertheless it's important that you know these things,' said Mother. 'I'm sure you'll attend more than one party in your lifetime, and when the time comes for you to help a lady to her chair I expect you to know how to do it.' Her hands were working along the back of his neck now. 'You mustn't sit down yourself until all the ladies are seated; that includes your hostess, who comes last into the room.'

'Mrs Black,' Remus said, a tiny shiver running up his spine.

'Did I prick you?' Mother asked, withdrawing the pin she had been working.

'No,' said Remus. Then he fibbed. 'It's only a little cold, that's all.'

Mother seemed satisfied. She went on. 'At formal parties the silverware is laid out for every course at the beginning of the meal. Work from the outside in. If you lose your place or get confused, just watch to see what your host is doing.'

'Outside in,' Remus murmured.

'_Never_ put a soiled utensil on the tablecloth. Always lay them across your plate or balance them on your saucer. If they serve iced drinks without any saucers, keep your spoon in the glass and hold it with your index finger while you drink.' Mother paused, either to survey her work or to gather her thoughts. 'And don't start eating until everyone has been served, unless your host or hostess instructs you to do so.'

She picked up her grease pencil and began to make marks on the muslin. 'Oh. And always wipe your mouth with the corner of your napkin before taking a sip from your glass.' She laughed a little. 'I suppose that's more important if you're wearing lipstick, but all the same it doesn't do to leave greasy marks.'

'Yes, mother,' Remus said, trying to commit all of this to memory. He was beginning to feel rather out of his depth.

'There!' Mother stood back. 'Turn around in a slow circle so that I can be sure it's straight.'

Remus obeyed, and she nodded, clearly satisfied. She helped him out of the black school robes, smoothing them on the kitchen surface while he shimmied back into his tatty blue ones. A white crescent of muslin with pointed tips was curled around the neck.

'Run along now,' Mother said, flicking at the muslin and smiling. 'If you're going to be running around the country with your friends that essay wants finishing.'

Remus left the room as instructed, wondering yet again how she was going to come by material for dress robes.

That night Father did not come in until after Remus was abed. Even with his bedroom door closed, Mr Lupin's consternated exclamation was clearly audible.

'Dorothy! What on earth are you doing?'

'I'm making dress robes for Remus,' she said placidly, and her sheers clicked against the table.

When at last he spoke again, Father's voice was low and tender. 'What did I do to deserve a woman like you?' he murmured.

_~discidium~_

Every night for the rest of the week, Remus lay awake after he turned out his light, listening to the whirr of his mother's old black sewing machine in the kitchen below. Every morning he rose to find the signs of her labours whisked away out of sight. Burning with curiosity, he even searched the kitchen bin after breakfast each day, but he could find no scraps of fabric. The mystery was enough to sustain him through another quiet and awkward weekend, though without his essay to work on he might have gone quite mad with wondering.

On Tuesday morning he awoke with butterflies of apprehension in his stomach. His father was coming at a quarter to two to collect him for dinner at Sirius's home, and he was still not certain that it was a good idea to go. It took him a long time to get up the courage to leave his bed and descend to the kitchen. When at last he did, he stopped in the doorway, staring in disbelief.

Draped on a wire hanger suspended from the curtain rod was a set of dress robes. It took him a moment to realize that it was, in fact, one of his school uniforms expertly altered. The Gryffindor badge had been removed, and the place it had been was pressed and sheared so that it was impossible to tell that there had been anything there. A collar of glossy red silk had been applied to the neck, in the shape of the pattern his mother had made on him. There was a matching silk belt looped over the rail, much broader than the plain leather belt he had for everyday wear. In place of a buckle it had two gold loops that Remus recognized as his mother's bangles, given to her by one of her classmates at Oxford on the occasion of her marriage. There was a band of the same silk about the bottom as well, lengthening a hem that was beginning to grow too short.

What rendered the robes almost unrecognizable, however, were the sleeves. Mother had slashed the narrow wool tubes in five places, almost to the elbow. In each slash she had inserted a triangular gore of silk, so that the sleeve was opened into a broad bell shape, black bands alternating with flowing crimson cloth. She had lined the sleeves in lightweight black cotton only slightly darker than the black of the robes, and against the lining slender sheath sleeves of red silk hung – for of course Remus could not expose his scarred arms.

He gawked. They looked just like proper dress robes. The silk shimmered, and beside it the practical black wool looked very elegant and dignified. They might have spent thirty Galleons in Diagon Alley and not obtained a more handsome garment.

'I was beginning to think you would never get up,' Mother said. She was standing by the icebox, watching him with shining eyes. 'I was up at half six finishing the belt, but I could have had a nice lie-in and still been done in time. Do you like them?'

'They're wonderful!' Remus breathed, turning back towards the robes. 'But where did you get the…'

His voice trailed off as his eyes travelled to the table, where the sewing machine was still standing. Beside it lay the ragged remains of a red silk bodice. The skirt was gone and the sleeves were slit, and there was a large, collar-shaped hole cut from the front panel. Remus felt a lump rising in his throat as he looked back at the beautiful robes.

'Oh, Mother,' he whispered desolately. 'Your _dress_…'

But Mother was still smiling. She crossed the room and gathered him into her arms. 'Don't fret over it, Remus,' she said. 'I'm getting far too old to be dressing like a Bond Street window mannequin. Come here; I want to show you something.'

She led him to the table and sat him down. The big family album was sitting next to the sewing machine. She opened it, turning past the first few pages of stationary Muggle photographs of a little girl with pearly teeth and curling hair and several images of a handsome young wizard grinning and waving and turning handstands. She stopped at a picture of herself and Father in Trafalgar Square, arms twined about one another. There was a bundle of roses on the lip of the fountain. The image was black and white and the swaying couple smiled at one another in shades of grey, but the frock that Mother wore was unmistakeable.

'I wore it on the day your father asked me to marry him,' she said, turning the page again.

This time she was sitting at a table in a posh restaurant filled with witches and wizards, raising a glass of champagne and grinning at the camera – presumably held by her husband.

'I wore it when we went out to celebrate the news that we were expecting you,' she said.

The next photograph she pointed to showed her standing on the steps of an old stone church, a bundle of white satin and lace in her arms. A tiny fist emerged, groping for her bosom.

'I wore it to your christening,' Mother went on. She turned a few pages. 'I wore it on New Year's Eve the year you were six. Do you remember?'

This photograph was difficult to look at. Mother was sitting on the sofa, trying valiantly to smile. There was a sheet draped across her lap, and Remus was lying with his head upon it, curled in pain. There was a blood-stained bandage wrapped over his ear, and he looked wan and very ill. Yet he, too, was smiling, for a shower of stars was spraying from the end of his father's wand, just visible in the corner of the frame.

'I wore it…' Mother turned to the last of the full pages. '…on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters when I went to see you off to Hogwarts.'

Remus's eyes widened. There he was, face upturned and arms twined about her neck as she bent to kiss him. He hadn't realized that his father had brought the old Coronet camera to the station, much less taken a photo with it.

'_And_,' she added; 'I wore it the very first time you had guests over to the house for tea.'

Mother had her arm around him now. She squeezed him tightly and pressed her lips against his ear. 'Do you know how happy it makes me,' she whispered, turning her face so that their cheeks touched; 'that now you are going to wear it, the very first time you go off on your own to spend time at the home of one of your friends?'

Remus looked up at the dress robes again, leaning in against his mother and finding himself utterly incapable of speech.


	36. Vipers in the Drawing Room

_Note: *Pant! Pant! Puff! Gasp!* Sorry about the delay in posting! I've got a good long one for you, though. Enjoy!_

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Vipers in the Drawing Room**

Remus was waiting on the back stoop when his father Apparated into the garden. He stumbled as he arrived, scarcely missing one of Mother's rosebushes. Remus watched as the wizard righted himself, smoothing his rumpled robes before looking up to stare at his son.

Remus resisted the urge to fidget under Father's scrutiny. He was wearing his newly altered robes and he felt very grown up and dignified. The broad belt disguised the thinness of his frame, and the sweeping sleeves grazed against the silk sheaths on his arms – so smooth that they almost seemed to have been painted on. Mother had combed his hair neatly for him and she had shined his Christmas shoes, declaring him to be a perfect young gentleman. She had even taken a picture to be added to the family album. Yet Remus wondered what his father was thinking as he looked at him.

'Very handsome,' he said at last, his voice a little ragged. He held out his hand. 'Come now; we mustn't be late.'

'I didn't know she would do it,' Remus whispered, begging for absolution. 'It isn't what I would have wanted.'

'But you're happy to wear them, aren't you?'

Remus looked up, startled and shamed by the words of reproof. But instead of chastisement the man's face held only a sort of wistful yearning.

'Father?' he said hesitantly.

'She wants you to be happy,' Mr Lupin said, a disconcerting vacantness to his voice. 'It's all she's ever wanted; for you to be happy.'

'I'm happy,' Remus said, because he hoped it was what his father wanted to hear.

'Are you?' The question was flat, devoid of any emotion but a dilute, lingering sadness.

'I'm trying to be,' answered Remus. There was a silence, during which neither of them moved.

'We ought to go,' Father said at last. 'Take my hand.'

Remus obeyed timorously, fearful lest the man should flinch at his touch. He did not, however, merely curling his fingers around those of the boy. A moment later there was the unpleasant pulling sensation as they Disapparated.

They appeared with a crack in a small, grassy square. Realizing it was surrounded by tall old townhouses and a tarmac roundabout, Remus looked around frantically for observing Muggles. There were none to be seen, so he stared at the houses instead. They were much the same sort found in Belgravia, only rather less modernized. Only one sported a television aerial, and several of the others appeared to be home to more than one family. There was a rusty old bicycle chained to the railing above one of the area stairs. Though a hundred years ago this must have been a very distinguished neighbourhood it scarcely seemed the sort of place Sirius would be likely to live.

Abruptly Remus realized that his father was breathing very heavily, as if he had run a great distance. He turned to find him doubled almost in two as he clutched at his side. His wand-hand was trembling.

'Father?'

Mr Lupin looked up at him. His face was grey and his lips were very pale. He put his hand on Remus's shoulder, clutching it for support as he struggled to catch his breath. 'I'm fine,' he panted at length. 'I'm just fine.'

'Did you splinch?' Remus asked, taking inward inventory of all his own essential body parts.

Father shook his head and straightened. 'I'm tired; that's all,' he mumbled. He looked about as if trying to orient himself.

'Are you sure this is the right spot?' said Remus softly.

The man nodded, pointing to a signpost that did, indeed, read _Grimmauld Place_. 'I came up here last night to scout points of reference,' he mumbled. 'That's number twelve, there.'

Remus followed his nod, and saw number eleven and number thirteen butted up against one another.

'It's Unplottable,' said Father. 'All you need to do is walk up to it.'

Remus moved to do so, but a shaking hand grabbed his trailing sleeve. He turned to discover that his father had put away his wand and was holding out a small stoppered phial. Remus took it reflexively, rocking it so that it made a soft swishing sound.

'Floo Powder,' Mr Lupin muttered. 'I'm sorry; I know Sirius Black is your friend, but I don't trust these people. As soon as you get in there you find out from that boy where the connected hearths are. Then if you need to you can make a quick escape. Do you understand? At the first sign of trouble I want you to get out of that house.'

Remus nodded, pocketing the little vessel. Somehow it was comforting that his father cared enough for his welfare to think of this. It emboldened him a little. 'Father,' he said, very quietly; 'you said that Mother wants me to be happy. What is it that you want?'

His father looked down at the crimson cloth in his hand. He rubbed his finger and thumb together against it, and a look of sorrowful nostalgia flooded his eyes. Remus knew he was thinking of his wife in the red dress, and wondered which occasion was now brought to mind.

'To turn back time,' Father whispered at last. He released his hold on the sleeve, and sighed. 'You had best go; it's nearly two, and it would never do to be late.'

Remus nodded solemnly, and despite his discomfiture and a sudden attack of paralysing apprehension he turned his back on his father and walked forward to the place where eleven and thirteen met.

As he stepped onto the pavement before the houses they leapt aside as between them an identical building seemed almost to inflate, windows and railings and front steps expanding and settling into hard contours. Drawing a deep breath, Remus mounted the stairs toward the door. At least it looked like a door: it was rectangular and glossy black, and it had a knocker shaped like a silver serpent. But there was no handle, no keyhole, no sign of hinges. Wishing his hands would not shake so badly, Remus reached up to rap the knocker.

When the deed was done he glanced over his shoulder, unsure whether his father could still see him. He was standing in the square, watching, and as Remus turned he offered a small, reassuring smile. Then the door swung inward, and Remus found himself face-to-face with Sirius.

The taller boy wore a set of fine velvet robes, rather too hot for a summer's day but lighter at least than the horrors he had worn for the Easter Honours. He bowed low against the door, ushering Remus in with a sweeping hand.

'Welcome,' he said solemnly; 'to the Noble and Most Ancient Ancestral Residence of Black.'

Remus stepped over the threshold and had to leap out of the way as the door yanked itself from Sirius's fingers and swung closed behind him.

'And here are the ancestors,' Sirius added, much less grandly, jerking his thumb over his right shoulder.

At first Remus did not ever register the sight of the portraits, so awed was he by the grandeur of the entryway. It was a long room with a great vaulted ceiling: looking up Remus could see the bannisters of the landings above. A huge chandelier with stems shaped like serpents furnished most of the diffuse, greenish light that bathed the dark flocked paper on the walls and the rich, deep carpet. The rest was provided by old-fashioned gas lamps set between the portraits in their ornate frames. On one wall, flanked by heavy silken curtains, was a framed painting of a stormy sea, upon which a long, slender boat seemed to sit like an exultant bird of prey, dark sails billowing in the wind. The prow was carved in the likeness of a sea monster, and just behind it a bold-looking wizard with flowing black hair and a narrow beard looked out imperiously toward the approaching cliffs. Near the back of the ship, looking rather humble and effete, sat a clean-shaven man wearing a lopsided crown.

'William the Conqueror,' Sirius hissed, pointing at the sorry-looking monarch. 'That nasty-looking piece of work in the front is supposedly the first Black to land in England. Ironic, of course, as Black is an English name and there's absolutely no proof we had an ancestor at Hastings. Well, _practically_ no proof.'

The wizard turned to shoot Sirius a reproving look, and among his soldiers King William sighed. It would have been comical, save that every brushstroke in the painting seemed calculated to exude a sense of daunting might.

'I'd watch your language if I were you, young man,' said the portrait of an unpleasant-looking witch wearing a low-cut gown embroidered with what appeared to be human eyes rendered in beetle wings. 'You are speaking about my illustrious forbearer. And straighten that spine.'

'Yes, Great-Great-Great-Aunt Elladora,' Sirius said stiffly, in precisely the same tone he had used with the picture of Phineus Nigellus Black in Professor Dumbledore's office.

'Stooping like a Mudblood,' said another painting; this one of a sneering wizard with beady black eyes.

'Never amount to anything,' remarked one still further along.

Sirius had his hands balled into fists. He jerked his head at the staircase. 'C'mon; let's go,' he said.

Remus followed him, skirting carefully around an umbrella stand that looked suspiciously like an enormous severed foot. Sirius ascended halfway to the first floor and stopped.

'I wondered what you'd wear,' he said, looking Remus over and flicking one of the flowing sleeves with his forefinger. 'Awfully nice. Very latest style, aren't they?'

Remus nodded, unconsciously straightening his shoulders and holding his head a little higher. If Sirius recognized the robes as having once been a school uniform he was kind enough not to say. Sirius glanced furtively at a set of large double doors at the head of the landing above.

'Listen, we haven't much time before someone comes looking for us,' he said. 'There's a few things you have to know about dinner with my family. First of all, it's a trap.'

Remus felt his eyes go wide. 'What?' he gasped, his hand groping for the phial of Floo Powder in his pocket.

'I don't know what she's planning, but she's planning something.' Sirius had an eerily intense expression on his face as his voice lowered to an urgent whisper. 'So don't speak unless spoken to. Make sure you keep your hands out of your pockets—' Remus removed his hand at once, clasping it with the other behind his back. '—and try not to slouch. She hates that. When we go down to dinner you'll have to take one of the girls; I'll try to make sure it's Drommie. She'll know what to do, but you just need to put her on your left arm and—'

'Girls?' Remus echoed, his anxiety mounting.

Sirius donned a pained expression. 'She's got Aunt Druella and the cousins in,' he moaned. 'To round out the table, she says. But do you see what I mean? It's obviously a trap.' He cast his eyes toward the chandelier, pupils flicking to and fro as he ran through something in his mind. He began to tick points off with his fingers. 'Napkin goes on your lap, don't put your used utensils on the tablecloth. Oh! If we have pears for the fruit remove, pick it up with your fingers: _don't_ use the fork and knife. That trick's as old as the hills. And if there's asparagus… best just say you're allergic.'

'But—'

'No,' Sirius said, nodding curtly as if he had made up his mind. 'You're allergic. Say it.'

'I'm… I'm allergic to asparagus,' Remus stammered.

'_Don't _look at Granddad when he's in the soup,' Sirius went on. '_Don't _swing your feet no matter how they start to ache. And _don't_ make eye contact with Bella.'

'Who's Bel—'

The double doors above swung open, and a spindly blond-haired witch dressed in garish apple-green robes overlaid in orange gauze strode out onto the landing. 'Why are you dawdling on the stairs, boy?' she asked. 'Show him up!'

'Yes, Aunt Druella,' Sirius said in the same deadened, obedient voice he used with the portraits. This time, though, there was a tiny malicious glimmer in his eyes. He started up the stairs again, beckoning Remus after him. 'This way,' he said, his tone dry and very formal. 'My mother and my noble grandfather are receiving their guests in the drawing room.'

Remus followed timidly, passing the witch with mounting apprehension. She was looking down the length of her nose at him, her eyes cold with spiteful disdain. She looked as if she would quite enjoy kicking him down the stairs. He fixed his eyes on Sirius's back and followed him into the drawing room. As he went he realized that he had forgot to ask his friend about the Floo fireplaces.

If the entryway had been rather daunting, this room was entirely overwhelming. High windows, partially obscured by hangings of black crepe, looked out over the square below. In the middle of one wall was an enormous fireplace, which despite the summer warmth was roaring with flames. It was flanked on either side by exquisitely carved cabinets set with panes of glass in the doors. These held a vast array of curios and strange-looking objects, including an exquisite crystal decanter filled with a dark fluid that looked suspiciously like blood. Remus turned swiftly away, and saw on the other wall an enormous tapestry depicting a tree of consanguinity.

The furniture was dark and heavy, upholstered in rich brocades executed in variant shades of green and black and shimmering silver. Sitting on the chair belonging to a large old writing desk was Andromeda Black, legs crossed elegantly so that her bright blue shoes peeked from beneath the hem of her rich purple robe. She was watching Remus, and she was not the only one. His innards crumbled to dust as he became achingly aware of the multitude of eyes upon him.

'Mum – _Mother_,' Sirius said, bowing a little. 'This is my friend, Remus Lupin. Remus, my mother, Walburga Black.'

Remus forced himself to look at the woman seated domineeringly in a large wing-backed armchair near the fire. She was wearing black silk robes adorned with a large quantity of silver jewellery. Her bony hands were encrusted with rings; there was one at the base of every finger and several of her second knuckles were bejewelled as well. She had her steel-grey hair coiled into a complex but somehow unbecoming chignon, adorned with a black lace cap that gave her the look of a Victorian spinster. Her face was gaunt and jaundiced; her expression very severe.

'Come here,' she said, crooking one finger. Remus realized that her nails were twice as long as they ought to be, and honed to finely tapered points. Swallowing his terror he took a step around Sirius and inched forward towards her. 'Nearer, boy. Let me look at you.'

All the other people in the room were watching Remus; he could feel their eyes, and yet he did not dare to turn and look at them. The cold, dictatorial stare of Mrs Black held him as one entranced. He took another step closer, and another. He was near enough now that had she wished she could have swiped with her hand to scratch out his eyes. Instead her taloned fingers drummed on the arm of the chair.

Remembering his friend's warning against slouching, Remus tried to square his shoulders and keep his head level despite his urge to slink away and hide.

'Not much to remark upon,' Mrs Black observed dispassionately. 'But then you never did have frightfully high standards when it came to the company you kept.'

The words were directed at Sirius, who flushed, turning with an obvious effort. 'Grandfather,' he said, addressing the man occupying the other place of honour; 'may I present Remus Lupin?'

The wizard nodded curtly. Remus recognized him at once from the article in _The Daily Prophet_; Arcturus Black, father of Orion. His hair, though streaked with grey, was still largely dark, and his arched brows gave him the look of falcon.

'How do you do, sir?' Remus said, forgetting in his haste to fill the silence that Sirius had warned him not to speak unless spoken to.

'How do you do?' Arcturus Black's voice was deep and very cold. He seemed quite the type of person to put his name to invitations including the words '_not welcome'_.

Sirius turned again, indicating a wizard somewhat younger than Arcturus but still rather older than either of Remus's parents. He had a distant, haughty look, but seemed somehow less powerful than the other two. His robes were green, and he wore an enormous signet ring on the third finger of his left hand.

'My father Orion,' Sirius said. He nodded at the willowy girl seated on the sofa beside her uncle. 'And of course you've met my cousin Narcissa.'

Remus nodded, feeling his mouth going rather dry. He had not expected the presence of other young people, and Sirius's ornamental cousin with her pale hair and her upturned nose was a very intimidating creature. She spared him the merest scornful half-glance.

Next Sirius twitched his chin towards the corner of the room, where two armchairs were angled next to a little round table. In one sat an ancient-looking witch, knees spread so that her cane stood up between them, its opalescent ball clutched in two wizened hands twisted with the opera-glass deformity of severe arthritis. In the other chair was an elderly wizard, a complacent half-smile on his face. As far as Remus could see he had no teeth, and his thin hands rested on his rather bloated belly.

'My Grandmother Irma and Granddad Pollux,' Sirius said. His mother cleared her throat reprovingly. ''M sorry,' muttered Sirius. 'My _Grandfather _Pollux.'

The wizard snorted, a bead of dribble appearing at the corner of his mouth. 'Is it a dwarf?' he asked, his lips wrinkling over his gum.

'It's a boy,' said Sirius's grandmother crossly, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Remus. 'A Mudblood, I'll warrant.'

'He's not!' Sirius protested. 'He's a Lupin. His family's been witches and wizards for generations.'

'Hardly the best sort of witches and wizards, though,' remarked Sirius's Aunt Druella, curling her lip unpleasantly as she crossed the room to settle beside Narcissa. 'No refinement, no ambition, no money to speak of. Leto Lupin was in my year; a fat little Ravenclaw with _none_ of the social graces. She never did manage to find a husband. I can't recall whom her shiftless little brother married. An Enys, was it?'

Remus felt an uncomfortable fluttering in his belly. It had been many years since he had heard anyone speak of his father's sister, but that seemed of little import next to the allegation that his father was shiftless. Remus knew nothing could be further from the truth. His father worked very hard indeed, at a job he hated, just to put food on the table. He worked such long hours nowadays that he was scarcely ever home. A burning anger bubbled up inside of him and he tried to get up the courage to protest on his sire's behalf.

Then a cold shower of shame washed over him, quenching his rage and leaving him weak in his disgrace. What right had he to protest the slandering of his father, when he himself indulged in it? In his selfishness and cowardice he had forfeited the privilege of indignation. He felt his shoulders stooping, but he could not stop them.

'No, no, Mamma,' Narcissa said superciliously. 'Everyone knows that the Lupin boy is a half-blood.'

The silence that followed this pronouncement was like the hush before a hurricane. Sirius's face went white, and from the twitching of his hand Remus surmised that he would have quite liked to slap his cousin. Andromeda cast her eyes toward the window as if the very sight of the little guest pained her. Orion Black stiffened, and Arcturus's lips curled into a sneer of disgust. Mrs Black drew herself up in her chair, clutching the armrests as if she could strangle the life from them.

A petulant, warbling voice rang loud in the hush. 'What _is _it?' Pollux Black demanded. Clearly he had not heard his wife's previous reply. 'Is it a dwarf?'

Remus found himself unable to breathe, waiting for the tirade of insults to begin. He had heard the vitriol Mrs Black was capable of pouring out, and he bit down on the tip of his tongue, promising himself that he would neither weep nor run nor beg for mercy once she began.

'He's a boy, Grandfather!' Andromeda said. She spoke very loudly, her voice deeper than usual out of deference to the deaf old wizard. 'His name is Remus Lupin, and he's a friend to Sirius!'

'Not a dwarf, then,' the old man said, shaking his head regretfully. 'Pity. Like a good dwarf, me. Tumbling tricks and juggling, you know.' He smacked his gums and slapped his stomach.

'Oh, I don't know, Grandfather…' A low, languorous voice drifted from the corner by the door. Remus whirled around to see who had spoken.

There, draped artfully across a silk-tasselled chaise longue, was a young woman. She looked very like Andromeda, with the same lithe figure and the same hooded eyes. But her thick, shining hair was darker – almost the fathomless black of obsidian – and there was a particular aristocratic air about her that Drommie, despite her grace and her patrician features, did not possess. Her glossy jade robes were very tightly fitted, with a black basque laced over top to lift her bosom and nip in her waist. She wore high dragonhide boots with spool heels, nestled against one other beneath the scalloped edge of her robe. The arm that rested against her shapely right hip held a long wand of some dark and highly polished wood, and she twitched it languidly at Remus.

'…I daresay I could make the little blood-traitor tumble if you wished it,' she said, curling her full lips in an unpleasant smile.

Pollux did not hear her, but the other adults all seemed to find her remarkably amusing. Sirius's grandmother snorted appreciatively. Druella tittered into her hand. Orion Black grinned and Arcturus let out a single barking noise rather like a laugh. Even Mrs Black's lips twitched appreciatively, in an indulgent way that told Remus the young woman sat high in her favour.

'He's not a blood traitor!' Sirius cried, whirling on the elegant young witch. 'He didn't choose the sort of parents he has.'

Remus felt his chin tilting downward as his head sank lower. He would never have dreamed of wishing for parents any different than his own. He was fortunate to have them; they were better than anything he deserved.

'A plebeian for a father and a filthy Mudblood mother, Sirius,' said Arcturus Black contemptuously. 'That's near enough to blood traitor that he should never have been brought within a mile of this house.'

Sirius's eyes grew wide, as if he had been struck by a sudden inspiration. 'His mother isn't Muggle-born!' he said vehemently. 'She isn't Muggle-born, is she, Remus?'

'No,' Remus said hoarsely, feeling the last of his valour ebbing away. 'No, my mother isn't Muggle-born.'

'It was his great-grandfather!' Sirius went on, gesticulating manically. 'His great-grandfather was a Muggle, and that had to be… what, at least seventy years ago? Your mum's dad's dad, Remus. _He_ was the Muggle.'

Remus felt his eyes go wide as he realized that Sirius was trying to induce him to equivocate. 'M-my great-grandfather, yes,' he said. 'He was a Muggle.'

'So you see?' Sirius said. His voice trembled ever so slightly, and Remus wondered if anyone else had noticed. 'He's not… I mean, half-blood isn't quite… you see?'

'All the same, Sirius,' chided his father; 'you must learn to be more discerning. Who can say how many generations it takes to successfully breed out the undesirable Muggle traits?' He looked Remus over with thinly veiled distaste. 'A Mudblood grandfather,' he spat. 'That would account for quite a lot.'

Remus was staring down at the carpet now, aware that his shoulders were shaking. He had never been ashamed of his mother – his kind, clever, beautiful mother who had treasured him all his life. They could not make him ashamed now, he thought desperately. Not while he stood before them in robes she had cut up her best frock to make.

'Come now, Sirius,' cooed the witch with the long black hair. 'Aren't you going to introduce us? After all, it isn't every day that I have the chance to meet a scrawny little creature whose sole redeaming quality is that he is _not quite a half-blood_.'

Sirius stiffened, and Remus prayed that he would not say anything rash. The young woman was giving them a chance to move on as if the last five minutes had never happened. Despite the contempt in her words Remus was filled with abject gratitude, and he only hoped his friend would see the opportunity and take it.

'Remus,' Sirius said through clenched teeth; 'my cousin Bellatrix.'

'Charmed, I'm sure,' she said, only the tiniest hint of scorn in her melifluous voice. She laid aside her wand and held out her right hand very regally, palm down and fingers curled delicately forward. Her nails, too, were long, and painted with gleaming black enamel.

Remus hesitated, unsure of what was wanted. It was not the correct position for a handshake, and in any case he was apprehensive of touching Andromeda's dark doppelganger. 'P-pleased to meet you, Miss Black,' he said softly, executing a rather stiff bow.

Bellatrix chuckled, a low purring sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 'At least he knows his place,' she said scornfully, lowering her hand and picking up her wand again. 'Most blood-traitors' brats seem to put on airs rather above their station.'

There was a small, excited noise from the other inward corner. 'Sirius,' a young voice said in an eager stage whisper. 'Sirius, don't forget me!'

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose. He turned to gesture at a boy, cast in his image and about two years his junior, perched on a tufted silk stool behind the sofa. 'Remus, Regulus. Regulus, Remus.'

'Hello,' the boy said, grey eyes glittering enthusiastically. 'Pleased to meet you.'

'Pleased to meet you,' Remus replied softly, hoping that this counted as speaking when spoken to.

'And that's everyone,' Sirius said briskly, casting about the room. He had his usual confident grin on his face now, but Remus noticed him scrubbing the palm of his hand against his thigh. It left a dark watermark on the silk; perspiration.

'It seems to me that it's well after two,' Narcissa chirped, smirking at Sirius. 'I thought you had invited the Potter boy as well. Perhaps he's found something better to do with his time?'

From her tone and the cool half-glance she shot her mother, Remus gathered that the Slytherin girl was not especially pleased to be here.

'He'll be here,' Sirius said fiercely. 'He's coming.'

'Modulate your voice,' his mother scolded. 'And stand up straight.'

Jaw set, Sirius adjusted his spine. Remus was beginning to feel very vulnerable and exposed, standing in the middle of a room full of unpleasant strangers. There was an empty armchair just beyond the sofa, but he did not dare to move to take it. Instead he took a half-step backward, hoping that no one had noticed. With eight or nine more he could get his back against the wall.

'You are coming to the end of your Season at last, Bellatrix,' Mrs Black said, turning to her niece with the air of one deliberately turning the conversation to less repugnant matters. 'Tell us; have you found a suitable prospect?'

'Sadly no, Aunt,' Bellatrix said languidly, examining the nails of her left hand. 'It has been a veritable desert as far as eligible young men are concerned. Andromeda and I seem to be rather between crops, hmm?' She cast an indolent look at her sister, who shrugged and smiled a little.

'I've told her, Walburga, that she ought to consider Gideon Prewett,' Druella said, a rather fawning tint to her words. 'He's dashingly handsome and still unmarried. And his pedigree is unimpeachable.'

'Mother, I am not going to marry Gideon Prewett,' said Bellatrix succinctly, as if she had had this discussion many times before. 'He's far too stubborn, and not nearly wealthy enough to support me in the style to which I am accustomed.'

'I should think the marriage settlement your father and I have promised you will be more than enough to make up for the modest fortunes of the Prewett family,' her mother remarked primly.

'Nonsense; the girl is quite right,' said Walburga. 'Gideon Prewett is entirely unsuitable. Three years ago it might have been negotiable, but after his sister's appalling marriage there really is no question of an alliance in that quarter. After all,' she said, casting a disdainful frown at Remus; 'we can all seen the sorry outcome of indiscriminate miscegenation.'

'One-quarter a Mudblood is one quarter too much,' Irma Black agreed vehemently.

'I am certain,' Sirius's mother went on as if she had not heard the old woman; 'that a young lady of your particular charms can do much better than the brother-in-law of a penniless blood-traitor, Bellatrix.'

'I fully intend to, Aunt,' the young woman assured her. 'Yet we must all be patient. It may take some time for a suitable man to ripen for the plucking.'

'Have you someone in mind, then?' Druella said shrewdly. 'I have always said that young Lucius Malfoy would make a good match for one of my girls.'

Sirius made a tiny noise of disgust in the back of his throat, and Remus looked warily at him. He had only just been freed from Mrs Black's attention and he had no wish to put himself back under scrutiny.

'Perhaps,' said Bellatrix, shrugging her right shoulder ever so slightly. There was a strange smile on her face now. 'After all, surely the proper match is worth waiting for.'

From somewhere below, a great clanging rang out. Sirius stiffened, a look of immense relief on his face. 'That will be James,' he said, bolting for the door and hauling it open.

Remus realized abruptly that he was about to be left alone with these people. His eyes flicked towards Andromeda, who was at least a familiar face, but she was on the far end of the room, and to reach her he would have to walk past five other people. His mouth went dry and he struggled to supress the urge to flee.

'Remus?' Sirius was lingering on the threshold, looking back. 'Would you care to join me in greeting my guest?'

'Yes, please,' he breathed, desperately grateful. He hurried out onto the landing and as Sirius drew the drawing room door closed he heard unpleasant laughter from within.

'Dear me. And Gryffindor is known for the _valour_ of its students,' drawled Bellatrix Black. A high, giddy giggle followed that pronouncement. Remus wondered whether it belonged to Narcissa or Regulus.

Sirius's face was suffused with blood. He grabbed Remus by the wrist and stomped towards the stairs. 'I'm sorry about that. Merlin. She could at least be _civil_.'

Remus was unsure whether Sirius was referring to his mother or his cousin, but he was so thoroughly thankful to be out of that room that he did not have the strength to ask. He hurried after Sirius as the bell sounded again.

'Sirius, you lied…' he panted. 'You lied to your mother!'

'I did what I had to do,' Sirius whispered, cupping his hand over his mouth to obscure the movement of his lips from the watchful portraits. 'You saw how they took the news of one Muggle ancestor three generations ago. If they knew the truth they'd throw you through the drawing room window!'

At the look of horror that filled the smaller boy's eyes, Sirius repented. 'All right, so they'd probably just turn you out into the street,' he said. 'But they'd never let me see you again if they could help it, and if Mum found out I lied…'

The bell rang again.

'Answer that door!' Elladora snapped, glowering down from her frame at the two boys.

Sirius hurriedly crossed the entryway and yanked open the door. Rather than bowing he reached out to seize James by the front of his robes, dragging him unceremoniously aside. He waved to someone in the street, and then closed the door before it could close itself.

'Hallo, James. Good to see you. So nice of you to come,' James said loudly, strolling into the middle of the room and looking about appraisingly. 'Egads. I think Dad Apparated into the wrong place. We're clearly in the Slytherin common room at last!'

Sirius grew rather pink. 'Don't joke like that,' he said. Then his face creased anxiously. 'You're late. I thought maybe you'd…'

He let the sentence dangle, but Remus could finish it easily enough. Sirius had thought that maybe James had changed his mind and decided not to come. The prejudices James had against Slytherin and the sort of wizards that Sirius's family obviously were ran almost as deep and every bit as strong as the prejudices of the Blacks.

James grinned enormously and clapped Sirius on the shoulder. 'Don't be so glum!' he said. 'We're here to have fun, aren't we?' He ignored Sirius's look of jaded scepticism. 'I have to tell you, mate, that my mother was scandalized at that invitation. "_Additional guests not welcome_"? That's positively vulgar.'

'Yeah, well, they didn't want the parents showing up,' Sirius said. 'Especially not Roland Potter, Esquire. Children are easier to bully when their parents aren't around.' He shot a hangdog look at Remus.

'I think they'll find me rather challenging to bully,' James said with a sunny smile. His eyes fell on the painting of the Norman invasion. 'Merlin's sweaty vest – what the devil is that?'

'No time for a tour,' Sirius said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other and glancing up at the first floor landing above. 'They're expecting us back in the drawing room for inspection and introductions.'

'No fear there!' said James. 'How do I look?'

He twirled in place so that the skirts of his dress robe belled out around him. It was a rich carmine red, tailored exquisitely to his form. The high collar was piped in gold, and there were thick bands of goldwork on the sleeves and the hem. He wore a belt of gold plate with an enormous buckle on which was emblazoned the Gryffindor lion, a ruby set in its eye.

Sirius whistled softly. 'Like a perfect prat,' he said, very solemn.

James snorted and cuffed him playfully. 'Better than yours,' he needled. 'I've seen more cheerful togs at a funeral.'

Remus rather hoped that James would say something about _his_ robes. True, they were nowhere near as grand as the ones his friend wore, but they were neat and dignified, and Sirius had said they were '_awfully nice'_. But James started towards the stairs.

'Let's go,' he said. 'No sense keeping our host waiting. Those Order of Merlin types are sticklers for punctuality.'

'Then why were you sodding late?' Sirius muttered, but he did so in such a low voice that James could not have heard. Sirius followed his friend, leaving Remus to take up the rear. It took every ounce of his conviction to mount those stairs, and all of it very nearly abandoned him again when Sirius opened the drawing room door and gestured that the other two should enter.

This time Remus did not hover in the middle of the room. He pressed his back to the wall beside the door, where he could keep an anxious eye on everyone at once. Regulus, sitting nearby on the tuffet, smiled up at him briefly before turning rapturous attention on James, who was being presented to his mother.

He cut a very elegant figure in his shimmering robes. James walked with accomplished dignity and an air of self-confidence that Remus knew he himself would never achieve. He certainly could not be accused of slouching as Sirius said, 'Mother, may I present James Potter, my friend.'

Walburga nodded ceremoniously. 'Welcome, Master Potter, to the ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,' she said. Her tone was almost gracious.

'Thank you, Mrs Black,' James said with an accomplished bow. 'I shall endeavour to be worthy of the honour of your kind invitation.'

Judging by the grim satisfaction on Sirius's face as he turned to his grandfather, Remus was not the only one who had heard the subtle, mocking lilt in the other boy's voice.

Arturus was equally courteous. 'I had the pleasure of speaking to your father last week in the office of Orpheus Andrews. Such excellent work he is doing at St Mungo's. Please offer him my regards.'

Orion Black smiled unctuously. 'I do hope the journey down was pleasant.'

'James, my Aunt Druella,' Sirius said, rather tightly.

'A pleasure, Mr Potter,' she simpered.

'The pleasure is mine, I assure you,' James said politely.

Walburga's mother, at least, had nothing pleasant to say. 'Hopped up little Gryffindor peacock!' she snorted. 'Don't know what the world is coming to, dressing children up like little sheiks. In my day a boy wore a good, sensible set of robes. Why he'll outgrow those in a year's time, and then what?'

Pollux squinted. 'Is it a dwarf?'

'Andromeda you know; Cissy you know,' Sirius said, indicating the two younger women. Then he turned to the chaise longue. 'James Potter, my cousin Bellatrix Black. Bellatrix, this is—'

'James Potter, of course,' cooed the witch. 'Heir to one of the largest private fortunes in Britain. Enchanted, James Potter.' She extended her hand as she had to Remus, her dark lips curled in a siren's smile.

Undaunted, James stepped towards her. He held out his right hand, touching the first two fingers to the underside of her palm. He executed a very low, precise bow, pursing his lips to kiss the air an inch above the back of her hand. He straightened and let her withdraw her arm as he said, 'How do you do, Bellatrix?'

Her smile wavered for a moment; clearly she had been expecting a more formal form of address. But then she nodded regally and picked up her wand again, resuming the ominous business of toying with it.

'And me!' Regulus said, fairly bouncing on the stool.

'This is my kid brother, Regulus,' Sirius mumbled.

'All right, Regulus?' James said, extending his arm for a hearty handshake. 'I hear you're a good sport.'

Regulus grinned enormously. 'I've heard a lot about you, too,' he said. Glancing at his mother, he added; 'Welcome to our home.'

'Thanks,' said James.

'Please have a seat, Master Potter,' said Mrs Black, indicating the empty chair. James strode over and took it graciously, settling into it with the poise of one raised to assume he was welcome anywhere.

Arcturus and Orion fell to talking about politics now, and Andromeda drew her chair nearer to her grandfather, nodding politely as he rambled in her general direction. Narcissa looked demonstrably bored, and Bellatrix kept doing rounds of the room with her indolent and yet somehow predatory eyes. Sirius stood awkwardly next to the sofa, looking rather as if he wanted to hurl _himself_ out the drawing room window. Remus stood straight for as long as he could manage, but his knees were beginning to ache and he was starting to feel rather lightheaded. At last he had to lean surreptitiously against the wall. He reflected unhappily that his own mother never would have neglected to offer a guest somewhere to sit, however humble or unwanted the visitor.

A clock somewhere far away struck four when Remus heard a soft tapping sound. He looked up from studying the band of silk at the hem of his robe to see Regulus smiling at him. He had shifted to one side of the stool, and he was patting the empty space next to him.

'Sit down if you like,' he whispered. 'It's a while yet 'til we eat.'

Remus accepted the invitation, sinking onto the low cushion gratefully. He fixed his eyes on Sirius, who was now trying to fidget without drawing any notice, and he tried to forget his discomfort and his shame. His friend, after all, had to spend every minute of every day around these people. The very least that Remus could do was endure one afternoon of insults and ignominy to purchase a few days of freedom for Sirius.


	37. Dinner at Number Twelve

_Note: Regarding werewolves and silver… it's a Hollywood convention, not founded in folklore. JK Rowling's world is full of examples of Lupin having contact with objects that are ordinarily silver: his Prefect's badge, the serving dishes at Hogwarts, the Sickles on the Knight Bus, and the goblets at – you guessed it – Grimmauld Place._

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Dinner at Number Twelve**

The shadows were long and the light over the housetops had a distinctly orange hue when at last the hollow ringing of a gong sounded somewhere below. Arcturus Black rose to his feet with an agility that belied his years and offered his hand to Mrs Black's mother.

'Shall we remove to the dining room?' he asked graciously, though his lip curled ever so slightly as he looked at her.

She took hold of his arm and hauled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane. As they moved to the door she apparently found herself less reliant upon it, for she paused and used it to whack Sirius soundly in the shin. He was apparently accustomed to such treatment, for although the noise of the blow rattled through the room he scarcely flinched.

'Stand up straight!' she barked, then made a great show of leaning on the cane once more as she was escorted from the room.

Orion was the next to rise, extending his arm to Druella. At once everyone else was standing, moving to pair off. Remus got to his feet, swaying a little. He had taken a light luncheon at eleven o'clock, but he was beyond famished now and his head swam as he adjusted to the exertion of standing. Remembering what Sirius had said about Andromeda, he tried to slip between the sea of elbows and voluminous dress robes to reach her. James, however, was much nearer to her and he beat Remus to it, offering his arm graciously.

'May I have the honour of seeing you to the dining room, Miss Black?' he asked cordially.

'Thank you, yes,' she said, smiling as she stooped her shoulder so that she could rest her hand on his arm. They followed Orion and Druella.

Bellatrix held out her arm expectantly, casting imperious eyes on Sirius. He shook his head. 'Don't even think about it,' he said.

His mother took a sharp step towards him, but suddenly Regulus was between them, offering his hand to the young witch.

'Please, Bella, may I escort you?' he asked, smiling charmingly at her.

With a peculiar twitch of her lips, Bellatrix acceded. In height they were hopelessly mismatched, and yet somehow each seemed to carry off the manoeuvre with grace. Their departure left only five people remaining: Walburga Black, her father, Narcissa, Sirius and Remus.

Remus held out an unsteady arm to Narcissa, realizing too late that he had offered the wrong one. He switched swiftly, but he knew that she had seen. She curled her lip disdainfully, and looked ready to refuse until Sirius shot her a savage look that clearly communicated she'd better not. Delicately, so as to make the least contact possible, she planted her fingers on Remus's wrist.

Sirius followed after them, without anyone to escort, and Walburga and Pollux brought up the rear. Remus glanced back as he reached the drawing room door. He was quite certain he had not been meant to see, but he could not help noticing when Walburga reached out with her left hand and pinched Sirius savagely in the soft flesh just over his kidney. Sirius closed his eyes and bit his lip as her sharp fingers dug into him, but he did not make a sound.

Remus kept his eyes front after that. He knew that the assault was punishment for Sirius snubbing Bellatrix, but it made him rather ill to think that he might have been the cause of Sirius's reticence. If he had not made himself an object of scorn perhaps Sirius would have been willing to escort his cousin, as was clearly the expectation.

Narcissa sniffed indignantly as Remus failed to take the first stair smoothly. He minded his feet very carefully after that, gripping the banister with his right hand and following Regulus and Bellatrix down into the entrance hall and through a set of doors into a very grand dining room. A heavy dark table stretched the length of the room, laid with china and crystal and great silver goblets. There were serpentine candelabras at intervals down the table, their light diffusing over the rich emerald of the tablecloth. Along one wall was a sideboard lined with decanters of port wine and spirits. The other held a massive dresser in which the family china was displayed; all of it exquisitely hand-painted with what Remus presumed to be the family crest.

The couples were dividing now, and everyone was beginning to migrate around the table with its massive carven chairs – the heads of which were inlaid with ebony. Remus wondered anxiously how he was supposed to know where to sit. He looked about helplessly, and his eyes lighted on James, who was on the other side of the table. He grinned and pointed surreptitiously to the second seat in from the end. Grateful, Remus hurried around towards it. Only then did he realize that there were place-cards made of the same black parchment as the invitations, embossed in silver leaf. His read, of course, _Master Remus J. Lupin_.

Everyone was near their chairs now, and Pollux Black sat down with a gouty wheeze. Remus was paralysed. His mother had said that the gentlemen were supposed to help the ladies to their right to sit. Then he realized that James was standing to the immediate right of the aged Mr Black. He nodded at Remus and pulled out the chair between them so that Andromeda could sit.

Remus turned to his right and did the same, finding it more than a little challenging to haul the heavy piece of furniture along the marble tiles. Across the table, Arcturus Black was drawing out the chair for Bellatrix, who slid into it and sat so erectly that her spine did not touch the back of the chair. Arcturus pushed the chair gently forward, just as Mrs Lupin had described, until some unseen signal from Bellatrix made him stop.

Irma Black was sitting now in the chair Remus had drawn. Wondering who on earth he was going to move the thing now that there was someone sitting on it, Remus braced his right foot against his left and reached out to grip the back of the chair.

Out of nowhere, the old woman's cane came smashing down on his toes. The impact and the resulting pain startled him, but miraculously he did not cry out.

'Don't touch me, you vile little scion of Mudbloods and filth,' she snapped. 'In my day you wouldn't have been thought fit to eat the scraps that fell from this table.'

Remus felt his throat constrict. Of course, if they knew the truth the Blacks would not think him fit even to rummage in their bins. He backed away from her chair, letting his hands fall useless at his sides. Walburga cleared her throat, glowering at the old woman. With a crook of her finger, she sent her husband – who had been seating Narcissa – around the table to push in her mother.

Regulus had the place of honour to the left of the head of the table. It was he who pulled out his mother's chair so that she might sit. She favoured him with an approving look that might almost have been considered a smile.

With the ladies all seated, the men took their places. Remus pulled out his chair only just far enough to allow himself to slip onto it. In doing so, he inadvertently brushed against Andromeda's shoulder, but she did not chastise him and indeed did not even seem to notice he had done it. Thankful for this small mercy, he sat, only to realize unhappily that his feet did not quite touch the ground. The tall, severe back of the chair was very hard and uncomfortable, and a carven gargoyle's head dug into his ribs. Hypothesizing that this was the reason that all the girls sat so straight, he tried to emulate them, but it felt too much like pretension and so he sank back, huddling in his seat and enduring the discomfort as best he could.

He realized with enormous relief that Sirius was seated across from him, slightly offset because his side of the table held six people, while Remus's held only five. Nevertheless he was near enough that Remus could follow his movements if he needed to – and _almost _near enough that they could talk together.

Then he looked down, and disoriented anxiety took hold yet again. His mother had spoken of silverware laid out to be used from the outside in. Yet he had not imagined anything like this. There were fourteen pieces of flatware set before him; three spoons of different shapes and sizes, five unique knives, and six forks. Most were arranged in the usual manner; forks to the left and knives and spoons on the right – but a long slender knife and a strange looking fork with a bar between the tines were laid across the table at the top of the gleaming underplate. There was a black silk napkin, a large ornate goblet, and a little bread plate laid with a butter knife. Remus glanced furtively up the table. Everyone else had identical settings, which meant that between the thirteen of them there were very nearly two hundred pieces of silverware.

Mrs Black took her wand from her robes, and tapped the tip once against the table cloth. Abruptly, a bowl of creamy white soup appeared on each underplate. Paper-thin slices of cucumber flecked with dill floated atop the fluid, but the dish seemed strangely lacking in scent.

Recalling what his mother had said about waiting until the host began, Remus watched Arcturus Black out of the corner of his eye. When the man reached for his spoon, Remus shifted his gaze to Sirius, waiting for him to do the same. When he did, Remus reached for the large spoon with the perfectly round bowl and picked it up with fingers that quivered only a little.

Soup, at least, he knew how to eat. He dipped the spoon carefully away from him, raising it up two-thirds full. He paused for a moment lest any should drip, but the soup was thick and did not seem inclined to do so. Carefully he touched it to his lips, sipping soundlessly. As he drew it across his tongue, however, he had to struggle to keep from making a sound of surprise.

The soup was cold.

'Well, now, Andromdeda,' Mrs Black said, looking down towards the centre of the table. 'Your sister is biding her time awaiting the perfect match. What are your intentions now you have left school? You're of an age to be thinking about marriage as well.'

'There was a Bones in your year, wasn't there, my dear?' asked Orion in a docile way that told Remus he was not genuinely interested but merely discharging his social duties.

'Edgar Bones, yes, Uncle,' said Andromeda levelly.

Remus numbly wished that Mrs Black had addressed someone else – someone who was not sitting right next to him. He was in an agony of embarrassment; cold soup was simply absurd, and he was torn between making polite mention of it and putting down his spoon in the hope no one would notice.

'I'm afraid he's already spoken for,' Andromeda added, taking another spoonful of her soup and touching it daintily to her lips.

Everyone else was eating, and Remus realized that this had to be some kind of trap. Perhaps they had given him cold soup in order to humiliate him – either so that they could laugh behind their hands as he ate it, or so that they forced him to raise his voice in objection. Hesitating only a moment, he took another spoonful and forced it down. They might mock him for his stupidity if they wished, but that was his own. His manners he had from his mother, and it would reflect poorly upon her if he made any complaint about the food he was offered.

'Couldn't have my poppet wed a Gryffindor anyhow,' said Irma Black, slurping up a curled piece of cucumber. 'Might as well settle for a Hufflepuff.'

'And we wouldn't want that, would we, Grandmother?' Andromeda smiled sweetly. 'In answer to your question, Aunt, I rather think I'll take a little time to consider my options. After all, I haven't had my Season yet, and in any case it would be positively ungracious to marry before Bella.'

'Quite,' said Bellatrix, smiling fondly at her sister. Druella nodded with propriety.

Remus found himself growing used to the chilled soup. It was cold, certainly, but it was not unpleasant. It had a creamy texture and a slightly tangy taste, and the dill and the cucumber complimented one anther well. He did not dare to take a piece as Irma Black had, but satisfied himself instead with the surrounding liquid. Yes, he reflected; the soup was not so bad.

'It's a pity that Adrian Fitzhenri is to be married next month,' Druella said, shaking her head. 'Such a well-bred young wizard, and quite wealthy enough even for you, Bella dearest.'

Bellatrix smiled, lowering her spoon in an ordinary gesture made disturbingly majestic by her long slender fingers. 'Ah, but Mother, I daresay I am not his sort of woman. He prefers them rather less dark than I.' She tossed her sable tresses haughtily.

'That silly ginger-haired girl!' Irma snorted. 'Her and her rag-tag band of sisters. Might as well marry a Weasley.'

Walburga shot her mother a withering look that made Remus shrink further down in his chair. 'Balderdash,' she said bluntly. 'There is simply no comparison. The Smythes have never had a blood-traitor among them – not in living memory, anyhow.'

'Of course,' Druella said nastily; 'they _breed_ like Weasleys. Seven daughters? I ask you!'

'Trying for a son, I should imagine,' said Orion absently.

'Naturally,' said Walburga. There was a honeyed cast to her voice now, and as she spoke her eyes swept the length of the table before settling pointedly on her sister-in-law. 'But of course, not all of us are as successful in that endeavour as we would like to be.'

Druella flushed a horrid shade of puce and began to spoon her soup at great speed.

'Nevertheless, it's a sign of character to know when to admit defeat,' Arcturus said. 'I would have expected old Smythe to show more sense. If you aren't getting what you want out of the mare, stop putting quite so much effort into her.'

Sirius choked on his soup and ducked beneath the table, coughing furtively into his napkin. Bellatrix pulled away from him, frowning down her nose in disgust.

'It is a shame,' Walburga declaimed regally. 'A fine old name doomed to die out simply because the chosen woman could not produce a male heir.'

She turned to her left, almost smiling as she reached to pat the back of Regulus's hand. He beamed adoringly up at her.

'At least young Ananda is making a suitable marriage,' Orion said. 'Adrian Fitzhenri is a fine specimen of a wizard.'

'But Uncle,' said Narcissa; 'he _works_ for a living.'

'Hardly,' said James, earning himself surprised looks from around the table. Clearly children did not usually enter the conversation around the Black table without an explicit invitation. 'The Fitzhenris could support a dozen idle sons. He enjoys his work.'

'Enjoys making a travesty of an ancient institution,' said Arcturus coldly. 'The mess he's making at St Mungo's – I've said all along that he was too young and naïve to be given that sort of influence.'

'Perhaps if you had been invited to serve on the Board of Governors you would have a different perspective, sir,' James said. His tone was light and courteous, but Remus very nearly inhaled his soup. The implication of the words could not be mistaken. 'My father – Roland Potter, you understand – says that Healer Fitzhenri is bringing about some important reforms.'

'If by reforms you mean throwing open the wards to be made into rest homes for filthy profligates, then yes, I daresay he is,' Arcturus hissed. 'I, for one, feel that the hospital should be rather more discerning as to the types of cases they treat.'

'But surely the purpose of a hospital is to give care to those in need,' said James, all amiable innocence. 'And someone has to put right the Muggles who run afoul of the wrong sort of wizards.'

Sirius was grinning enormously now, and seemed to have given up on his soup. His eyes flicked back and forth between his friend and his grandfather.

Arcturus curled his lip in scorn. 'I am certainly not disputing that,' he said. 'Naturally if we are to avoid the inconvenience of becoming objects of Muggle curiosity a measure of caution is needed in undoing such _regrettable _incidents. What I find distasteful is Fitzhenri's penchant for harbouring the dregs of wizarding society. You are aware, Walburga, that this winter he kept one half-breed in the hospital so long that they had to see to its… _monthly considerations _not once but twice?'

'Disgraceful,' said Mrs Black, sneering unpleasantly.

There was a hideous squelching noise, and Pollux Black piped up; 'Hanging's too good for 'em.'

Remus laid down his spoon across his bowl, feeling suddenly rather ill. In conjunction with the word _half-breed_, '_monthly considerations_' could mean only one thing.

'For whom, Father?' Walburga asked, looking more than a little put out by his interruption.

'Muggles of course,' said Pollux. 'Muggle ran into our garden wall once. Great fat Muggle in one of those contraptions they ride about in. Scared my little 'Burga half to death, it did.'

'It did nothing of the sort,' said Mrs Black tightly, glaring murderously at the old man. 'Wipe your mouth; you look like an oozing Bubotuber pod.'

Narcissa made a tiny gagging noise in the back of her throat and cast her eyes frantically away from her grandfather.

'Ought to exterminate the lot of them,' Irma groused, her voice grating horribly in Remus's ear. 'Wouldn't think twice if they were Doxies, would we?'

'The trouble is,' said Druella; 'that they're _not_ Doxies. They look too human most of the time; those ridiculously soft-hearted Mudblood types wouldn't stand for a proper extermination.'

'Really, Mother,' Andromeda huffed softly. 'Surely we needn't encourage this sort of conversation at the table.'

'Oh, I _do_ beg your pardon, Drommie,' Druella simpered, looking irritated but clearly chastised. 'What do you suggest we talk about?'

Remus was suddenly very glad that he had set down his spoon, for Mrs Black tapped her wand against the table again and all of the bowls vanished. This left Narcissa awkwardly holding her soiled utensil. Her aunt frowned at her and twitched her wand. The spoon vanished, and Narcissa, empty-handed and red-faced, looked down at her place setting unhappily.

'As a matter of fact,' Andromeda said, turning in her seat and picking up her goblet; 'I rather wanted to ask your opinion, Aunt, on the matter of wealthy young witches and wizards turning their hands to paid occupations – merely as a diversion, you understand?'

'If you're talking about Adrian Fitzhenri, he only works because it gives him great pleasure to drive the rest of us to distraction,' growled Arcturus.

'Actually, I was referring to the case of a clever young witch who would like to invest a spot of money in a nice little going concern,' Andromeda said, still obviously addressing Walburga.

'Andromeda, _really_,' her mother said crossly. 'We've already discussed this.'

'Oh, yes, Mamma, we have,' said Drommie; 'but I did want to know what Aunt Walburga thought. After all, you and Papa are understandably eager to see us all happily married, but Bella's quite right. All the truly eligible pure-blood men are either rather too young or _far_ too old. My energies would be positively wasted on someone like Geraint Yaxley; he's practically a geriatric.'

'He's thirty-seven,' Druella said stiffly. 'And he's handsome and well-to-do.'

'Auntie, I _would_ so value your opinion,' Andromeda coaxed, smiling charmingly. 'I was thinking of taking some of my dowry money and putting it into a little hat-shop. I know you spoke well of the silk orchids I made for the end-of-school party thrown by Thalia Smythe. Would they not look charming on a hat?'

'Then _put _them on a hat. What's to stop you?' Irma grunted. 'There's no need to muck about selling the blasted things.'

'But Grandmother, you were saying only last week that there's such a dearth of respectable, pure-blood establishments in London today,' said Andromeda, the very picture of innocent surprise. 'With the money Papa has promised to settle on me I could make it a _most_ exclusive shop. Only the very best materials, only the very best clientele.'

'That money is for your dowry!' her mother snapped. 'Your father isn't about to give you forty thousand Galleons to toss away on a silly girlish whim!'

'I wouldn't be tossing it away; it's an investment,' Andromeda explained in a patronizing tone that Remus rather thought ought to be reserved for very young children or very slow trolls. 'I could always sell the shop on if I wished to, and I'm sure I could double the money in just a few years.'

She smiled charmingly at Walburga. 'What do you think, Auntie? After all, it may be a year or two before Bella's intended is – erm, _ripe. _It might behove me to find some pleasant, genteel occupation to fill my time. I'm afraid I don't fancy sitting like a pretty statue in the corner of the morning room, dashing off letters to all my old school chums. I should like to do something a bit more interesting; I'm sure _you_ understand.'

'The idea has merit,' Walburga said. Remus wondered whether she meant it, or whether she was merely trying to see how dark Druella's angry flush could get. 'But I hardly think it would take your dowry gold to establish a little shop. Five or six thousand Galleons ought to be more than enough.'

'Oh, not with prices being what they are, Aunt, surely,' said Andromeda. 'I would need thirty thousand at least.'

'Ten.' Walburga tapped her wand, and low dishes of turtle meat floating in broth appeared. Her eyes were fixed shrewdly on her niece, as if they were two traders locked in negotiation.

'The premises alone would run to that much,' said Andromeda; 'properly situated and furnished, of course. One cannot hope for the very best of clients if one does not present the most elegant atmosphere. Twenty-five.'

'Twenty,' said Walburga. 'Half of your marriage settlement to invest, the other half to remain in your parents' care. In the ordinary way of things I would think it ridiculous, a lady of your station going into trade. But I daresay you need something to keep you occupied, or you're liable to get yourself into trouble.'

Andromeda shook her head. 'Twenty isn't enough, Aunt. I'll need materials and a shop girl, and a proper milliner from Paris to help with the practical side of things. And of course money to advertise and to offer samples of my work to prominent pure-blood ladies. Twenty-five thousand is the very least I would need.'

'Twenty,' Walburga repeated in a tone that was not to be argued. Her expression softened marginally. 'And your uncle and I will make you a personal gift of five thousand Galleons as a gesture of our support.'

Andromeda smiled enormously. 'How _generous _of you, Aunt,' she said. 'I assure you that you will never forget my gratitude!'

'It's settled, then,' Walburga said, picking up a fork with short tines and an indented bowl. She speared a piece of turtle meat and chewed it pensively. 'I shall write to your father tomorrow.'

Druella Black seemed to be choking on her own tongue, but it was obvious that she did not dare to contradict her sister-in-law.

'Hats!' snorted Irma. 'Absurd, that's what it is. Positively absurd.'

Andromeda turned to her, and Remus was startled by the glint of almost fiendish delight in her eyes as she said sweetly; 'I shall be sure to send you my very first one, Grandmother. You can wear it to Ananda Smythe's wedding.'

'Haven't had an invitation yet,' Irma said bitterly. 'Have you, Walburga?'

'Not yet,' Mrs Black said. 'I cannot understand young people today. There is so little respect for the old forms. Invitations ought to have been sent out months ago.'

'Oh, they were,' said James cheerily. 'We got ours at Easter. But of course, Pleione Smythe is my mother's cousin, and we're _ever_ so close to them. It's a very exclusive affair; I don't suppose you rated an invitation, that's all.'

Walburga turned on him like an adder seeking its prey. 'Young man,' she said coldly; 'there is not a pure-blooded drawing room in this nation where the House of Black is not welcome.'

'What about the Weasleys'?' James asked, smiling broadly. As Mrs Black seemed to grow large in her chair, he took a bite of his food and sighed happily. 'Simply delicious,' he said. 'I've never tasted better.'

'Lamea's turtle is the very best there is!' Regulus said eagerly. Then he pressed his fingertips to his lips and smiled apologetically. 'Please excuse me, Mother,' he said.

'This time,' Walburga said quietly, nodding her reproval. 'But one does not speak of one's servants before guests, Regulus.'

'Yes, ma'am,' the boy pledged, bobbing his head vigorously. He turned his attention on his food.

Remus did not think much of the turtle meat. It had a very strong flavour, vaguely fishy, and the broth had a strange tang to it. He wiped his lips carefully, just as Mother had instructed, and reached for his goblet.

It was filled with something the colour of blackcurrant cordial, and he took a sip. As the liquid burned against his tongue he inhaled with a snort. The drink was not sweet at all; it was sharp and smoky and it seemed to shrivel the skin over his pallet. He looked down at it again, filled with consternation and confusion.

Bellatrix sneered dispassionately. 'It seems the little half-blood doesn't know a good vintage when he tastes it, Aunt. You're wasting your wine on him.'

Remus hung his head, raising his napkin to wipe away the dark fluid that had trickled from the corner of his mouth and trying not to feel the sting of mortification as unpleasant chuckles rounded the table. His cheeks were burning. Wine? What kind of wizards served wine to children? He glanced down at Regulus, who was taking a precise quaff from his goblet, and wondered whether it, too, contained alcohol.

'Now, Bellatrix,' said Orion; 'it does not hurt to give the common people a taste of the finer things in life – provided they do not grow accustomed to the courtesy.'

There was a loud clatter and turtle broth splashed onto the tablecloth. Sirius had dropped his fork into his dish. An exceedingly nasty smile spread across Bellatrix's beautiful face.

'Drink up, boy,' she said. 'I daresay you'll never taste its like again.'

Remus could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he knew he was sunk almost as low in his seat as was mortally possible. He could feel Sirius's eyes upon him, angry and indignant and hurt on his behalf. The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity before a loud, affable voice filled the room.

'I've always rather thought a nicely aged Château d'Yquem superior to even the best wizarding vintages,' James said. 'It's a shame when our old families let silly old conventions stand in the way of _the finer things in life_, don't you think?'

Mrs Black rapped the table so hard this time that Remus was amazed her wand did not break. The shallow bowls were replaced with plates elegantly arranged with precise slices of roasted baron of lamb, potatoes cut into pieces the size of matchsticks, and slender stalks of steamed asparagus.

'Remus?' It was the first time Sirius had spoken since leaving the drawing room. Remus glanced up timorously, still unable to raise his head. Sirius pointed at his plate, jerking his head urgently.

'I'm sorry, ma'am,' Remus mumbled, turning approximately toward the head of the table. 'I'm… allergic to asparagus.'

Mrs Black exhaled sharply through her nose, but with a twitch of her wand the vegetable vanished from his plate. Remus could feel Sirius relaxing tangibly. He wondered what sort of pitfall he had avoided this time.

His question was answered a moment later when Bellatrix picked up one of the delicate stalks between finger and thumb. Parting her lips ever so slightly, she inserted the cut end between them. Then, with a single fluid rippling of her throat, she sucked in the vegetable whole – without taking a single bite.

Remus forgot his discomfiture as he stared at her. Surely she had not done that. Surely _that_ was not the proper, pure-blooded way to eat aspargus.

But then Arcturus did the same thing. Remus twisted in his seat, leaning forward so that he could look past Andromeda at James. At school James always picked up his asparagus and bit off the tip, nibbling it down bit by bit just like everyone else. Now, he plucked it off the plate, and just as the others had done, sucked it into his mouth. He swallowed and smirked happily before focusing on his lamb.

Remus forced himself to pick up his fork and knife and to set to work on the meat and the julienne potatoes, but his stomach was churning. He wondered unhappily if his friends had spent all of the last year looking on with quiet scorn as he ate in the Great Hall. He felt suddenly very uncultured and ignorant – savage. The meat was rich and very tender, and there was the faintest pink hue to the centre. The thought that it was a little overdone flickered through his mind, leaving him feeling more than ever like an animal.

Arcturus was speaking again, launching into a long declamation about the state of the Ministry of Magic. Remus scarcely listened. He finished his food and laid the knife and fork he had used carefully across the plate. A roll and a pat of butter had appeared on the little dish to his left, and he ate that as well, nibbling on it not because he was hungry, but because he had nothing else to do.

When the plates vanished, crystal dishes appeared, each one containing a crimson globe of sorbet. For this they used the smallest spoon. The cold concoction was refreshing and cleansing. It tasted of strawberries and brandy, and Remus ate it gratefully, feeling his spirits reviving a little. Surely the meal was almost at an end; this was dessert.

He was mistaken. The dishes vanished and large plates appeared again. This time each one held a tiny roasted bird on a bed of spinach and almonds, bereft of its limbs but still largely whole. Narcissa let out a delighted laugh. 'Oh, Auntie!' she gushed. 'Grouse! My very favourite!'

'I am well aware of that, Narcissa my dear,' said Walburga regally. 'A lady does not raise her voice at the table.'

Subdued by the censure, Narcissa picked up the curved talon-like knife and the slender three-tined fork and began to carve the fowl expertly. Everyone else was doing the same, and Remus stared down at his plate. He did not know the first thing about carving a bird.

There was a tiny sound to his left, rather like a cough. He turned his head, wondering if Andromeda had been trying to catch his eye. She did not appear to have done so, but as he watched she picked up her fork and her knife and began, very slowly, to take long, precise slices off of the back of the bird.

Remus emulated her carefully. The position of the wrists was awkward, and his heart was in his throat the whole time he worked, but at last he had the grouse reduced to edible morsels that somehow he managed to force down – even though he had already eaten more than he was accustomed to, and the rich food was not sitting well in his stomach.

James was spearheading the conversation now, forcing Orion and Arcturus into a discussion of the British and Irish Quidditch League prospects for the year. It would have been comical to watch the two distinguished men so thoroughly at the mercy of a twelve-year-old boy, save that Remus could only wish unhappily that the dinner would end so that he could slink back to the safety of the little house in Falmouth, where he could eat without fear of rebuke and where he could have a cool glass of water with his meal. He was frightfully thirsty after the gamey flavour of the fowl, and he knew he would soon yield to the temptation to partake of the wine again.

'…the makings of an excellent Beater,' James was saying. 'Drommie knows a thing or two about Beaters, don't you, Drommie?'

There was a sharp _ting_ as the game knife landed against the edge of Andromeda's plate. 'I'm afraid not,' she said, her voice carefully level. 'I don't play.'

'Yeah,' said James; 'but you're such good mates with that—'

'Bollocks!' Sirius yelped. He had upset his goblet, and a dark stain was spreading down the tablecloth. Druella yelped and pushed her chair back as if afraid the flood – which was moving in the opposite direction, towards Remus and Irma – would spill over into her lap. Narcissa tittered, trying and failing to hide it with the corner of her napkin. Bellatrix raised a scornful eyebrow and drew her wand.

'_Evanesco_,' she muttered. The fluid vanished. Another jerk of the wand righted the empty goblet.

Mrs Black was on her feet, hands braced against the table as she glared at her eldest son. He smiled sheepishly at her.

'Sorry, Mum,' he said, his voice quavering only a little. 'Silly old me, eh?'

'I remember once when we were up at the McKinnons',' James said conversationally; 'I dropped a whole bowl of raspberry punch. You should have seen the splash: like a fountain in the middle of the drawing room floor! Tell me, Mrs Black, have you ever tasted Mrs McKinnon's raspberry punch?'

She turned on him, her dark eyes glittering with malice and astonishment, as if she had never imagined anyone would dare to interrupt her at such a moment. But James had on his most ingratiating smile, and she could not seem to find the words to strip away his boldness.

'I only ask, you see, because that sorbet you served was far superior,' James flattered; 'and much less of a danger to the carpet.'

Bellatrix laughed, a less ominous sound than previously. She actually seemed to be amused. Mrs Black sat down stiffly and rapped her wand upon the table. Small plates appeared, each bearing a sprig of parsley and a wedge of strong-smelling blue-veined Stilton cheese. This was eaten with a slender fork rather like the one that had been used for the birds. The cheese had been made with raw milk, and the sharp flavour made Remus's eyes water. He was forced at last to take another mouthful of wine, which though it did nothing to quench his thirst at least masked the bitterness of the cheese.

Next, bowls of fluffy vanilla ice cream appeared. Regulus made a small, happy sound and tucked in without even waiting for his grandfather to take the first taste. Either no one noticed or no one minded his lapse in etiquette.

'While we're in London I think we ought to take in a show, don't you, Bella?' Andromeda asked with obvious effort. 'Perhaps you could recommend something, Uncle?'

Remus choked down the ice cream, though by now his nerves were in such a state that he could not even taste it. He did not dare to hope that this might be the last course.

It was not; the bowls disappeared to be replaced with cut glass dishes, tinted green and filled with stewed pears in a caramelized sauce. Remus felt the last of his courage leaving him. Sirius had warned him not to use knife or fork for pears, but the round halves in the sticky sauce looked impossible to eat with his fingers. Steeling himself and trying yet again to forget how thirsty he was, he reached out.

Something brushed against his thigh, very gently. He turned, and found Andromeda watching him. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. Then, with a deliberate motion, she picked up the strange fork with the crossbar and began to eat from her own dish. Wretchedly grateful for her timely warning, Remus did the same.

When these last dishes vanished they were not replaced. Mrs Black rose. Instantly, all the men did the same. Remus struggled to push back his heavy chair, but managed somehow to find his feet. The younger women stood as well: everyone but Irma Black.

'I think it is time to leave the gentlemen to their port,' Walburga said in a voice that clearly communicated the matter was not open for discussion. She strode around the table and swept out of the room. Bellatrix followed her, moving like a Grand Duchess in the palace of the Tsar.

Andromeda helped her grandmother to her feet, and let Irma take her arm as they followed. Then went Narcissa, with Druella bringing up the rear. As soon as the door closed, Arcturus sat again. He produced his wand and tapped the table. Empty port glasses appeared before each of the remaining people – even Regulus.

The others sat down again, and Remus did the same. He could not pull his chair forward, and so he sat unhappily with his hands in his lap, wishing he were anywhere but here.

Arcturus pointed his wand at the sideboard, and a heavy decanter of dark red fluid levitated smoothly into his hand. He poured out a generous portion and then passed it on to Sirius.

Sirius looked at the bottle and grimaced. 'May James and Remus and I be excused, Grandfather?' he asked.

The man's eyes narrowed. 'Why?'

Sirius set down the decanter loudly. 'Because we're too young for port and politics!' he snapped. Realizing he had taken a rather too defiant tone, he ducked his head. 'Because I would like to show my friends the rest of the house, sir,' he mumbled.

'I'd be quite eager for a look at the great Black family mansion,' James said brightly. 'After all, it has quite a reputation in my sort of circles.'

It did not strike Remus as flattering, but the remark seemed to placate Arcturus. He favoured James with a cold half-smile. 'Certainly,' he said. 'If you wish, Master Potter, you may be excused.'

'Thank you,' James said, rising and bowing. He strode to the door and opened it. 'Come along Sirius, Remus,' he said.

Unable to express or even truly comprehend his relief, Remus slid off the chair and hurried as swiftly as he dared into the relative safety of the entrance hall. Sirius followed swiftly on his heels.


	38. Debriefing

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Debriefing**

As the dining room door closed, James crumpled against the wall, clutching his side and shaking uncontrollably. Remus stared, frozen with the terrifying thought that one of Sirius's relations had hexed him or poisoned him or done something else to cause his anguish. Then he realized that James was laughing, trying his hardest to keep from being heard by the men in the next room.

'Merlin's thumbs, Sirius,' he choked out, tears of mirth coursing down his cheeks. 'I've never met such a lot of stuffed shirts!'

Sirius was gaping at his friend, disbelief writ across his brow. 'You found them funny?' he asked. '_Funny_?'

'Course I did!' James chortled. 'Showing one another up, the insults, the airs they put on, the bit about the _hats_…'

'You're mad,' Sirius said, his cheeks crimson. 'They were awful, they were horrid. Remus? Weren't they horrid?'

Remus stared down at his feet. It was a terrible thing to say about another person's family, but he could not deny it.

'And those _robes _the skinny blonde was wearing!' squealed James. 'She looked like an unripe pumpkin!'

'You're mad,' Sirius said again. He looked at Remus, shrugging helplessly. 'He's mad.'

Remus bit his lip. His hand was in his pocket again, gripping the phial that rested therein. 'Sirius?' he said. 'Which hearths are on the Floo Network?'

'Why?' Sirius asked, looking suddenly rather anxious. 'You're not… you don't want to leave already, do you?'

Remus shook his head. 'I just thought I ought to know,' he said softly. In fact, he did rather want to leave, but he had a horrible suspicion that as soon as he and James were gone Sirius would be punished for his behaviour at the table. The longer that could be delayed, the better. Perhaps Mrs Black's temper would have time to cool.

'The drawing room,' Sirius said. 'And tradesmen come in through the kitchen.'

'C-could I use it?' Remus asked. 'Only it's getting rather late, and I ought to just look in at home. The way you did, you know. To let them know I'm all right.'

For a moment he feared that Sirius would poke fun of him, but the taller boy merely nodded. 'It's down those stairs,' he said, jerking his head toward the end of the room where narrow stone steps led away somewhere below. 'C'mon, Potter. Let's go before you're heard.'

He took James by the arm and led him away. Remus followed; down the steps and into a huge, gleaming kitchen. It was the largest room Remus had ever seen outside of Hogwarts. There was a large hearth and an enormous table – long enough to sit at least two dozen people, though obviously it was never used for that purpose. Off to one side there were a couple of doors, likely leading to a scullery or a larder. There were pots and pans hanging from hooks on the ceiling, and the whole room had a spotless elegance despite the mundane nature of its purpose. Even the stone floor seemed to shine with a high polish.

At the great marble basins on the far end of the room, two house-elves were busy attending to the mountain of soiled china and the endless dozens of utensils. They wore matching lengths of black satin, embroidered with the Black family crest and draped about their spindly bodies like togas. After a moment Remus realized the cloths were antimacassars like the ones in the drawing room, only rather more faded. One of the elves was tremendously old, with thick tufts of white hair protruding from the pointed ears. The other seemed somewhat younger and moved considerably more quickly.

'Don't stare at them; you'll only attract their attention,' Sirius hissed in his ear. He moved over to the fireplace, dragging James with him. 'And you sit down and try to get a grip on yourself,' he said to his best friend.

James nodded, but he was still chortling uncontrollably as he settled in a low stool next to the hearth. Sirius had to get up on his toes to reach the little jet jar set on the mantle, for the kitchen fireplace was positively enormous.

'What is young Master doing?' a gravelly, obsequious voice inquired. Remus turned to see the younger of the two house elves standing beside the long work table, scraping a low bow. 'Is he running away with his little friends? Should Kreacher run and tell Mistress? Kreacher thinks he should.'

Sirius glowered at him. 'No, young Master is _not_ running away,' he said. 'Master Lupin is looking in on his parents to let them know that dinner is over and he's staying a while longer to visit.'

'Young master isn't allowed to be using the fire without permission,' the house elf said. 'Mistress is getting very angry to find her orders disobeyed.'

'_I'm _not using the fire; Master Lupin is, and as he's a guest it's not for you to say what he may and may not do,' Sirius said crossly. He thrust the jar under Remus's nose and whisked off the ornate lid. 'Go on, take some,' he said.

Remus helped himself to a pinch of powder, and then hesitated.

'Well, go on!' Sirius said.

'I don't know how,' Remus protested softly. 'I've never done it before. Father has, but only from the Ministry. I've never seen him do it.'

'Just toss it in and stick your head in the flames,' James said between giggles. 'Keep your body out of the fire and you'll be fine.'

'Mistress isn't liking strangers using her fire,' Kreacher warned.

Sirius glowered. 'I told you; Master Lupin is a guest. Now get back to your work, you smarmy little git, before I kick your impudent rump six ways to Sunday.'

The house elf turned away, shaking his head as he went. He resumed his place at the sink, muttering to the other elf, 'Asking for trouble, young Master is. Kreacher means to tell Mistress, he does. Young Master ought not threaten Kreacher, no.'

Remus held out his hand, trying to return the powder to the jar. 'Please, Sirius, it isn't important,' he said hastily. 'I don't want to get you into any more trouble than I already have.'

'Than _you_ already have?' Sirius asked, perplexed. He clamped the jar closed before Remus could empty his hand. 'What do you mean?'

His lower lip quivered a little, but he managed to maintain eye contact with Sirius as he said; 'Your cousin Bellatrix was poking fun at me, and so you didn't take her down to supper, and your mother… she p-pinched you.'

Sirius flushed crimson, glancing over his shoulder at James. The other boy was now sitting back in the chair with one hand cupped behind his head, grinning vacantly up at the hanging cookware. Relieved that the remark had escaped his notice, Sirius turned back to Remus and mustered a wry grin.

'You give yourself too much credit, mate,' he said bracingly. 'Bella and I have been on the outs for years – ever since I let loose a shower of baby spew all over her at the ripe old age of three days.'

James tittered. 'Bet she loved that!'

Sirius nodded. 'She was right chuffed,' he said solemnly. 'Dropped me like the proverbial potato. Happily, Cissy chose that moment to manifest her magical talents and I bounced into her lap. Little did she know she'd live to regret it.'

He pointed at the fire. 'Go on, Remus; pop in and tell 'em what you have to tell 'em,' he said. He glanced sidelong at the house elves, who were working far more slowly and silently than they had been earlier. 'Then we can go up to my room and get away from the audience.'

Before he could lose his resolve, Remus tossed the powder into the flames. He knelt down and called out, 'Nine Chancery Row, Falmouth, Cornwall!' and thrust his head and shoulders into the fire.

It took him a moment to orient himself, for while his palms and his knees were still firmly planted on the stone floor in London, his own homey little sitting room appeared before his eyes. His mother was in her rocker by the fire. She gave a little cry of surprise, and the handkerchief she was hemming fell to the floor.

'Remus!' she exclaimed. 'Are you all right?'

He nodded, wondering how the gesture must look when she couldn't see his shoulders. 'I'm fine,' he said. 'We've finished dinner, and I've been invited to stay for another hour or two. May I?'

'Of course you may, dear heart,' Mother said, looking pleasantly relieved. 'How was dinner?'

Remus paused, unsure what he could say that would not distress her. 'It was long,' he said. 'There was some lovely strawberry sorbet.'

Suddenly the sitting room door flew open and his father burst into the room, wild-eyed and harried. He dropped to his knees in front of the hearth. 'Remus!' he cried. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes,' Remus said hurriedly. 'Yes, I'm just fine. I only wanted…'

'He's staying for another hour or two to visit,' Mother said serenely, bending forward to retrieve her handwork. As she straightened she paused to kiss her husband's ear. 'Don't fret so, Ross. I told you there was nothing to worry about.'

Father did not look especially mollified, but he sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. 'Very well,' he said, exhaling heavily. 'Two more hours. But I want you home by ten, d'you hear? I won't have you in that house at night.'

'Yes, sir,' said Remus gravely. 'Ten o'clock.'

'Fine. Do you still have some Floo Powder?' Father asked.

'Yes; I haven't needed it,' Remus said. 'Sirius let me use some of his.'

'If there's any trouble…' Father warned.

Remus nodded again. 'Yes, sir.'

'Good lad,' Father said, a shaky smile taking some of the care from his features. 'Run along and have fun with your friends, then.'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said once more, smiling shyly and glancing at his mother's happy face. Then he pulled out of the fire and felt the heat upon his face as the flames reverted to hues of orange and yellow.

Sirius was watching him, an anxious look on his face. 'Can you stay?' he asked, his voice wavering almost imperceptibly.

'Until ten,' Remus said, getting to his feet. 'I'm meant to Floo home, I think. Will your Mother allow it?'

'Course she will,' Sirius said, rather savagely. He reached up onto the mantle and took down a large camelhair brush, with which he set about whisking the ash from Remus's head and shoulders. 'I guarantee she doesn't want to keep you.'

Remus felt his ears burning. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, hanging his head. 'I didn't know it was wine. It surprised me. I didn't mean to make a scene.'

'I'm the one who ought to apologize, mate,' Sirius said. 'I didn't even think to warn you. Don't you have wine at dinner in Cornwall?'

'Never,' Remus said. His parents fixed hot toddies at Christmas, and there was always a bottle of brandy in the pantry for emergencies, but he could never recall seeing wine in the house.

'Pity,' James said inanely, a broad lackadaisical smirk spreading across his face. 'It's good stuff.'

Sirius whirled on him, hands on his hips. 'You're not mad!' he said, his tone one of indignant accusation. 'You're tiddly! How much did you drink?'

'Dunno,' James said happily. 'Just the one gobletful, I think. Didn't need refilling.'

'They refill themselves, you berk,' Sirius said, but he was chuckling now and shaking his head. 'Is _that_ how you got up the nerve to stand up to my mother?'

'No,' James said, straightening up and suddenly looking perfectly sober. 'I stood up to your mother because she was bang out of order. Lore, Sirius, she's awful.'

'That's what I've been saying,' Sirius hissed. 'I thought she was going to eat you alive!'

'Young Master shouldn't speak that way about Mistress,' Kreacher said smarmily, appearing abruptly at Remus's elbow. 'Kind Mistress who loves him still, even if he's a troublemaker and a Gryffindor and a failure. Generous Mistress who lets him bring his little friends to meet the family, to dine at the table of her noble fathers.'

'It seems to me that Kreacher shouldn't speak that way about young Master,' James observed mildly.

Kreacher regarded him shrewdly, evidently trying to take the measure of this intruder in the brilliant red robes. 'True. It is true. A house elf must never speak ill of his family. But Kreacher will not let _anyone_ speak ill of his Mistress.'

'Kreacher,' the other house elf called in a high and feeble voice; 'back to work now. Help Lamea with the big turtle pot. You know she can't be lifting it.'

Kreacher sidled off again, keeping one sly eye on Sirius.

'Nasty spying toerag,' muttered Sirius darkly. 'He's always snitching on me to her. Half the things I've done I would've got away with, except for Kreacher.'

'Why're we still sitting here, then?' asked James, hefting himself to his feet and swaying a little, comically. He let out a loud, false hiccough and grinned.

Sirius moaned. 'Your parents! They're never going to forgive me; they'll never let you come back here if they find out my family got you drunk!'

'I'm not drunk, you great babbling wanker,' James assured him. 'I'm not an idiot, and I _didn't_ drink more than a gobletful. I may be a little giddy, but I'm—' He saluted crisply. '—as sober as a merchant marine.'

'How reassuring,' Sirius said dryly. 'All right, let's—'

He was interrupted by the pounding of feet on the stairs. A blur of green and silver came charging into the kitchen, prattling merrily as it went.

'Mea! Mea! The dinner was _ever _so good!' Regulus cried, dashing along the length of the table and skidding to a stop next to the sink. 'I've never tasted such perfectly wonderful turtle; you really outdid yourself!'

The older house elf turned, wiping her hands on her makeshift garment. She grinned toothlessly at the boy and made a deep curtsy.

'Little Master is too kind,' she said, looking rather teary-eyed. 'Lamea is only doing her best for the family. Little Master should expect no less, he shouldn't.'

Squirming happily, Regulus bent and kissed the elf on the crown of her bald head. 'Thank you!' he said. 'I'm sure Sirius's friends liked it, and I did so want us to make a good impression! James Potter said the sorbet was better than Mrs McKinnon's raspberry punch!'

Kreacher, who had turned from his work to fix fawning eyes on the boy, gasped in surprise and clapped his hands over his mouth, dancing anxiously where he stood. 'Better?' he cried. 'Better than punch made by witches and wizards? Oh, Kreacher is thanking little Master! So kind, so thoughtful, to tell Kreacher what the guest is saying!'

'Lamea is teaching Kreacher everything she knows,' the older elf said proudly. 'Soon Kreacher is taking care of the family all on his own.'

'Don't say that,' Regulus begged, his young face crumpling with worry. 'You're going to be with us for years and years, Mea, and when I get married you'll make my wedding cake, same as you did for Mother and Father.'

Lamea seemed to go into a rapture of delight at this promise, and Kreacher looked suddenly rather forlorn.

'And we'll have your strawberry sorbet served between courses, Kreacher,' Regulus said generously, watching gleefully as Kreacher began to wring his hands jubilantly. 'And that baron of lamb. It was wonderful. Even Sirius ate every bite!'

Sirius cleared his throat loudly, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning down the length of the room. Regulus turned, momentarily startled. Then his face lit up and he came hurrying over.

'You came down! You _never _come down.' Regulus smiled hugely. 'Oh, I'm glad. They love it so when you thank them. They'll be nicer to you if only you're nicer to them.'

'I don't need to be nice to them; they're only house elves,' Sirius said coldly. 'And I don't see why you're so bothered about it. Anyway I didn't come down to thank them; Remus just needed to poke his head in at home. And we're going now.' He looked emphatically at his friends. 'We're going _now_.'

'Could I come?' Regulus asked, trotting after Sirius as he strode towards the stairs. 'I want to get to know your friends. I don't mind if they're Gryffindors and half-bloods; if they're your friends, Sirius, they're all right by me.'

'No, you can't come,' Sirius said shortly. 'I haven't seen James and Remus in weeks, and I haven't had a minute to talk to them since they got here six hours ago. We're going up to my room for a nice visit, and I'm afraid you're just not invited.'

Regulus looked crestfallen. 'But Sirius…'

'I said no,' Sirius repeated. His expression softened a little. 'Tomorrow you and I can get up a game of Gobstones or something. How would that be?'

'All right,' Regulus said. Then something occurred to him and his brow knit with worry. 'But Sirius, what if you're upstairs tomorrow? You spilled your wine all over the table! Mother's bound to be angry.'

Something unreadable crossed Sirius's face. 'Then we'll play when I'm out,' he said resolutely. 'Now just run along and let me see my friends. _Please_?'

There was a genuine desperation in the last entreaty, and Regulus seemed every bit as aware of it as Remus was. He nodded solemnly. 'Go on, Sirius,' he said. 'Have a nice time. I don't mind, really.'

Sirius clapped him gently on the elbow. 'Thanks,' he said, his voice a little gruff. Then he jerked his head at the others. 'Let's go.'

'What was he talking about?' James asked as they emerged in the entryway again.

'Nothing,' Sirius said shortly. 'He's just my daft kid brother, always wanting to tag along. Now hush.' They were coming up on the first landing now. 'My mother's in the drawing room dishing out coffee and criticism, and frankly I don't want either right now.'

The three boys crept up to the second landing with impressive restraint. On the third, however, James leaned down over the bannisters and chuckled again.

'London houses!' he said. 'Up and up they go… d'you never get tired of all these stairs?'

'It was good practice for Hogwarts,' Sirius replied, glancing down at the top of the serpent chandelier curiously, as if he had never seen it quite from this vantage point before.

'Hey, listen,' James said. 'Where's the loo?'

Sirius pointed over his shoulder at the hallway lined with dark, heavy doors. 'Third on your right.'

James moved off, disappearing into the appropriate room. Sirius turned back to lean on the bannister.

'Remus,' he said at length.

The smaller boy moved nearer, mimicking his friend's posture with none of the easy grace that came so naturally to Sirius. 'Yes?'

His friend gave him a sidelong look. 'Listen. This isn't the time or the place, but you and I need to talk.'

Remus felt an anxious flutter in his stomach as he remembered what his father had said about a boy staring at him – at _them_ – with hatred at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Abruptly the mystery fell away. There was no one at Hogwarts who might have guessed he was a werewolf and kept silent despite their loathing, but there was one person who had very good reason to cast glares of hatred on Mr Lupin. He felt his already dry tongue shrivel in his mouth.

'I lied, Sirius,' he confessed, before he could stop himself. 'I… I lied.'

Sirius nodded sombrely. 'I worked that part out,' he said, squinting at the silver chain that supported the chandelier. 'What I can't see is why. What could possibly be awful enough that you'd rather lay claim to something like that than admit to it?'

The time had come to test the friendship they had built over the past months. 'Whatever it is,' Remus whispered; 'do you understand now that I don't want to talk about it?'

Sirius turned, surprise and – incredibly – sympathy on his patrician face. He shook his head wonderingly. 'Whatever it is,' he said; 'don't you understand yet that I won't think any less of you?'

James came out into the hall at that moment, sparing Remus the burden of trying to reply to a statement so innocently but patently false. 'Well?' he asked. 'Farther up? We'll be at broomstick altitudes soon.'

'I… I need to…' Remus nodded awkwardly down the corridor, and Sirius, whose eyes were still fixed on his face, waved him on. He ran into the bathroom and closed the door as quickly as he could before sinking to the floor with his back against it. He was trembling violently. Sirius knew. He knew… not about the wolf, of course, but about the lies. Sirius, whose own mother shamed him in company and dug her talons into the vulnerable parts of his body, knew that Remus had lied about abuse purportedly suffered at the hands of his father.

Remus tried frantically to remember what Sirius had seen that had led him to this conclusion, and of course that too was obvious. He had hugged his father tenderly; Father had shielded him from the crowd and let him rest while he fetched the luggage. Then he had fallen asleep under the warm comfort of the man's arm. These were not the actions of a man who beat his son, nor indeed the actions of a boy thus mistreated by his father.

Yet somehow, miraculously, Sirius was not angry. He had sounded merely disappointed – defeated. Remus almost dared to hope, for the briefest of moments, that this meant he would not take it any further. Of course that was too much to expect. Summer would delay things for a while, perhaps, but soon enough they would be back at school where the disappearances and the woundings would continue with no remaining explanation. He had only a few precious weeks left to cherish his friendships and the illusion that he was an ordinary boy.

Someone rapped gently on the door. 'You all right in there?' a low voice called. It was Sirius, of course; considerate as ever. Remus wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling a little to drive back the urge to weep.

'I'm fine,' he said hoarsely. 'I… I'll be out in a minute.'

He forced himself to his feet and put his hand on the doorknob, but out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the sink. The thirst that had been plaguing him through most of the meal multiplied now a hundred times, and before he knew what he was doing he had his head in the basin, drinking greedily from the stream of water that poured from the taps.

When he had had his fill he turned off the water and wiped his face and hands on the dark towel hanging from an ornate ring on the wall. He smoothed his robes with care, glanced at his pale reflection in the mirror, and opened the door.

Sirius and James were waiting, amiable smiles on their faces. Together the three boys ascended the last broad flight of steps. On the topmost landing, where only a narrow set of stairs covered with a worn carpet went on to the attic, there were two doors. Sirius opened the one bearing his forename name on an old and very dignified-looking nameplate and bustled the other two into the room beyond.

James ambled in, looking about with interest before flopping down in an elegant armchair by the heavily curtained window. Sirius picked up his wand from a table by the door and jabbed it upward, igniting the concentric circles of candles suspended from a chandelier. It was not so ornate nor so enormous as the one in the entryway, but it was still very impressive. Remus gawked at it, thinking of the Muggle light bulb with its frosted glass bowl hanging from the ceiling of his little room at home.

He took in the rest of the room with that same melange of wonder and inadequacy. Sirius's room was enormous; larger and loftier than the Lupins' kitchen. The bed was bigger than the one belonging to Remus's parents, and it was covered in silk bedclothes and a heavy brocaded counterpane. The headboard was richly and ornately carved, as was the chest of drawers and the large, heavy wardrobe. In place of paper the walls were covered with silvery silk. A large Gryffindor banner hung on one wall, its scarlet and gold in stark contrast to the dark dignity of the rest of the room.

Sirius flung himself on the bed with the same lazy abandon he always used at school, rolling onto his stomach and propping his head up with his hands. 'Well, this is it,' he said. 'The traditional bedroom of the Sirius Blacks. Two have resided here before me – both with more blood pride and straighter spines, as old Phineus Nigellus loves to remind me. What do you think?'

'Needs more of those,' James said, pointing at the Gryffindor lion.

'I know,' Sirius said. 'I've got half a dozen more in my trunk, but I'm keeping my nose clean, remember? Besides, she'll only take them down again the moment I'm gone. I've got to learn that charm that makes things stick. It's only in there with straight pins.

'Still,' James allowed; 'not bad. Nice view?' He nodded at the curtained window.

Sirius shook his head. 'Rooftops and about two square feet of a grubby alley. This neighbourhood isn't what it was when the house was built – another favourite theme among the older portraits.'

James wrinkled his nose. 'Sorry to say it, mate, but no wonder you want to get away for a few days. Do you really think they'll let you?'

Sirius sighed. 'I don't rightly know,' he admitted. 'She only said I had to have you to dinner because she didn't think there was a chance in hell that I'd let you come. I mean, it's not the honourable thing to renege now, but my mum isn't exactly known for her sense of honour.'

'Bit of a fix for your dad to be in,' remarked James. 'I mean, his father and his wife running the house like that. I don't imagine he's got much authority.'

'Not much,' Sirius allowed. 'He spends his time dreaming up new and daft ways to Muggle-proof the property. It's already Unplottable, and that ridiculous front door won't let anyone open it from the outside without a wand. And the little strip of lawn out back is so thickly Disillusioned that you get dizzy just sitting out there. The one thing he hasn't actually managed to do is get rid of the neighbours.'

James chuckled. 'But where do you play Quidditch?' he asked.

'Uncle Alphard's place. He's got a cottage out in the country – when he's home in England. He's away just at present.' Sirius sighed despondently. 'Seems he's almost always away. If it weren't for Drommie and looking forward to seeing the two of you this summer would be sodding unbearable.' He smirked. 'I haven't even been able to let loose any chaos!'

'Well, try and resist the urge,' James said. 'Another fortnight and you could be down in Cornwall.'

'Yeah,' Sirius said with a dreamy look on his face. He wrinkled his nose. 'Speaking of Drommie, why didn't you just keep your big mouth shut?'

'About what?' asked James.

'About…' Sirius looked around furtively, although there were no portraits in his room and therefore no one to spy on them. 'About the Hufflepuff Beater,' he whispered.

'Oh. That. What's it matter?' James asked.

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Potter, you are thick as a brick. He's _Muggle-born_. They can't keep us fraternizing with that sort at school, however much they try, but _snogging _them behind the caretaker's hut is another thing entirely.'

'But that was months ago!' James protested. Then he looked rather guilty. 'But only 'cause she wouldn't let him that night we saw them out on the gallery.'

'What? You didn't say anything about snogging when you made your report.' Sirius's eyes narrowed.

'That's because there wasn't any, not really. Right Remus?' James looked up, begging corroboration.

'There wasn't,' Remus agreed. 'He did try, but she wouldn't let him.'

'Good,' Sirius said stoutly. 'I'm pleased she's come to her senses and stopped playing with fire. All the same, I think old Andromeda's losing her grip. A hat shop, of all barmy notions?'

'Something wrong with hat shops?' asked James.

'Not as such,' said Sirius. 'But I mean, I've known Drommie all my life, and she's not the sort to wait on fussy old ladies looking for the _very latest thing_. What can she want with a hat shop?'

'I don't know,' James said; 'but I'm telling you right now that I am not about to start tailing her 'round the Home Counties just so you can satisfy your curiosity.'

'I would never dream of asking you to!' Sirius said, feining hurt.

'Well, good.' James smirked. 'Just so we're clear.'

They lapsed into good-natured silence for a while, until Sirius rolled onto his back, tilting his head so that he could peer over his eyebrows at the other two boys.

'You did really well, Remus,' he said. 'At dinner, I mean.'

Remus flushed with pleasure at the words of praise. 'I… well, I did muck it up about the wine,' he demurred.

'Sure,' said Sirius; 'but that could happen to anyone. Anyone who doesn't have wine at dinner, that is,' he added with a small perplexed frown. 'But the rest of it… she tried every trick known to witch or wizard. The grouse really was beyond the pale. How'd you work out how to carve it?'

'I watched Andromeda,' Remus admitted. 'But Sirius, you very nearly had me make a fool of myself! Everyone ate the pears with that funny-looking fork. I was going to dip my hand in the dish!'

Sirius's expression was pained. 'She outfoxed me, the old hag!' he moaned. 'She must've known I'd warn you about pears, but of course I didn't think to say _raw_ pears. Just as well you're sharp.'

'I'm not sharp,' Remus said unhappily. 'Drommie warned me off that as well.'

'Well, by hook or by crook you pulled it off, anyway,' Sirius told him. 'And she really did try _every_ trick in the book.'

Remus nodded. 'My soup was cold, too,' he confessed.

'It was cucumber soup,' James said, puzzled. 'It's always served cold.'

Remus felt himself burning with shame at his ignorance. It had never even occurred to him that the dish might have been chilled for everyone; he had assumed that either his was the inferior portion or that they had been trying to humiliate him. Now he had gone and showed himself an ill-bred half-blood in front of his friends. 'I—I didn't know that,' he stammered, hanging his head.

Sirius was on his belly again, leaning up against crossed arms. 'But you ate it,' he said, perplexed. 'You didn't say anything.'

Remus shook his head. 'My mother raised me better than _that_,' he mumbled. 'It would have been rude to say anything.'

'Well there, you see?' Sirius said, smiling broadly. 'You didn't make a mess of it; you carried that off beautifully, too.' He scowled. 'I'll just bet she served chilled soup on purpose, too, wanting to see if you'd say something ignorant.'

James clicked his tongue. 'Such a way with words, you have,' he said. 'Remus, don't fret over it. The main thing is you minded your manners and it paid off nicely. I can't think of one thing they could fault you for – apart from the wine, which really could've happened to anyone. There are plenty of pureblood families that don't let the children have wine. Even at my place we only get a little taste in the bottom of the goblet.'

Remus was about to thank them for their kind words when with a _crack_ a house elf appeared in the middle of the room. Sirius sat bolt upright on his bed, scowling viciously.

'What do you want?' he demanded. 'I told you that you weren't to come bursting in here! Knock, like a normal servant.'

'Of course, young Master,' Kreacher said unctuously, bowing low. 'But Kreacher is coming on orders from Mistress. The time has come, it has, for young Master's noble guests to be going.'

'What?' Sirius asked, glancing at the elegant wall clock over the door. 'It's only just gone nine; Remus can stay 'til ten, and James… uh…'

'Hasn't got a curfew,' James said cheerily.

'The little son of half-bloods and failures is going now,' Kreacher said. 'Mistress commands it.' Before any of the boys could react, he had his bony hand closed on Remus's wrist and was dragging him to the door, which swung open as they approached.

'Hey!' Sirius shouted, clambering off of the bed and hopping towards the door. '_Hey!_ You can't just… what about good manners?'

'Mistress isn't saying anything about manners,' Kreacher said. He started down the stairs and Remus, bewildered and rather uncomfortable, had no choice but to follow. 'The sickly one is to be put out, and then the Potter is to go home, too. Dinner party is over, Mistress says.'

'You – you little wretch!' Sirius yelped. They were on the third landing now, and Kreacher hustled Remus on toward the next flight of stairs. 'Unhand him at once! I command it.'

Kreacher froze, the hand on Remus's wrist twitching spastically.

'That's right,' Sirius said with a nasty smile. 'I command it. You've got to do what I say, whether you like it or not. I'm one of the family – I'm the heir to the great Black fortune, you included. You've got to obey me.'

'True. It is very true,' Kreacher said, bowing without consideration to the way the motion tugged on Remus's arm. 'Kreacher must obey young Master, or Kreacher must be punished. But Kreacher must obey Mistress first. Then Kreacher will punish himself for disobedience to young Master.' His lips curled, exposing twin rows of sharp little teeth. 'Kreacher will ask Mistress what punishment is suitable,' he said slyly. 'Kreacher wonders what Mistress will say.'

Sirius blanched. 'You wouldn't…' he stammered.

'It's all right,' Remus said hastily. 'It's all right, Sirius. Of course I'll go home if I'm not wanted anymore. It's been such a lovely night.' He flinched inwardly at the lie. 'Please, don't spoil it.'

'Half a half-blood he is, but he knows his place,' Kreacher said approvingly. 'Not wanted, he is; time to go.'

He started down the stairs again and though Remus followed meekly he did not release his grip on the boy's wrist. Sirius and James followed, the former fuming silently and the latter looking rather mortified by the whole ungracious situation. They reached the first landing, and Remus expected to be led into the drawing room, but Kreacher strode purposefully past. Of course, Remus thought, ashamed of putting on airs above his station, they wouldn't want him in the drawing room. The tradesmen's fire was good enough for him.

But at the foot of the stairs Kreacher turned left, not right, and hauled open the heavy front door.

'N-no, there must be some mistake,' Remus stammered. 'I'm meant to go by Floo…'

'Mistress isn't saying anything about Floo,' Kreacher said, shaking his head. 'Turn him out if he won't go, Kreacher, she says. Kreacher is good. Kreacher is obedient. Kreacher is minding his mistress.'

'No!' Sirius barked, striding forward with a menacing gleam in his eye. 'Remus, you go on through to the kitchen, and we'll—'

Kreacher threw out his hand, palm outward. Sirius was hurled backward against the bannister. 'Kreacher is following his orders!' he said shrilly.

'Come on, Kreacher, be a sport,' James said, grinning in that particular way that he had of communicating that no one ever said no to the heir to the Potter fortune. 'Let's just go downstairs, and we'll both be gone in a minute or two.'

'No!' Kreacher said. 'Put him out, says Mistress, and then Potter goes home too.' Swift as an adder and with far more strength than his little body ought to have held, he seized hold of Remus. James cried out and Sirius sprang to his feet to charge, but the house elf flung the boy unceremoniously over the threshold.

Remus lost his footing and tumbled down the steps, landing painfully on his hands and knees. He felt a sting in his palms that set off a tiny, irrational wave of panic, and then he scrambled to his feet, charging back up the steps towards the closed door.

'No!' he cried, slapping the glossy black paint with his palm. 'No! Please! Please, let me in! I'm meant to use the Floo – there's no one coming for me! Please!'

He hammered with the knocker, but no answer came. James and Sirius were just on the other side of the door. Surely one of them would help him. Surely one of them would let him back inside so that he could Floo home. But the door stayed firmly closed, and no amount of pounding or pleading brought a response from within.

Remus sank down onto the front stoop, hands still pressed against the door. Panic welled up inside of him. Sirius and James could not come, or they would have done so by now. The house elf had his orders, and Remus knew he would not be allowed back into the house. His breath came in short, heavy gasps. How would he get word to his parents? How could he possibly get home? Terror and despair filled him, numbing all other sensations as he looked around the desolate little square. Night had fallen and he was alone in the middle of London. What, he thought frantically, could he possibly do to help himself?


	39. Rescue and Reminiscence

_Note: A 'Missing Moment' for this chapter is available on my profile page. It is entitled 'More Than Manners Will'._

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Rescue and Reminiscence**

Remus did not know how long he sat there, huddled on the top step of number twelve, but it was long enough for the chill of the stone to seep through the wool of his robe and sting the backs of his thighs. He got up, bunching his flowing sleeves up around his wrists and hugging his arms against his body. It was July and the night was not especially cold, yet still he shivered as he looked down on the deserted square. Grimmauld Place seemed even more gloomy and dubious in the darkness. Here and there a sliver of wan electrical light appeared around a curtain or under a blind, but for the most part the windows were black; gaping holes in the faces of the gaunt old houses. Two of the streetlamps were burned out, and the shadowy stains their absence left on the pavement had the same dark sheen as blood in the first grey of dawn.

Somewhere high in one of the houses across the way a baby cried out; a thin, rheumy sound that cut through the silence and made Remus feel more isolated than ever. He could not help looking up at the towering façade of the Black house behind him. There was a rustling of the heavy curtains in the drawing room window, and he thought he saw a glint of firelight. Had someone looked out? Were they looking for him? Was it Sirius, perhaps? Or his mother, gloating over the discomfiture of the ignorant little half-blood who deserved, it seemed, no more consideration than a dog?

Whomsoever it was, Remus no longer felt safe on the steps of the grand old house. While he stood on the Unplottable property he was invisible to Muggle eyes, but at least in the street he would be unable to see the walls that stood between him and his safe route home. His legs quivered as he descended the stairs, but he reached the pavement at last. As he stepped onto the street, number twelve vanished behind him, eleven and thirteen seeming to swell to fill its place.

Remus looked about at the empty windows above him. He could see no one watching, and he was glad. He knew that he had no more to fear from Muggles than he had from wizards – and in many ways, a good deal less. Still, he did not want to become an object of curiosity. He was unsure what Muggles did with children who wandered the city streets after dark, but he had a niggling suspicion that police constables were involved.

There was no traffic on this out of the way roundabout, but Remus crossed to the little patch of grass anyhow. Far away, muffled by the tall buildings, he could hear the dull roar of a motorway. He could not help wishing that one of the cars speeding along in the night was the little brown Morris Minor, carrying his mother to come and fetch him. That was absurd, of course, for she was more than two hundred miles away and likely thought he was still visiting with Sirius and James. He had been out here for what seemed like an eternity, but surely it could not have been more than an hour. He would not even be missed until ten o'clock, and even then he was not certain his father would come looking for him at once. Mother might even dissuade him, promising that all was well and Remus was likely just having fun with his friends.

A painful lump rose in his throat. His friends. He knew, or he wanted to believe, that they never would have abandoned him in this dreadful predicament if they had it in their power to help him. But whatever the magic Kreacher had used to fling Sirius against the stairs, it was surely beyond the scope of a pair of twelve-year-old wizards to overcome. And there was Mrs Black to contend with. She had given orders that he was to be turned out. She would never invite him back in again just so that he might use the fire.

Remus hoped that Sirius was all right. Maybe James was still in the house, his presence providing some protection from the consequences of his friend's behaviour. Remus did not know what transpired 'upstairs', but the look in Sirius's eyes when Regulus had mentioned it seemed blazoned upon Remus's eyelids. Guilt assailed him anew. How must Sirius have felt in that moment when he realized Remus had lied about the very same horrific indignities he himself endured? He had sounded so resigned on the third landing when he spoke of Remus's falsehoods, but he had had three weeks to brood on it; three weeks to make the conscious choice not to lash out against his wretched, lying friend.

Unable to keep his feet any longer, Remus sank down in the damp grass, his head hanging low over his lap. He was ashamed, so very ashamed of himself, and it had nothing to do with his disgraceful performance at dinner or the realization that he was so woefully ignorant and uncultured in comparison to James and Sirius. The awful weight of deceit built up over the last eleven months bore down on his slight shoulders and made his back stoop with disgrace. He was a coward, unworthy of a place in the valiant House of Gryffindor; unworthy of the friendship of the noble, spirited James Potter and the unconquerable Sirius Black; unworthy, even, of travelling home like a wizard, or he never would have been thrown out of the house.

If he had had his wand with him, and a little money, Remus might have called the Knight Bus to take him home. Indeed, even without money he might have been able to beg a ride – even just to the Leaky Cauldron, where he might have used their fireplace. If he had any idea where he was, he might even be able to find his way down to Diagon Alley, but he did not even know what area of London he was in. Islington, the invitation had said, but that meant as much to a child from Falmouth as _Diagon Alley _would have meant to the mother of the colicky Muggle baby. Once again his ignorance conspired against him.

If Mother had a telephone, Remus might have found a phone box. He might have asked the operator to reverse the charges so that he could tell his parents what had happened, and ask them to come and fetch him. But the telephone in the Lupin household had been cut off the summer he was nine, when a journey to Sicily for a costly, brutal and utterly useless round of 'cures' had left too little money to pay the note. They had never troubled to reconnect it, for Mother had no one to call. So the loss of that possible escape route was Remus's fault as well.

His hands fell into his lap as he lost the will even to hold himself. Surely his father would come for him eventually. He had seemed so anxious, so concerned, when Remus had seen him through the fireplace. Surely when eleven o'clock passed, or midnight, or one and still he did not return, Father would come for him.

For now, however, he was alone and desolate in the empty square. A single hot tear rolled down his cheek, and he blotted it wrathfully away. That would never do. It was his own fault that he was in these straights. The least he could do was bear up and suffer the consequences of his actions like a proper wizard. He would have to wait; that was all there was to it. He would just have to wait.

It was a sensible choice, but it swiftly proved difficult. Remus was uneasy and rather frightened, and soon he grew restless. It was a fine gesture to sit curled in the grass, the picture of defeat, but it was damp and uncomfortable. Soon Remus found himself fidgeting, and then he got to his feet and paced the little square of grass. There was the roar of a motor and a gleam of headlights as an automobile rumbled up the next street. Remus stepped out onto the tarmac and moved timidly toward the turning out of Grimmauld Place.

A sharp, indignant hoot rang out above, and he froze, casting his eyes skyward. Silhouetted against clouds tinted orange by the city lights was a large dark shape with a broad wingspan, banking for a descent. For an awful moment Remus thought it was the Black family owl with its vicious talons and its razor beak, coming to drive him off or worse. But as it drew nearer he recognized the sooty feathers and the proud tilt of the head. He raised his arm to offer it a place to land, realizing too late that its feet would snag the silk of his sleeves.

The bird seemed cognizant of this, or else it had received special instructions, for it ignored the proffered forearm and furled its wings at the last second to land with one foot on Remus's right shoulder and the other a little further down his humerus. Hermes ruffled his feathers and pecked playfully at Remus's ear.

'Did Sirius send you?' the boy asked softly, twisting his neck so that he could look at the owl. He reached up with his left hand to stroke the soft feathers on the bird's belly. Hermes crooked his head to one side and let out a low hoot. 'So that I could send message home?'

Even as he uttered the words he knew how nonsensical they were. He had neither parchment nor ink, and even if he had it would take Hermes all night to reach Falmouth. Long before then surely – _surely –_ his father would have come to find him.

'To keep me company, then?' Remus asked, as if the owl had heard him discrediting his first hypothesis.

Hermes let out a low trilling noise and ducked his head to nuzzle briefly against Remus's hair. Then he straightened, shaking out his tail feathers and tilting his head haughtily. He hopped off of Remus's arm and flew, low and slowly, to land in the midst of the patch of grass. He looked back expectantly.

'I'm to stay here?' Remus said softly, hurrying back onto the grass and kneeling down beside the bird. Hermes strutted around in front of him and pecked at his hand. Remus stroked him behind the eye ridge, eliciting a soft sound of pleasure. 'Is… is help coming?' he ventured.

Of course, Hermes did not answer, but he turned around and spread his wings, ducking his head so that Remus could scratch the back of his neck. The night was still cool and Grimmauld Place was still dark, but it seemed less terrible now that Remus had a companion – even if it was only an owl.

They remained there for a long while; owl and boy, making overtures to one another in the grass. After a while Hermes seemed to grow tired of being touched, for he hopped away and leapt into flight. Remus cried out in dismay, but the bird only flew as far as the nearest lamppost, where it perched, still watching him with keen eyes.

The night was growing colder now, and Remus found himself shivering. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin against his robes. He wished he had a clock, or some other means of knowing the time. Surely it would not be much longer now before he was missed. Surely his father would come.

Despite the reassuring presence of Sirius's owl, Remus found his courage flagging. He was tired and he was unhappy and he wished more than anything to be safe at home, with his mother to comfort him and his father to protect him. Here, in the darkness, surrounded by the tall staring houses, he felt as alone as he ever had – save in those last unbearable minutes before a transformation when he could no longer ignore the fact that he could not be counted among humans.

'Please come back,' he said hoarsely, fixing plaintive eyes on Hermes. 'Please. I won't touch you if you don't wish it.'

He did not know how much of human speech a wizard-bred owl could understand, but Hermes seemed to take his meaning. He fluttered down onto the grass and stood just out of reach, watching Remus closely.

'Thank you,' the boy whispered, shamed by the writhing of gratitude in his stomach.

Hermes made a noise suspiciously like a deprecating sniff, ruffling his feathers and bending his head to groom beneath his wing. Remus kept his eyes fixed on the bird. Far away in the night he could hear the squalling of police sirens. Perhaps awakened by the noise, the feeble little baby began to cry again. There was a noise of a motorcar backfiring, and one of the dead lampposts creaked ominously.

'Remus? Remus Lupin?' a deep voice queried.

Suddenly Remus was on his feet, casting about for some means of escape. A tall, distinguished-looking wizard in dark robes was advancing on him, wand drawn. He took two stumbling steps backward before losing his balance and landing hard on his tailbone on the slippery grass.

The wizard stopped dead in his tracks, hastily putting away his wand and holding up his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. 'Remus, it's all right,' he said. 'I shan't hurt you. I'm James Potter's father; I've come to take you home.'

All at once Remus recognized the steel-coloured hair, so neat and unlike his friend's, and the warm hazel eyes – so like James's own – behind silver spectacles. He had seen Roland Potter only twice, on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but his affably dignified demeanour was unmistakeable.

He came nearer, taking each step slowly, and he knelt in the grass a few feet from Remus. 'There now,' he said. 'I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm told you've had a perfectly dreadful evening.' He looked at the owl, whose chest was puffed out indignantly. 'Hallo, Hermes,' Mr Potter said. 'Thank you for watching our little man; you may go home now.'

The bird took flight, and Remus watched as he grew level with the attics of the houses before vanishing into thin air as he reached the boundary of the Unplottable Black property.

Mr Potter was holding out his hands now, as if to help Remus to his feet. 'Come now,' he said. 'Let's get you out of here.'

He was smiling kindly, and at this distance Remus could see that his robes were not black, as he had first feared, but a deep, rich shade of indigo.

'James asked you to come for me?' he said, hating the way his voice wavered.

'The identical minute he popped out of the fire,' Mr Potter said. 'It's shameful the way you were treated, Remus. What could that woman have been thinking?'

'It was the house elf, really,' Remus said. 'I think p'raps he misinterpreted his orders. I don't think he much cares for Sirius.'

Mr Potter shook his head, his smile faltering for a moment in favour of a glimmer of anger. 'That isn't how James is telling it,' he said grimly. Then his expression and his voice softened again. 'This isn't the place to talk about it. Let's get you safely away from here and out of the damp.'

This time when he offered his hands Remus took them, and a moment later they were standing. Mr Potter drew him close and wrapped an arm about his shoulder. Remus leaned instinctively into the man's grip, seeking comfort from the contact. Mr Potter drew his wand again, and together they Disapparated.

_~discidium~_

When they materialized Remus was momentarily disoriented. As he became aware of his surroundings a fresh dread seized him. He was standing in an arbour filled with rose bushes and topiary sculptures in the likeness of centaurs and unicorns and even a young dragon. There was a wrought iron bench beneath a spreading ginko tree, and in the centre of the elegant space a marble fountain bubbled merrily. The last light of the setting moon cast the whole scene in an eerie glow, and the presence of the unfamiliar man next to him seemed suddenly ominous.

'This isn't my back garden!' he yelped. He had been abducted, carried off by a stranger disguised as James's father. He was going to be experimented upon or murdered – or worse. There were uses for werewolves, reasons for Dark wizards to keep them alive. Reasons too terrible to contemplate.

'No,' the strange man said, smiling in a way that had seemed kind and now was absolutely terrifying. 'It's mine.'

A panicked scream filled Remus's lungs, but he could not force it past his lips. There was no one to hear him anyway, wherever he was. He wondered desperately why Hermes had abandoned him; why the owl had let this man take him.

'_Lumos_,' murmured the wizard. A soft glow appeared from his wand tip. He was still smiling. 'I'm afraid I haven't my wife's particular knack of Apparating on the strength of an address alone, and I didn't want to round out your night by Splinching you. Come inside; Marjorie has fixed some chocolate, and James is anxious to see you.'

Still trying to quell the hysteria mounting within him, Remus saw no alternative than to follow the wizard as he moved to the wall that ran along one side of the arbour. A set of ornate French doors opened for them, and they moved into a darkened room that seemed to be filled with ferns and white wicker furniture. Then through a smaller, ordinary door – and into a warmly lit sitting room with a deep scarlet carpet. At a round table near the fire sat a woman and a boy, and Remus felt his panic draining away into pathetic gratitude as he realized they were indeed Mrs Potter and James.

'Remus!' James looked up from his mug of chocolate, piled high with clotted cream, grinning happily. 'You made it.'

'What he means,' said Mrs Potter, getting to her feet and sailing across the room to engulf Remus in a gentle hug; 'is thank _goodness _you're safe. Imagine turning a child out into the night like that. Why, anything might have happened!'

Remus could not say anything. He was trying too hard to keep his legs under him, for his knees had suddenly gone very weak as his anxiety subsided and left him utterly enervated. Mrs Potter shepherded him over to the table and sat him down, curling his hand around a mug of hot chocolate. She brushed his hair away from his eyes and squeezed his shoulders.

'There, dear. Drink that,' she said. 'When you're feeling quite up to it you may use _our _fireplace to get yourself home.'

'Thank you, ma'am,' Remus mumbled, raising the mug to his lips with a trembling hand and taking a long quaff of the deliciously warm fluid.

'Don't fuss, Mum,' James said, sounding affably irritated. 'He's not a little kid.'

'No indeed,' said Mrs Potter gravely. 'I had forgotten that he has achieved the venerable years of one James Potter, until lately rather in his cups.'

James's ears pinkened. 'I told you that was a misunderstanding,' he said. 'How was I to know the goblets refilled themselves? You only ever let me have an ounce or two.'

'Yes, well, clearly I have a great deal of cause to question the judgement of Sirius's parents,' Mrs Potter said primly, her hand still resting reassuringly on Remus's clavicle. 'I shall be going up to London tomorrow, and I promise I will have some _very _harsh words to say to Walburga Black.'

'Don't do that, Mum!' cried James, nearly spilling his chocolate. 'Sirius is trying to keep his nose clean, and after the ruckus we raised we'll be lucky if they ever let him out of the house again. If you go over there he's liable to be stuck there all summer!'

'Ruckus?' Remus said worriedly.

James nodded. 'After that little sneak tossed you out Sirius and I went up to the drawing room to try to talk his mum 'round. You would've been proud of me, Dad,' he added, turning to look at his father. 'I was ever so polite and dignified – right up until she called Remus a half-blood beggar's brat. Then I'm afraid I kicked her.'

'I can scarcely fault you for that,' his mother murmured, looking down at Remus again. 'Dear, your robes are all wet! Was it _raining_?' Righteous indignation ignited in her eyes, making her look remarkably like her son.

Remus shook his head, swallowing his mouthful of chocolate before answering. 'No, ma'am,' he said. 'It was only the dew on the grass. I'm all right, really.'

'Fiddlesticks!' Mrs Potter said, drawing her wand. A moment later Remus's clothing was warm and dry again. 'There. We couldn't send you home in that state. Your poor mother; she'll be half-sick with heartache as it is. I had best come along with you and try to explain.'

'What time is it, ma'am?' Remus asked, suddenly anxious again.

'It's gone half ten,' Mrs Potter said. 'Really, when James was so late in returning I hoped you three were having a perfectly lovely time. I'm sorry to see I was so gravely mistaken.'

Remus set his mug of half-finished chocolate down and leapt to his feet. He swayed and Mrs Potter steadied him, but he did not even pause as he cried; 'I must go! I was meant to be home at ten! They'll be sick with worry…'

He wasn't quite certain how it happened, but suddenly he was in another room, brightly and exquisitely furnished, and Mrs Potter was pressing a pinch of Floo Powder into his palm and murmuring the usual instructions and caveats. Then he felt the rush of the flames and the nauseating centripetal force as he rocketed past dozens of fireplaces before tumbling out of his own. He landed on his hands and knees on the worn old hearth rug, and before he had even oriented himself he found his mother's arms around him.

'Remus!' she cried. 'Where have you been? We've been ever so anxious! Your father—'

She gave a little yelp of alarm as Mrs Potter stepped out of the fire, skirting carefully around Remus. 'He's all right, Dorothy; there's no harm done,' she said with brisk efficiency, crouching to place a soothing hand on each Lupin's back. 'It seems his hostess took leave of her senses, and Roland went to collect him and bring him back via our place. There, now, dear. There's no need to look so desolate.'

'Ross…' Mrs Lupin gasped, her face pale. The hands clutching Remus began to tremble. 'He's gone to look for him. He's gone up to London. I'm afraid if he can't find him he might do something rash!'

Mrs Potter rose, nodding her head and taking out her wand. 'I'll go and fetch him back,' she promised. 'We were all up there only this morning; I know the way. Apparition point's in the back yard, isn't it?'

Mother nodded, and a moment later the witch was gone.

'I'm sorry,' Remus whispered, subjecting himself to his mother's increasingly tight embrace. 'I should never have gone. I should have come home as soon as dinner was over. I would have, only I thought… it thought it would be better for Sirius if I stayed as long as I could, and…'

'Hush,' Mother said, rocking slightly and stroking his hair. She wasn't looking at him; her eyes were fixed through the doorway that led to the kitchen. She was listening for the crack of returning Apparition. 'Hush, love; it's not your fault.'

The ten minutes Remus spent on the sitting room floor seemed to stretch out longer than the ninety he had passed in the square of Grimmauld Place. But at last the expected noise came, followed rapidly by a second, and the back door opened.

'There, now, mind your feet,' Mrs Potter was saying. 'Just through here, and you can see for yourself. Not a hair on his head harmed, I promise.'

Around the corner they came, Mr Lupin leaning heavily on the silver-haired witch. He was ghastly pale, his face hewn in deep crevices of strain and worry. When he saw Remus all the life seemed to ebb out of his limbs, and he crumpled into his chair, his head in his hands.

'Remus,' he croaked. 'Remus, thank God…'

Mother loosed her hold and hefted him to his feet. Taking her meaning, Remus hurried to his father's side. He wanted to fling his arms about the man's neck and offer every reassurance he could think of, but he hesitated. In spite of everything he was not certain his touch would be welcome.

'I'm safe, Father, really,' he said unsteadily. 'Sh-she didn't lay a finger on me.'

At the sound of his voice the wizard uncurled, reaching out to tug Remus down against him. His chin rested atop the boy's head as he caressed his back, and something hot and damp landed on Remus's scalp. 'Thank God,' Father moaned. 'Thank God, thank God.'

'What happened?' Mother asked, her voice breaking a little. 'Please, Marjorie, can you tell me what happened?'

The next hour was a merciful blur. Mrs Potter explained as much as she knew, and then Remus found himself on the sofa, pressed between his parents as they questioned him. He told them about the introductions in the drawing room, omitting the talk of his parentage. He explained about the cold cucumber soup and the wine and the game fowl and the pears, saying nothing about Sirius spilling his goblet. Then he told how Kreacher had come with orders to turn him out.

'B-but Sirius must've sent Hermes,' he said. 'Hermes came out to stay with me. I th-think he would've protected me if anything had happened. He's an awfully large owl. And then M-Mr Potter came…' He flushed in shame. 'I was afraid of him at first.'

Then there were kind words and reassurances, and somehow he was in his room and Mother was helping him out of his robes and into his nightshirt. And abruptly he was in bed, curled on his side with the starlight filtering through the glass panes of his window. Exhausted from fright and worry and too much food, he sank into a stuporous slumber.

_~discidium~_

When Remus went downstairs late the following morning, he found both of his parents seated at the kitchen table. He stopped dead, staring at them.

'It's Wednesday,' he said inadequately.

Mr Lupin nodded. 'I'm not going in to work today. I've sent notice that I'm not feeling well.'

A pained expression gripped Mother's mouth for an instant, but she said nothing. Remus thought that his father certainly did look as though he was not feeling well. His complexion was still greyish, and his mouth was drawn and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

'Remus,' he said, pulling out the boy's chair and indicating that he should sit; 'we need to talk about what happened last night.'

'I'm sorry,' Remus said miserably, slipping into his seat and staring down at his hands as he twisted them in his lap. 'I know I was careless. I know I was foolish. I should have just come home at eight when I had the chance. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you come after me. I didn't mean it.'

'Of course you didn't,' Father said softly. 'Remus, none of that was your fault. Do you understand that?'

Remus nodded, but it was a lie. He didn't understand at all. Of course it was his fault: he had insisted on going to London; he had made a fool of himself; he had asked to use the fire, putting Sirius in an untenable position; he had shamed himself enough that Mrs Black had not thought him even worth considering; and he had let himself be led off for a mug of hot chocolate instead of hurrying home at once, before his father could go charging after him.

'Remus. _It wasn't your fault_.' Father was looking at him very intently now. So intently, in fact, that Remus found himself compelled to look him in the eye. The hard, earnest look upon the man's face was almost frightening. 'You should never have been turned from the house like that. I don't care if you did cough when you took the wine. I don't care if you did use the kitchen fire without asking Mrs Black. I don't care if they found out everything about you—'

'They didn't!' Remus protested. 'I promise they didn't! They didn't even find out I'm a half-blood. Well, a proper half-blood, anyhow.'

'Remus, I don't care if you set fire to their drawing room curtains,' his father said. 'That woman had no right to drive you out into the street while you were entrusted to her care. It was petty and it was cruel and it was damned near criminal. I can't have you blaming yourself for that kind of mistreatment.'

'It wasn't… she didn't…' _Mistreatment_. The word had a heavy and horrible sound. Remus realized abruptly that, somewhere in Islington – wherever that was – Sirius was almost certainly being punished for the events of the previous evening. He made a small sound of despair and buried his head in his arms. 'She'll never let Sirius come to visit!' he moaned.

There was a startled silence. When at last Father spoke his voice was low and wondering. 'After all this, you still want to be friends with Sirius?'

'It wasn't his fault!' Remus cried, straightening desperately. 'He tried to help; he tried to stop them. He's my _friend_, and I might never get a chance to have him by the house again, and now it's ruined and he shan't be allowed to come, and he'll be trapped in London all summer and… and _upstairs…_'

Mother was crouching beside him now, one hand stroking his hair while the other held a glass of water to his lips. 'Remus, take a deep breath,' she murmured as he gulped ferociously at the liquid. 'Of course you may still be friends with Sirius, and of course he's still invited. Mrs Potter has gone up to London to have a word with Mrs Black. She'll sort everything out; you know she will.'

'If anyone's a match for a Black it's a Potter,' Father muttered grimly.

Suddenly Remus thought of James, interrupting Walburga Black's moment of apoplectic fury with some absurd story about spilling raspberry punch, and he choked out a watery laugh. Perhaps there was still hope, then.

'There,' Mother said softly, smiling and kissing his cheek. 'You see? Everything looks brighter when you take a moment to calm yourself.'

'Now go upstairs and get changed into your Muggle things,' Father said. 'There's potato soup and cheese scones for dinner, and then you and I are going into Oxford so you can finish that essay.'

Remus made a tiny disbelieving noise, but his mother was nodding.

'Lunch,' he said softly. They both looked at him, puzzled. 'Potato soup for _lunch_,' he clarified. 'That's what Sirius and James call it. _Dinner_ is a nasty stuffy affair in the evening, with far too many forks.'

Neither of his parents argued the point.

_~discidium~_

Remus spent most of the afternoon holed up in a corner of the wizarding library in Oxford, a mountain of books heaped on the little round table. He wrote furiously, determined to finish his essay that day so that he would not have to inconvenience his father again. Mr Lupin was gracious enough not to look inconvenienced: he sat in an armchair nearby, poring docilely over volume after volume of _The British Journal of Magical Education_ with a wistful look in his eyes. In keeping with the library policy, no words were exchanged between them until they emerged in the late afternoon sunlight and made their way into the Muggle area of the University. There, by a strand of stately oak trees, they sat down on a bench to eat their supper: apples and sandwiches carefully packed by Mrs Lupin.

'This is where I met your mother, you know,' Father said, a dreamy lilt to his voice. 'I was a bookboy in the library, and she was reading Philosophy at Lady Margaret Hall. I usually came up here on my dinner break, and one day I made the mistake of bringing a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ with me.'

Remus had heard this story many times, but now he looked around the peaceful, grassy space, and he fancied he could see his father, young and happy and perhaps a little foolish, strolling through the park with a heavy wizarding book tucked under his arm.

'She came up to me,' Mr Lupin went on. 'Said she didn't recognize the book. I was terrified. I ran away.' He shook his head ruefully. 'I was only eighteen, fresh out of Hogwarts. I felt sure I'd broken the Statue of Secrecy and that I'd be hauled off to Azkaban. But the next day I went back… and there she was.'

He fell silent, but Remus was able to take up the tale where Father had left it. 'After that you both ate here every day – not together, you understand, but on the same patch of grass. Then one day she brought a dish of homemade ginger biscuits, and offered to share them…'

Father nodded. 'The day I told her the truth, and she laughed and she kissed me – it was the happiest day of my life. At least at the time I thought it was.' He turned to look at Remus, and reached to ruffle the boy's hair. 'I've had a few happier since then.'

Part of Remus wanted to ask if his birth had been counted among those happier days, or not – but another question jostled to the forefront and won through to his tongue. 'Father,' he said, casting his eyes down at the lush grass. 'How did it feel? When you told her the truth?'

Mr Lupin laughed softly. He sounded a decade younger when he spoke. 'I was sick with nerves. But she was getting serious; kept talking about weddings and babies and a nice little home by the seaside. I knew either I had to tell her and risk losing her, or I had to let her go. I was sure she'd want nothing more to do with me, and all the rest of it would come crashing down. Statue of Secrecy. Trial before the Wizengamot. Azkaban. But I knew I had to risk it. I never could have lived with myself if I hadn't at least tried to keep her.'

'A-and when she didn't care?' asked Remus tremulously. It wasn't the same at all, he told himself. His father's secret had been a perfectly innocent one; the truth he had hidden wondrous instead of loathsome. Still, he wanted to hear what it had been like, so that after his own truths came out he could at least imagine what it would have been if he had met with acceptance instead of horror and disgust.

The blissful smile on his father's face made it easy to forget all the years of strain and hardship that lay upon his shoulders. 'It was like coming up for air on the very verge of drowning,' he sighed. 'It was like sunshine after a week in the dark. It was like… like the first snowdrop after a hard winter.'

Remus gazed wonderingly at him; made young again as he walked in memories of happier times. It was suddenly easy to see the man his mother had fallen in love with. He realized suddenly that he was bearing witness to a precious and intensely private moment. Carefully, deliberately, he locked it away so that he could remember later – after everything went wrong.

They did not linger long after that. They finished their sandwiches and Father picked up Remus's satchel. Then they went down into the trees and Side-along Apparated home. That night, too, Remus slept without dreams. This time it was peace of mind, and not exhaustion, that ensured it.


	40. Father's Choice

**Chapter Forty: Father's Choice**

Remus spent much of the next two days writing out a neat final copy of his History of Magic essay. Father had returned to work, though he still looked strained and weary. In his absence the house was very quiet, though Mother made her usual effort to be cheerful. On Saturday, Mr Lupin slept almost all afternoon. When he came down for supper he was pale and drowsy, but less careworn than before. That evening the family sat together in the sitting room, listening to the wireless. Remus and Mother played a few games of chess, while Father perused the last three days' copies of _The Daily Prophet_. It was almost like the old times, before Hogwarts.

After dinner – _lunch_ – on Sunday, Mother bundled them all into the little motorcar and drove out to a small, rocky beach some miles from the city. There, Remus was able to put on his bathing things and swim in the surf while his parents sat together on a great flat stone, talking quietly beneath the roar of the waves. Remus relished the feeling of the salt water on his lips and his lashes, and tried to give himself over to enjoyment. But now and again the thought of James and Sirius and Peter splashing and laughing and ducking one another under in the lake at Hogwarts came to mind, leaving him feeling rather isolated and lonely on this empty stretch of shore. Still, between the fresh air and the exertion he slept very well that night as well.

On Monday, the weekend's peace started to melt away. It began at sundown, when the fading light revealed the great swollen orb of the moon hanging high above the neighbouring rooftops. Remus, who had been wiping the dishes for his mother, very nearly dropped a plate as the pallid glow struck his eyes. Mother reached out instinctively to steady the dish, her eyes sad as she watched her son gauging the scant degrees darkened on the right side of the moon. Two more nights, and it would be full.

Remus made it a point to go to bed that evening before his father returned from work. He was not in the least bit tired, but he lay motionless in the dark, listening to unusually clumsy noises in the kitchen below. When his parents mounted the steps for the night there was a great deal of thumping and shuffling, and twice his father swore in a low, slurred voice. Even after they were abed and the house was silent, Remus lay awake, dreading what was to come.

On Tuesday he was already stiff and sore, and he wilted swiftly in the heat of the day. He moved around the house like a shadow, trying not to let his mother see his misery. That endeavour was useless, of course: she always knew. In the middle of the afternoon she drew him a cool bath infused with lavender oil, and he lingered in the tub until his fingertips looked like the skin on Professor Binns's forehead. Then he went out to sit in the garden until he was called in for supper.

His spirits lifted a little when he saw what was waiting. Mother had prepared them a small and rather stringy steak, but she had cut it in two before cooking. Her own piece was dark and well done, but Remus's was rare, its centre still delicately pink and tasting strongly of beef. There was freshly baked brown bread with a modest scraping of butter, and – best of all! – steamed asparagus.

Remus took a bite of meat first, chewing it ponderously and savouring the memory of rawness without feeling the need for shame. Somehow it didn't seem quite so savage to enjoy it like this, from the end of a fork after picking it up from a plate where it had been set like part of an ordinary meal. He took a nibble of the bread, which was still warm. And then a mischievous and rather wicked idea occurred to him.

Mother was occupied, gazing out the window at a dove perched on the roof across the alley. Remus set down his knife and fork and picked up a slender stalk of asparagus. It couldn't hurt to try it, he reflected. Bellatrix Black had made it look so easy; so natural. He put the cut end of the vegetable between his lips, parting his teeth with care. Then he sucked.

It shot backward into his mouth, jabbing at his tonsil. He gagged, coughing and wheezing and trying with all his might not to give into the urge to regurgitate what he had eaten. The asparagus fell onto his plate, limply taunting him.

'Remus!' Mother was on her feet in an instant, thumping on his back to dislodge whatever she thought was choking him. His eyes were watering and he was red with embarrassment, clutching at his chest as he fought to regain his composure.

'I'm all right,' he wheezed when he was once more capable of speech. 'Really… it was nothing.'

His mother glanced down at his plate, but she said nothing. Remus reached for his glass of water, keeping his eyes lowered and wondering if she knew what he had been trying to do. She sat down again and resumed her meal, keeping one protective eye upon him. Ashamed of himself for trying and failing to ape his betters, Remus picked up the stalk of asparagus and ate it in the ordinary way: head first, taking neat little bites. It was fresh and delicious, and it occurred to him that one would not be able to taste it properly without chewing. If enjoying his favourite vegetable meant eating it like a plebeian, he decided he was happy to do so.

Father came home earlier than usual: just before half past seven. His arrival caught Remus, who had hoped to be out of sight and out of mind so as not to spoil the lovely illusion of the last few days, unawares. The man trudged through the back door, removing his hat and wiping grimy hands on the front of equally dirty robes. He glanced lovingly at his wife, and then turned to look on Remus. A shadow crossed his face, as if he could see the glint of the wolf in the pallid face and glassy eyes. Then, remarkably, he managed a weary smile.

'Is your paper finished yet?' he asked.

Remus nodded. 'Yes, Father. Yes, it's finished. I've already packed it.'

The wizard nodded. 'I'm glad. Can't have you distracted from your guests by schoolwork.'

It was such a perfectly ordinary thing to say that Remus let out a small laugh. Mother shot a tiny, grateful look at her husband. 'I've still nine days before James comes,' said Remus. 'And Sirius,' he added, praying frantically that it would prove true. He had heard nothing from his friend since being ejected from his house the week before. He had no way of knowing if Sirius would be allowed to come – or even if he was all right.

'Still,' Father said, almost without bitterness; 'you'll be too tired to work on anything for a few days.'

'I suppose I will,' Remus said softly, studying the web of caked dust on the man's face. It was as near to speaking casually about his transformations as his father had ever come.

'Go up and have a wash,' Mother said. 'I'll just fix you your steak.'

'Steak?' Father said, looking at her in surprise.

Mother flushed a little. 'It's scarcely a prime cut, but I thought we could all do with a proper supper tonight.'

Of course, Remus thought bleakly. For the next few days there would be nothing but bread and mutton stew, because caring for him in the wake of his transformation left his mother too weary and strained for cooking. Father went upstairs, and Remus moved into the sitting room, drawing the curtains to shut out the moonlight.

_~discidium~_

The following morning, Remus awoke shortly after dawn, dimly aware that he was not alone. He prised open his sleep-crusted eyes and struggled to bring the dark shape over him into some semblance of focus. He saw the lines next to the mouth first, and realized it was his father. He made a tiny, drowsy noise that he hoped would be understood as a greeting.

'I'm off to work now,' Father whispered, placing his hand on Remus's brow and flinching only a little as he felt the already mounting fever. 'I want you to know that I _will_ be home on time. It may be a near thing, but I promise I will be home on time.'

Remus nodded a little. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton and his jaw was aching; he did not feel capable of speech. His father's fingers found their way down onto his cheek and he felt his eyes drifting closed.

'I promise,' the man murmured. 'I promise I will be home on time.'

Then he slipped away and Remus fell back into the muzzy slumber that always preceded the full moon. When he awoke again, he wondered if the entire encounter had been a dream and decided to believe it had not.

The stew was already simmering when Remus came downstairs. Mother had thin slices of tongue and a big pitcher of ice water waiting for him on the table. He inhaled most of the latter, nibbling indifferently at the former. Then he settled into the long, miserable wait for nightfall.

At seven o'clock, Father still had not returned. At half past, Mother began to pace uneasily.

'He'll be home on time,' Remus said quietly, watching her from where he sat curled on one of the kitchen chairs. 'He promised.'

'What?' Mother looked up at him, distraction in her eyes.

'He came into my room this morning, and he promised he would be home on time.' Remus tried to shift his position to ease the throbbing in his neck, but of course it was a useless gesture. 'He's… I think he's trying to show me he loves me.'

'Good,' Mother said. 'He forgets to do that sometimes. It isn't his fault, really, Remus. He just doesn't always understand how to help you see how he cares.'

'He's very unhappy, isn't he?' Remus ventured.

Mother sighed, nodding her head. 'Yes. I'm afraid he's very unhappy. 'I'm trying to help him through it, but I'm a Muggle, of course; he thinks I can't understand.'

'I'm not a Muggle,' whispered Remus; 'and I don't understand, either. I know that he loves you, and he says he still loves me. So why does he want to… to…'

He couldn't say it. Even touching on the borders of the thought made his chest constrict and his pulse quicken.

Mother sank down in a chair, resting her elbow on the corner of the table and pressing her fingertips to her temple. 'Your father is a proud man, Remus. He has never taken well to insults, and that's how he sees it: as an insult, an affront to his dignity.'

Remus hugged his knees to his chest. He could certainly understand that. It would be an affront to any wizard's dignity to have a werewolf for a son. To be obliged to hurry home to lock his only living child in the cellar before boy became beast. To have to gather up what was left of him when the moon set and try to patch him back together again just so that the whole horrible tableau could be laid out again the following month.

'Surely it isn't so bad now,' he whispered, a pleading note to his voice. 'Now I'm away at school so much of the time.'

Mother frowned, her brow knitting in puzzlement. 'What do you mean?' she asked.

Remus felt his cheeks burning in a way that had nothing to do with his fever. Why did she have to make him say it? His mother understood him so well in other ways. Why couldn't she understand this?

'Remus,' she said, a note of anxiety creeping into her voice. 'What do you mean?'

Just then the clock struck eight.

'I ought to go and get ready,' Remus mumbled, forcing himself to his feet despite the fiery pain in his tendons and joints. 'Father promised he would come on time. He promised.'

He knew his mother's eyes followed him as he left the kitchen. He knew she was imagining each stair he took, clumsily, both feet on a step before he felt able to reach for the next. He wondered if she was thinking of him, standing in the midst of the damp cellar, pulling off his tatty old blue robes and folding them carefully into a bundle. He set it on the fourth step, for his father to take away. Then he retreated to the far corner, huddling against the stone wall with his legs tucked up to obscure his nakedness as best he could. The aged blanket beneath him was scratchy, stiffened with old bloodstains that no amount of laundering could ever scrub away. He hadn't long now, he knew. Fifteen minutes at most.

The door at the top of the narrow stairs was open; the kitchen light cast a shadow against it. It was just like New Year's Eve; the hour was drawing nigh and his father had not come.

'But he promised,' Remus whispered, rocking against the wall and curling his head low over his knees. 'He promised.'

He could not work himself up into a state. Anxiety agitated the wolf. Healer Ferrinby had said that. Remus wondered miserably if he had ever been found. He thought of the wizard's Muggle mother, who had given the statement to the paper that her son would never skive off work. Was she sitting at a kitchen table somewhere, fretting about her son as Mother was fretting about Remus? There was so much worry and misery in the world, and in these last minutes as a boy Remus always felt them weighing upon him, crushing his chest and beating down his last vestiges of self-respect.

The sound of footfalls above made him raise his head. The light was eclipsed by a figure in grubby work robes, and his father came down into the cellar. Remus shrank further into the corner, loath to be seen like this when he knew it only made him look more like an animal. There was no escape, however, and the wizard knelt beside him.

'Only a little longer now,' he said softly. Remus could not make out his expression in the gloom, but his voice was calm and touched with sadness. 'It's the next-to-shortest moon of the year.'

That only meant the nights were getting longer. Remus let his forehead rest on his scarred left knee. A hand, strong and gritty but gentle, settled between his shoulder blades.

'I must go now,' Father murmured. 'Try not to fret. Think of seeing your friends again. Only a little more than a week to wait now.'

The platitude sounded strained, forced, but Remus clung to it anyhow. His father was trying as hard as he could to see his son instead of the monster. The least Remus could do in exchange was try to take some comfort from his words.

Father sighed. 'Remus, you understand that I don't know what to say to you at these times,' he said quietly. 'Can you tell me what would help? What you need to hear?'

Remus could feel the tremors beginning, deep within the long bones. 'You need to go,' he said hoarsely. 'Y-you need to go _now_.'

His father stiffened, fingertips tightening against the boy's spine. 'Good luck,' he whispered, his voice wavering in a way that made Remus ache for Madam Pomfrey's calm competency. Then with a swishing of wool he hurried up the stairs, stooping to gather the robes as he went.

The door closed, and Remus could hear the muttered incantations as the wards were set. Then suddenly there was silence as the Imperturbable Charm took hold. For the span of ninety seconds the hush was deafening, before it was shattered by a harsh, inhuman shriek of anguish.

_~discidium~_

Fingers in his hair, snagging on the tangles. Soft words in his ear. Something touched his left leg and he cried out. The hand caressed his jaw now. His jaw wasn't broken. That was good. No horrible, suspicious bruise to hide. Pain shot up into his left hip again as the healing spell went awry. He whimpered. Madam Pomfrey had never botched a spell before. There was something squishy bundled under his ribs. He could feel his blood soaking it, spreading in a broad circle that trickled towards his spine. Panic gripped him. His robes! He had placed them carefully out of reach – he knew that he had. The ones damaged over the Christmas break had disintegrated at last, and he had only two sets of ragged transformation garb left. What would he wear on the walk to the Willow when they were gone?

Burning, searing anguish. His left leg again. Fear penetrated the haze of suffering and exhaustion. What was wrong?

'Calm yourself,' a gentle voice coached. 'Take a deep breath and try again.' A hand found his, curling his fingers around the base of a delicate thumb. 'Hold tight, Remus. We're going to try again.'

Mother. He was at home. Remus felt some of his terror waning. It was not Madam Pomfrey struggling to mend him; it was his father. Perhaps then the wound was not so terrible as he had first thought.

The moment of relief was short-lived. A harsh howl of torment, more lupine than human, tore from his battered throat as the spell assailed his limb. But he could feel a calloused palm on his ankle now; heavy and soothing.

'There.' His father's voice sounded as if it came from a great distance, though surely that was his hand upon Remus's foot. 'I don't know if it's knitted, but at least it's set. _Ferula_.'

Mother gasped and Remus suddenly felt a firm, steady pressure down the length of his leg. The pain from that quarter abated considerably.

'How long will that last?' asked Mother.

'An hour or two,' Father said ruefully. 'Long enough to get him up to bed. Then I can see what more I can do.'

'How did he do it?' Mother murmured, stroking Remus's encrusted hair as best she could. 'There, now, dear heart. The worst of it is over.'

'Does it matter?' said Father.

'Stairs,' Remus croaked. They were forgetting that he was awake; that he could hear every word. He wanted to assert his existence in the room. It made him feel more human. 'The wolf… the stairs…'

He could not see the look his parents exchanged, but he could feel it. He felt a pang of remorse. Never before had the wolf been tempted by the cellar stairs, but after six months of exploring the two floors of the secure house in Hogsmeade, it had surely thought there was something of interest at the top. He never should have given in to Madam Pomfrey's invitation to use that bed.

'The door,' Mother murmured. Remus's guilt intensified. Had he damaged the door? Had he broken it down?

He felt radiating warmth against his ribs as a wound was sealed. There were a few more such sensations up and down his arms and around his gnawed right foot. Then he felt his father's arms slipping under his knees and behind his shoulders. There was a jolt of pain as he was lifted, and he felt his mother's hand moving to support his head.

'Are you quite sure you can carry him?' she asked.

'Quite,' Father said, his voice tight with exertion. He shifted so that Remus's head could rest against his shoulder and Mother's help was no longer necessary. 'Run ahead and be sure the way is clear.'

Remus let himself slip into a state of indistinct semi-consciousness, where at least the pain was muted a little. In this way he was able to endure the jarring journey up from the cellar and into his little room. His bed was waiting for him, made up with the old sheets and worn blankets with their dark brown stains that he could bleed upon if he must. He lingered upon the cusp of awareness as his mother wrung out a sponge to gently bathe his face and rinse the blood from his hair, and his father set about sealing such of the minor wounds as he dared. Remus drifted off into an exhausted slumber long before Father turned his attention back to the broken leg.

_~discidium~_

When Remus awoke, night had fallen. The waning gibbous moon shone brilliantly outside his window, stinging his sensitive eyes and all the while mocking him, laughing at his suffering. He was intolerably thirsty, and there was a glass of water on his bedside table. He tried to roll onto his side so that he could reach it, but a twinge shot up from his left leg and he lay very still. He had broken it, he remembered, and his father had said he was not certain whether it had knitted.

He tried to call out, knowing that Mother would be somewhere nearby, but his throat was taut and parched and it refused to conduct the sound. He forced himself to relax against the pillow, husbanding what strength he had before trying again. This time he managed a feeble croak that likely could not be heard from the wardrobe at the foot of his bed.

Yet remarkably, someone came. His door, standing ajar, was pushed gently open and the shadowy shape of his father hastened to his side. He worked swiftly, dipping the corner of a clean flannel into the glass of water and brushing it gently over Remus's cracked lips. Remus found his swollen tongue questing intuitively after the moisture, and his father let the cloth linger for a moment as he produced a soup spoon and dipped it into the fluid. He tipped it against Remus's teeth, and the boy sucked gratefully at the water. It was slow work, this sort of drinking, but it kept his aching head on the cushion and it prevented any strain from being placed on his ravaged neck.

When at last he had had his fill, his father tipped the remaining water onto the flannel and set about bathing the boy's face. Remus closed his eyes, relishing the delicious sensation of cool dampness against his sweat-crusted skin. When the cloth moved down to his neck, he managed to speak.

'My leg?'

'I've done my very best,' said Father. 'It isn't healed right through yet, but it's straight. You'll need to stay in bed for a day or two; I'll repeat the charm morning and night until its finished knitting.'

'Only a day or two?' Remus asked, trying to count the nights until the third of August.

'I hope,' said Father. The moonlight carved deep crevices in his face as he frowned. 'Or I could take you to St Mungo's and let a proper Healer put it right in a matter of minutes.'

Remus shook his head convulsively, careless of the twinge the motion sent into his spine. It might take a matter of minutes to mend, but there would be hours of waiting and humiliation before they ever got near a Healer. 'I can wait,' he said. 'I've nowhere to be this weekend.'

Father made a sound that might have been a laugh. 'I suppose you haven't at that,' he said. 'Are you hungry? Is there anything you need?'

'No,' murmured Remus. 'Where's Mother?'

'Sleeping. She sat with you all day while I was…' A paroxysm took hold of the wizard and he yanked his hand away from Remus's face. Fumbling with his wand he dried out the flannel and refilled the cup. 'While I was at work.'

Remus felt his mouth go dry again. His father had stayed up all night, guarding the door as the werewolf raged below the kitchen floor. Then he had seen to Remus's wounds and settled him safely in bed before leaving for London. Now, home at last, he was keeping a vigil outside the sickroom. Small wonder he was miserable. The endless sacrifices were taking a terrible toll.

'You ought to sleep,' he said softly. 'You've got to work in the morning, too – haven't you?'

'I had a few hours after dawn,' Father said. He almost seemed to smile, though in the strained silvery light it was difficult to tell. 'You needn't trouble yourself over me.'

'You trouble yourself over _me_,' Remus argued.

The man bent down and touched the tip of his nose between Remus's brows. 'I'm your father,' he said in a voice so low that it was almost unreadable. 'That's my duty.'

Remus felt himself shrinking beneath the tainted bedclothes. That was all he was: a duty. Onerous and unending and eternally distasteful.

Then his father moved his head and brushed his lips against one scraped cheekbone. 'It's also my reason for living, Remus. You and your mother are so dear to me. Whatever happens I need you to remember that. Without the two of you to trouble over…'

He did not finish the sentence, but Remus was too lost in his own bewilderment to notice. His father's recent words and actions were so vastly at odds with everything he had seen and heard since coming home from Hogwarts. He was unhappy: Mother had said so. He was intending to leave: she had said that, too, though not where Remus could here. In the same conversation Father had said that nothing would change his mind on the matter. He was looking for another situation, somewhere nearby – perhaps so that he would not have to be too inconvenienced by returning to his former home to set the charms on the cellar during the summer transformations. Perhaps he would wait for September, but sooner or later he would be gone.

Yet why, then, would he say the things he had said tonight? Remus exhaled painfully as the answer occurred to him. Father was weary, driven by exhaustion to delirious rambling. The words were not what he meant, but only what he, in his overtaxed state, thought he ought to say. Or were they? Perhaps the other words were the ones he felt obliged to utter and now, in his fatigue, he was speaking the truth. Remus didn't know, and he realized abruptly that it did not really matter. What his father was saying now was what he needed to hear, if he was to keep from hating himself. He focused on remembering the words.

'Now, you ought to sleep,' Father said. 'You've had a harder time of it than anyone.'

'W-would you stay with me a while?' Remus asked timidly.

The man nodded and got stiffly to his feet. 'Of course I will,' he said. 'Let me just fetch the chair.'

'No,' Remus whispered. There was a tremor in his voice as he spoke, for he did not know how his request would be received. He mustered all of his scattered strength and inched over on the mattress until he was pressed against the wall, leaving most of the narrow bed vacant. He patted the blankets. 'Here. Then you can sleep a little and still keep your promise to Mother.'

Father hesitated, and then moved towards the corridor. Remus felt the chill of rejection starting up in his chest – but his father carefully closed the door and came back to the bed, stepping out of his shoes and removing his belt.

'You offered to let me sleep in your bed once before,' he said softly. 'Do you remember?'

Remus shook his head. He had no idea what his father was talking about.

'Of course you don't,' Father murmured. Then he smiled sadly. 'You've grown into a very considerate wizard, Remus Lupin,' he said. 'Of course I shall stay with you.'

Then carefully, very carefully so as not to jostle the wounded boy, Mr Lupin eased himself down on top of the bedclothes. Remus offered him the topmost blanket, and he accepted it, wrapping it over his shoulder and curling his legs inward so that his knee just grazed against Remus's right calf. Remus watched, eyes wide in the darkness, as his father's face relaxed out of its tired lines and into the timeless mask of sleep. For a long time after Mr Lupin drifted off, Remus remained awake, listening to the slow, comforting cadence of the man's breathing and ruminating upon the last words he had heard – words that he could not bear to question.

_~discidium~_

Remus was bedbound throughout the day on Friday. His mother came up to sit with him, and she brought up two bowls of stew shortly after noon so that they could eat together. She read to him for a while, and then Remus asked her to leave so that he could sleep. In truth he only wanted to spare her from languishing all day in his little room, but after an hour or two of staring vacantly at the walls he did in fact begin to drowse.

He was awakened by the sound of the back door swinging open with a tremendous _bang_. Remus held his breath as he heard his mother's shoes clicking swiftly against the floor.

'Ross!' she cried, in that strangled voice that always meant something was terribly wrong. Remus struggled to sit up in his bed. His father had been struggling with the strain of Apparatition for weeks, and today he was more exhausted than ever. Had he Splinched himself at last?

There was no sound but the heavy pounding footsteps as Father mounted the stairs. Mother hurried after him.

'W-what are you doing home in the middle of the day?' she asked, her voice trembling.

'I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear it anymore.' The man's voice was hard and savage, and he seemed to be grappling with some kind of excruciatingly intense emotion.

Mother let out an exasperated snort. 'Ross, I don't understand! What is so terrible about this new position? They won't let you use your wand down there… what does that matter? This mystery business is still honest work, isn't it? And it's covering the bank notes and buying our meals and keeping a roof over our—'

'I'm not in the Department of Mysteries anymore!' Father cried, his voice breaking horribly. 'They loaned me out weeks ago. I don't know why. Because… b-because I've experience explaining things to young children, I suppose. Or explaining to parents how they should explain to their…'

'You're back at the education desk?' Mother said softly, as if she scarcely dared to hope.

'_No_!'

'Then what? What is it?' she pleaded. 'What is so terrible that it's had you on edge like this? What is so dreadful that you'd run the risk of losing the house just to get away from it?'

Father muttered something that Remus could not make out. There was a lengthy silence.

'I don't understand,' Mother murmured. 'Isn't that the department that deals with…' She stopped, and her voice dropped still lower. 'Oh, _Ross_…'

'There was a boy brought in from St Mungo's today to be… to be registered.' The words were low and ragged now, shattered. 'Six, maybe. Not more than seven. He was one of… one of _his. _Had to be. And the parents… I tried, Dorothy, but of course I couldn't... and - and I don't think… I don't know, but… I'm not convinced they'll k-keep him. I'm finished, I tell you. It's over. I'm never going back there; I can't.'

'Of course you can't,' Mother said softly, and her voice was filled with such tender compassion that Remus almost thought he could hear her heart breaking. 'Of course you can't, Ross. Don't fret. We'll manage somehow. We always have.'

There was a horrible rending sob, and Remus felt his whole body convulse with wretched dismay. He had never heard such a sound from his father before. Mother's low soothing voice cut in beneath the broken weeping, and Remus heard their footsteps move away into the master bedroom. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the sobs died away into a desolate silence.

_~discidium~_

That evening, Father came in to bring Remus his stew and to perform the healing charm on his mended leg. He was pale and drawn, and there were shadows under his eyes to rival Remus's own. When he finished with his wand he sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his son's knee.

'Remus,' he said; 'there's something you must know.'

Remus lowered his spoon, watching gravely. He knew already, of course, but if it comforted his father to think that he had not heard the outburst that afternoon he could hold his tongue.

'I am no longer employed at the Ministry of Magic,' Father said. 'I have tendered my resignation, and I will no longer be working there. Over the last year I have been assigned increasingly unpleasant duties, and I am unwilling to endure it any longer.'

'What will you do?' Remus asked softly. Suddenly his mother's use of the word _situation_ made sense. She had not been speaking of a house or a flat, but of a new place of work.

A shadow of doubt crossed his father's face. 'I don't know yet. I shall find something,' he said. 'We will get along somehow, though things may be tight for a while. I'm afraid we may all need to make sacrifices, but we will manage. Your mother assures me we can manage while I look for work.'

He sighed heavily, looking down at his hands. 'I suppose it's selfish of me,' he said. 'I suppose I ought to endure it for your sake. But… you'll understand when you're older, Remus. There are some things not worth suffering just for a little money. There are some things more important than a steady government job. My work – the strain it's put upon this family, upon you – it isn't worth it. I'm finished. I'm sorry.'

Remus stared at him, wonder and abject gratitude overwhelming him. His father wasn't leaving the family. His misery had had less to do with his son the werewolf than it had with indignities suffered at the Ministry. He had not been able to decipher the talk of the Department of Mysteries or the new, awful assignment, but he understood enough to know that this, rather than he, was the cause of his father's recent anguish. After a month of guilt and worry, he felt as if a terrible burden was being lifted from his shoulders.

He reached out and put his skinny hand on his father's arm. 'It's all right,' he promised. 'I understand. I understand now. Of course we'll manage.'

The tiny grateful smile that touched his father's lips was worth a hundred steady government jobs.


	41. Thursday the Third

**Chapter Forty-One: Thursday the Third**

One week after the full moon, Remus descended to the kitchen to find his mother at the table, bent over a tablet of yellow paper and working laboriously with a stubby pencil. She had spent most of the last five days in that posture, figuring and budgeting and trying to work out how best to stretch their limited capital. Father was out looking for work; he was throwing himself into the effort with an enthusiasm Remus could seldom remember him showing, as if the loss of his place in the Ministry was a joy as well as a necessity. But the quest for a new position was time-consuming: Father returned almost as late in the evening as he had while working in the Department of Mysteries.

Though it was wonderful to see his sire engaged and eager, Remus earnestly hoped that the search would not last long. He was not worried about the money, especially, for his father had never failed to provide for the family and he had no reason to expect that to change, but he knew how the question of the family's finances weighed on his mother's mind. He thought of how she had pleaded with his father to wait until September, when he was safely off to school. When, he realized now, there would be one less mouth to feed. And here he was, about to bring one – and possibly two – more into the house for five long days.

He approached the table cautiously, his left hand closed upon the cool weight within it. 'Mother?' he said softly.

She looked up, her frown lines fading to the barest of shadows. 'Well,' she said. 'Your leg is as good as new.'

'Yes,' Remus agreed, hopping a little to prove it. 'Father fixed it just as well as Madam Pomfrey could have.' He did not add that what had taken his father eight applications the matron at Hogwarts would have done in one.

'Then there's nothing to slow you down while the others are here,' Mother said happily.

'I wanted to talk about that,' Remus said.

She smiled, nodding attentively. Somehow her pleasant expression made the words all the more difficult to say. It would have done Sirius no end of good to spend a few days here, where mothers were kind-eyed women in faded housedresses, not dragon-taloned monsters with silk robes and black lace caps.

'I don't need to have my friends over,' Remus whispered. As much as he longed to help Sirius, and although he would have sacrificed almost anything to do so, he could not ask the same of his parents. 'I'll write and tell them it will have to wait until next summer.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' Mother laughed. 'James will be here first thing tomorrow – have you heard from Sirius yet?'

Remus shook his head. He had been watching the sky for days, hoping to see Hermes appear out of the clouds, but there was no sign of word from his friend. 'I know we can't afford to have guests,' he said. 'Not for such a long while.'

'Remus, you know nothing of the sort,' Mother said. 'Come and see what I've been working on.'

He shuffled around the table and took the seat next to her, reaching for the pad with his empty right hand. On it she had listed a variety of foodstuffs; chicken, parsnips, asparagus, oranges, eggs, butter, milk, cheese, beef plate (ground), marmalade, and drinking chocolate. Beside each one was noted an approximate price in shillings and pence. Below the list was a carefully organized rota of meals, all of which – so far as Remus could see – incorporated only the above ingredients or things, such as apples and flour and oats and potatoes, that they already had in abundance.

'You see?' asked Mother, pointing at her reckoned total cost. 'I can feed five people quite comfortably for a week on six pounds fifty-seven pence. As I don't think the three of us could manage on less than five, I'm sure we can stretch the extra one pound fifty-seven to give you a few days with your friends.'

Remus had known she would argue, and he had prepared several carefully reasoned responses to foreseen objections, but her meticulous calculations left him momentarily speechless. 'But one pound fifty for two more people… that doesn't seem right,' he managed at last. 'You can't make things that would do for three do for five, just like that.'

'Food cannot be compared to clothing, dear heart,' said Mother. 'If you have five people who must be shod, you need five pairs of shoes. If you have five people who want to share a pot of lentil soup, you add three cups of water and half a cup more of lentils. Three people eat two loaves of bread in three days; five people eat three. So you add more flour and a little more yeast when you're making the bread, and you cut the slices a little thinner. Do you know how many brothers and sisters my mother had?'

Remus shook his head. They never spoke much about his mother's family, and sometimes he wondered why.

'Eight,' said Mother. 'And your great-grandmother raised them all on a tin miner's wages. If I can't manage to feed two extra boys for a few days I'm a disgrace to her memory.' She surveyed her neat column of numbers again and smiled. 'In fact,' she said; 'there may be a little left over for you to treat your friends when you go down to the seaside on Friday.'

'If that's true,' Remus said; 'then cooking is its own kind of magic.'

Mother's smile grew. 'Ah, that it is,' she said, and for a moment he could hear the Irish lilt creeping back into her carefully cultured voice. 'So it's settled,' she said after a moment. 'The only thing we don't know yet is whether we truly will be five, or only four. I wonder Sirius's parents haven't responded yet. They're irresponsible and thoughtless, but this is becoming absurd.'

The debate was over; Remus could not argue with her. He had not really expected to win – and indeed had harboured the secret hope that he would not – but there was still one offer he had to make.

'Then take this, at least,' he said softly, uncurling the fingers of his left hand and setting a gleaming gold coin on the table. 'That ought to pay for most everything.'

'Your Christmas Galleon,' Mother said quietly. She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes rather bright. Then she picked it up and put it back in his hand. 'You hold onto that, love,' she told him firmly. 'We don't need you to give up your presents to put food on the table. And besides,' she added, very softly; 'you may need it for your school things.'

'Surely Father will find work soon,' Remus said.

He had hoped to comfort her, but his words seemed to have the opposite effect. Her mouth grew rather thin and her eyes were strained. 'I hope so, Remus,' she murmured. 'I certainly hope so.'

_~discidium~_

James arrived promptly at nine o'clock on Thursday morning, popping out of the sitting room fire with a large leather haversack over one shoulder, and a squashy yellow sleeping bag under the opposite arm. He flung down his baggage and brushed the ash from his hair, sneezing gleefully.

'All right, Remus?' he said with his usual merry grin.

Remus nodded vehemently. He had spent half an hour that morning inspecting his face in the mirror, and he was satisfied that he did not look unusually peaky. The shadows under his eyes were little more than faint discolorations and the hollows around his mouth were filling out again. His friend had no reason to suspect that anything might be amiss.

'I'm so glad you could come,' he said earnestly. His eyes flicked to the floor. 'I don't… d'you know if Sirius is coming?'

James frowned. 'Haven't you heard from him either? I sent him a letter on Friday but I've had no reply.'

'I hope he's all right,' Remus whispered.

'Why wouldn't he be?' asked James. 'Sure, his mother's a bit of a tasteless hag, but she's still his mother. It's not as if she'd put him in a weighted sack and throw him in the Thames.'

'I think he got punished for the trouble we made at dinner. I'm _sure_ that he did.' Remus wanted to say more, but he reminded himself that he had chosen to let Sirius have his secrets.

'Trouble _we_ made? You were positively angelic, and I'm the only one who made a real fuss. I can't think why he didn't stand up for you properly,' James said, his brow knitting together. 'Maybe he's too ashamed of himself to show his face 'round here.'

'Don't say that!' Remus begged. 'I'm sure Sirius did the best that he could, and anyway your parents saw that I got home safely. It's hard for Sirius. His mother… she's not like yours.'

James snorted. 'Too right,' he said. 'I thought my mum was going to murder her for what she did to you. Whenever she puts on the filigree diamond necklace with that old Egyptian emerald, she's heading off to do battle. But she came back from London all smiles and sugared violets, and she said she didn't think we'd have any difficulties with Mrs Black after this.'

'I shan't be allowed to visit Sirius anymore,' Remus said regretfully. 'My father was mad with worry the whole time, and I think what happened just made his point for him.'

'Yeah, I was going to ask you about that,' James said. 'Because he made a really good impression on Mum, and she's usually a pretty sound judge of character.'

'He doesn't hurt me,' Remus mumbled hurriedly. He couldn't bear to let the lie endure any longer, and there was no point in doing so anyhow now that Sirius knew. His father loved him, and he wasn't leaving the family, and in his desperation for that Remus would have done anything – even expose himself for what he was. 'I don't – I don't know why I said that. It wasn't true.'

James looked puzzled. 'You never said that. You said he hits your mum.'

'He doesn't do that, either,' said Remus. 'He doesn't. He doesn't.'

'Hey.' James gripped his arm and bent to look into his eyes. '_Hey_. No worries. I believe you. Why'd you say it, then?'

Because he would have said anything, anything at all, to keep his friends from learning the awful truth. 'I don't know.'

Another lie.

'But somebody does hurt you, right?' asked James. Anger clouded his eyes, rendering them an unnaturally deep brown. 'It wasn't Alfstin, was it?'

That was a tempting cover story, but of course it would not do. Professor Alfstin was gone from Hogwarts now, and could not be used to explain future hurts. 'Don't be daft,' Remus said dismissively.

James grinned, once again moving on in that carefree way that only he could manage. 'All right then. Should we get this lot upstairs so that we can get on with the serious business of having fun?' He pointed at his scattered belongings.

Remus bent to try to take the suitcase, but James beat him to it, hefting it up with a grunt. 'I feel like I've packed half the house,' he said. 'Melly likes to be sure I'm properly prepared when I'm out of her remit.'

'Who's Melly?' Remus asked, picking up the sleeping bag and following James to the stairs.

'Our house elf, of course. You don't have one, do you?'

'No,' Remus said. 'They usually live in grand old homes, don't they?'

'Well, this is a pretty old home anyway, even if it's not grand,' James said, looking up at the rafters. 'What is it, William IV?'

'George III,' Remus said. 'Its first owner was a packet captain.'

'So then it's a Muggle house,' said James.

'Yes,' Remus admitted, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable in doing so. 'We needed a house wired for electricity and things, because of Mother.'

'Right. I keep forgetting.' James was at the top of the stairs now. He banked right and flung open the door to Remus's room, depositing his suitcase on the floor by the wardrobe and flopping down on the bed. 'Well? What are we going to do first?'

'What would you like to do?' asked Remus.

James laughed. 'You're a much better host than I am,' he said. 'When people come visiting at my place I've got their timetables worked out to the minute. Let's see… no Quidditch until Saturday, Pendennis Castle's open to Muggles every day but Sunday… what do you ordinarily do around here?'

'There's chess,' Remus said. 'We could go out and sit in the back garden. Or…' He stopped. That was almost all that he ever did, apart from reading and watching the skies for owls from his friends. He felt the awkward silence filling the room as he realized that he and James really didn't have much in common at all.

'We could explore the neighbourhood,' James suggested.

'There's a park not far from here,' said Remus. 'We'd have to wear Muggle things of course, but—'

James was already rummaging through his suitcase, which was indeed brimming with garments for any and all exigencies – including, Remus noted with some amusement, snow. He picked out a pair of flared denim trousers and a blue and white striped tennis shirt with a crocodile embroidered on the left breast. Then he looked up at Remus and bolted to his feet.

'Right. I'll just change outside, shall I?' he said, skirting around to the door. He grinned. 'C'mon out when you're ready.'

'Thank you,' Remus said earnestly, grateful that he did not have to ask for his privacy. James winked and drew the door closed.

Remus opened his wardrobe and looked down at the little heap of Muggle things tucked in the bottom corner. None of it was particularly suited to running around on a sunny summer morning, but even if he had had clothing like James did he could never have worn it. He tugged up the sleeve of his robe and looked at the scars enmeshing his forearm.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and his mother's mildly startled exclamation of 'Oh! I do beg your pardon…'

Remus felt himself flushing as he realized she had come across James undressing in the hall.

'Hi there, Mrs Lupin!' James said cheerfully, not sounding the least bit embarrassed. 'Thanks ever so for having me. Remus and I were going to go down to the park – hence the change of costume. Hope you don't mind.'

'Not at all,' Mother said. 'But wouldn't you rather…'

'I thought I'd let Remus alone. He always changes behind his bed curtains at school. Bit shy, is he?' James asked.

Remus held his breath, praying that his mother would not say anything foolish or suspicious.

'Perhaps a bit,' she said. 'I'll just leave you to it, shall I?' Her footsteps retreated back to the main floor.

Remus dressed hurriedly, anxious to have himself properly covered before James decided to burst back in. He folded his robes with care, laying them on the foot of the bed so that he could get back into them as soon as they returned to the house. Then he opened the door. To his surprise, James was standing right in front of it, staring up at the lintel. Despite the fact that he was clearly bored of waiting he had not tried to violate Remus's sanctuary.

'I'm ready,' Remus said, exhaling in anticipation.

'Great!' James clapped him on the shoulder and tore down the stairs so quickly that Remus was amazed he did not plunge headlong to the bottom. By the time Remus caught up to him, James was inspecting the watercolour painting hanging in the entryway. '_Weird_,' he said. 'The rocks look like they could pop right off the page, but the waves don't move or anything.'

Remus glanced at the seascape – so familiar that he scarcely even saw it anymore – and he thought fleetingly of the hideous painting the vestibule of the Black home. With this recollection came a pang of regret. Was there anything more he could have done to get Sirius away from that place?

He could have come home at eight, instead of waiting to be thrown out into the street.

James opened the front door and hurried down to the path, waving eagerly at Remus to join him. Remus did so, trying to leave his guilt behind. He had to see to it that his guest had a pleasant visit, and that meant he could not afford the luxury of brooding. He stepped into the sunlight, drawing the door carefully closed behind him. The front garden was small, but immaculately kept. Bluebells and daffodils filled the bed beneath the sitting room window. There were birds nesting in the stately ash tree, and the grass was neatly trimmed.

'Your mum's got quite the green thumb,' James said approvingly, looking around. 'And she does all this without magic?'

Remus nodded, putting a finger to his lips. 'Muggle neighbours,' he whispered.

'Right you are, then,' James said, striding down to the pavement. 'Which way?'

'Left,' said Remus. James waited for him to lead the way, and then fell into step beside him, letting Remus set the pace.

The little park was three blocks from Chancery Row. There was a little copse of whitebeam trees, a pair of wooden benches, and a small playground consisting of a cage-like metal structure meant to be climbed, a small tin slide, and a wooden swing set. So early in the morning, the park was almost deserted: the only other visitor was a very young mother sitting on one of the benches with an aluminium framed perambulator beside her. She was engrossed in a Muggle magazine and did not seem to notice the two boys.

James looked around quizzically. 'Swings or monkey bars?' he asked.

'Swings, please,' Remus said, smiling.

'Race you?' asked James.

'You'll win.'

'Race me anyway!' Fleet as a deer, James shot across the grass, startling the young woman. Remus trotted after him as swiftly as he could, though his leg twinged as if to remind him that it had suffered quite enough abuse of late. He reached the swings to find James already pumping vigorously in an attempt to bring himself level with the crossbar.

Remus sat down on the broad wooden seat and pushed off with his toes. The rusty chains creaked in protest, but soon he too was gaining height. James laughed and threw his torso back, leaning almost flat and stretching one leg. 'Nothing next to flying!' he cried. 'But it's got a certain charm, don't you think?'

Remus couldn't think of a subtle way to remind him to watch what he said in the middle of a city full of Muggles. There was a pleasant fluttering sensation in his stomach, and the wind of his passage was whipping his hair in every direction. He tilted his head and closed his eyes and he laughed. For a few wonderful minutes he felt young and blithe and free from care.

After a while the pendulum motion began to make him feel rather dizzy, and he ceased his efforts to keep the swing airborne. He slowed gradually, growing nearer and nearer to the earth until his shoes scuffed in the sand.

James was still whipping back and forth at a tremendous speed, his unruly hair flying in every direction. Remus watched him for a while, strong legs working to and fro. Then, to his horror, when James reached the forward apex of his arc he let go and hurled forward in a flying leap.

He landed on the grass beyond the sand pit in an accomplished crouch, his right hand darting out to support him. Then he sprang to his feet, whirled around, and bowed extravagantly, clearly expecting adulation.

'You could have broken something!' Remus cried, hopping down off of his swing and running to his friend. 'That was _dangerous_, James!'

'Naw!' James snorted. 'Not a bit of it. It's easy. Falling off a—' He glanced over his shoulder at the Muggle lady, and then mimed the shaft of a broomstick with his hands. '—at sixty feet is dangerous. Jumping off a swing is just a lark.' He grinned and cuffed Remus in the same playful way he did Sirius. 'Here; I'll do it again.'

And before Remus could protest he was back on the swing, pumping furiously and gaining height more swiftly than before. 'Get out of the way!' he called out with a whoop of laughter. 'I'm no Slughorn, but if I land on you it still won't be pleasant!'

Remus scurried away to the far end of the swing set, watching with bated breath as James hurdled off again. Again he made a perfect landing, farther from the sand than the first. This time when he bowed, Remus gave him a small round of applause that made James grin in gratification. 'Again?' he asked.

Remus gestured helplessly. He knew that whatever he said his friend would do what he wanted to. James ran right for the swing, hefting it into the air and springing onto it without even breaking stride. This time he swung until he was as high as it was physically possible to go before flying forward. He landed harder this time, flinging out both hands to take the pressure of the fall, but he bounced up immediately, unhurt and triumphant.

'You ought to try it,' he said. 'It's actually quite a lot of fun.'

It certainly looked like fun, but Remus was uneasy. He was not as strong or fast or resilient as James, and only a week ago he had been immured in bed with a broken leg. 'I don't think…'

'_Don't_ think!' said James gleefully. 'That's your trouble: you think entirely too much. Just try it. What's the worst that could happen?'

Remus glanced longingly at the swings. The one James had used was still moving to and fro in a gentle parabola. 'I couldn't go as high as you do,' he said reluctantly.

'You don't have to. Just go as high as you feel comfortable. If you don't go too high you'll land in the sand; then there's practically no chance you'll get hurt.' James took hold of Remus's elbow and led him to the swing. 'When you're at the very top of your swing, put your elbow back and let go with your right hand. Then let go with the left _right away_. Then just jump. Anyone can do it.'

Remus got onto the swing and began to pump his legs. His heart palpitated nervously as he began to gain height. When he reached the point where the summit of his swing was about thirty-five degrees he steeled himself as he drew back, held his breath as he swung forward, and jumped.

He landed in the sand, overbalancing and falling forward on his knees with a soft _thump. _For a moment he was terrified that it had somehow gone wrong, but then he let out a hoarse laugh. 'I did it!' he cried.

'See?' James said. '_Easy_!'

Remus got to his feet, trembling a little with exhilaration, and climbed back onto the swing. This time he gained a little more height and a little more distance, and his landing was not so clumsy. When he stood up, dusting the sand from his trousers, he knew he was grinning enormously. 'I did it,' he said again, this time in an awed whisper.

James beamed at him, gripping one bony shoulder in each hand. 'I knew you could do it,' he said earnestly.

James knew he could do it. James believed in him. Remus realized he was squirming in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Regulus Black, and he made a conscious effort to be still. He offered what he hoped was a most dignified smile. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I think that's enough, though, don't you? I wouldn't want to tempt fate.'

'Probably best,' James said sagely. 'The first half dozen tries I took at it I snapped or twisted something every single time. Just about drove Mum 'round the bend.' He moved over to the climbing apparatus and swiftly ascended, perching atop it with his ankles hooked around the bar below him. 'What are you waiting for?' he asked. 'Come up!'

Remus did so eagerly, reflecting as he went that this particular manoeuvre would have been far more challenging in robes. Near the top his courage faltered, but he fixed his eyes firmly on James and settled on the opposite corner of the top cube, gripping the poles on either side so that his knuckles went white.

James looked at him thoughtfully, head tilted to one side in a way that reminded Remus of an inquisitive owl. 'Sirius,' he said.

'Yes?' Remus swallowed uneasily. He was still certain, whatever James said, that their friend's inability to leave London was almost entirely his fault.

'How d'you think they punish him? His parents, I mean?' James gnawed his lower lip. 'Besides those dress robes – which really could've been just a mistake, right? You don't think his mum hits him, do you?'

'We shouldn't talk about this,' Remus said quietly. 'Sirius would be mortified if he knew.'

'Only my mum said she didn't see him while she was up in London. She asked after him, and his dad said he was indisposed.' He tugged his spectacles down to the end of his nose for the express purpose of pushing them back into place, which made Remus suspect James didn't want to meet his eyes. 'You're worried about him, aren't you?'

'Yes,' murmured Remus. 'But that doesn't mean I ought to gossip about him.'

'It isn't gossip,' James said. 'We're trying to work out what's going on so that we can help him.'

Just like Sirius thought he was doing for Remus. The smaller boy shivered. This situation was different – and yet it was not. Sirius was obviously anxious to keep his secrets and his dignity intact. Remus was his friend, at least for the time being. The very least he could do was respect his wishes and keep silent. He wondered again what happened 'upstairs', and whether that was where Sirius still was.

He cast his eyes skyward, trying to avoid James's eyes. Clouds were rolling in from the sea, low and round and ominous. 'I think it's going to rain,' he said softly.

'Don't change the subject,' James said. He shot an irritated half-glance eastward and then turned to look more closely. 'Sod it, you're right.'

The Muggle mother had come to the same conclusion: tucking her magazine into the perambulator, she wheeled her child off down the street.

'We should go back to the house,' Remus said, unnecessarily. James was already shimmying down the bars. Remus followed, placing his feet carefully.

They said no more about Sirius as they made their way to Remus's home. Over lunch – lentil-and-vegetable soup with scones hot from the oven – they talked about schoolwork and Quidditch and their plans for the weekend. By that time the rain was falling heavily, lashing against the latticed windows. They moved into the living room to start up a chess tournament, which proved far less interesting with two contenders than it did with four, especially as Remus was still more than a match for James.

_~discidium~_

'I'm bored,' James announced, twisting on the sofa so that his feet rested on the back and his head and shoulders dangled off the seat.

'I'm sorry,' Remus whispered. He was sitting on the floor, having just put away Mother's chess set. It was nearly time for supper, and Father would likely be home soon as local wizarding businesses began to close up for the evening. It was still raining. They had spent less than ten hours together, and already James was bored. Remus had always known he was a poor substitute for Sirius, but after the fine start they had had today he'd dared to hope the two of them might have fun.

'D'you want to go out and play in the storm?' asked James.

Remus didn't. He disliked the idea of getting cold and wet, and anyhow he only had one pair of shoes and he had to be careful of them. He couldn't go tramping about in puddles. 'If you like,' he said, unwilling to risk a protest when he was already clearly in disfavour.

James regarded him oddly – or perhaps it was merely an effect of his inverted posture. 'That's a no, then. All right. Do you want to explore the rest of the house?'

'There's not much to explore,' Remus admitted. 'You've seen all of it except the third bedroom, the laundry cupboard, and the cellar.'

He bit his tongue the moment the words were out. Why had he said that? The one stipulation his father had made – not that he had needed to – was that the visitors (visitor, Remus thought sadly, once again longing for Sirius) be kept away from the transformation room.

'What's in the cellar?' James asked absently, pulling off his spectacles and whirling them round his hand.

'Nothing,' Remus said, his tone leaden. It was more or less the truth. There were no boxes of old clothes and keepsakes; no shelves of preserves; no bushels of potatoes or barrels of apples or old pieces of broken-down furniture. There was only a pile of neatly folded blankets – and the bloodstains, and the claw-marks, and the unmistakable smell of the beast that no cleaning charm and no amount of Dettol could ever quite remove.

'D'you have an attic?'

Remus closed his eyes, grateful for his friend's ever-shifting focus. 'It's really only a space under the eaves. We keep Mother's Christmas baubles up there, and some old papers and things.'

'Interesting old papers?' James asked.

Remus shook his head. 'Not especially. My mother's notes from Oxford, some of Father's old Hogwarts things…'

'Let's look at those, then!' James said, somersaulting off of the sofa and heading for the stairs.

At once relieved that James was interested and apprehensive that the papers in the attic would prove less than fascinating, Remus followed him. A few minutes later they were sitting cross-legged on the junctions of the rafters, sifting through a box filled with yellowing parchment as the rain pounded on the slates above them.

'Muggle Studies…' James said dismissively, tossing aside a sheaf of class notes. 'History of Magic… lore, your dad's handwriting is terrible!'

'Perhaps a little,' Remus said. 'He's improved a great deal over the years.' He picked up a roll that appeared to be a Potions essay, dated in his father's fifth year. He laid it aside, unable to make heads or tails of the list of ingredients.

James sighed and started tossing papers unceremoniously back into the box. 'Boring,' he said. 'I was hoping for some really brilliant counter-curses or something.' He got to his feet and moved down to the far side of the attic. 'What did your mum study at Oxford? Would I find anything interesting in her boxes?'

'Philosophy,' Remus sighed. 'No, I don't imagine you would find it interesting.'

'Hullo! What's this?' James asked.

Remus craned his neck, but whatever it was it was hidden behind the boxes of Christmas decorations. A moment later, James turned around, holding a rather dusty stuffed bear by the scruff of its neck.

'I'm only guessing,' Remus said dryly; 'but I think it's a toy.'

'Well, sure,' said James. 'But why's it got a Disillusionment Charm on it?'

'It hasn't,' Remus said, mildly surprised. The bear looked perfectly ordinary to him, though he was beginning to get an uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach. He hadn't seen that bear in years. He had thought – he had assumed – that his parents had thrown it away.

'Sure it has,' James argued, moving back into the glow of the bare bulb overhead. 'See that sort of shimmer on its left ear? That's a Disillusionment Charm. We use them on the horses at home.' He sat down, holding the toy in his lap and studying it carefully. 'It's old, and it's wearing off. It was probably set less than ten years ago, though, or it wouldn't still – there, see? Did you see the nose just then? It's _definitely_ under a Disillusionment Charm.'

'But that's absurd.' Remus frowned. 'Why would there be a Disillusionment Charm on my bear?'

James grinned wickedly. 'I knew it! It _is_ your bear! Lupin's got a teddy bear!' He held up the toy, waggling it so that its limbs flailed. The motion made the stuffed creature flicker and warp in the light. Remus felt his jaw slackening. There really _was_ an old Disillusionment Charm on his bear.

He supposed his father had cast it, in the hope that Remus would not go looking for it. He remembered, dimly, lying in bed wracked with pain and enfeebled by loss of blood, crying out for his bear. Mother had offered him a toy owl instead, and despite his weakened state he had hurled it across the room. Remus didn't remember when he had stopped aching for his beloved toy, but eventually he had come to accept that there was nothing that could comfort him after the transformations but his mother's tender touch.

'Ickle Lupin and his bear.' James was laughing gleefully. 'Did you have picnics in the nursery together? Did you take him on thrilling expeditions through the rosebushes out back? Did you – aw, Remus, I'm only teasing!' His face furrowed into a frown at the expression his friend wore. 'Everybody has a favourite toy from when they were little. I had a stuffed Hippogriff named Wesley. Still have him, as a matter of fact, only now he only sits on a shelf over my bedroom door looking shabby and rather distinguished.'

Remus studied his friend's narrow features and tried to imagine him as a chubby child of four, toddling about the elegant arbour at his parents' home with a stuffed Hippogriff in his arms. Had James had glasses already? He added them to the image in his head, and the spectacle became too comical. He chuckled, shaking his head.

'D'you want to take him downstairs?' James asked, beating the bear's stomach so that a cloud of dust arose. 'We could give him a wash and a comb and put him on top of your wardrobe.'

The thought was less than appealing, and Remus understood now why the toy had been hidden away. It would have been a constant reminder of his folly; of the compulsive babyish impulse that had cost him his health, his future, and his self-respect. 'No thank you,' he said, rather more coldly than he intended to.

James shrugged and tossed the bear unceremoniously under the eaves. He wiped his hands on his shirt and looked around. 'Well?' he said. 'What now?'

'We've about half an hour until supper,' Remus said unhelpfully.

'Remus?'

It was a muffled voice, calling from somewhere below. For a moment he was grateful, thinking perhaps he had overestimated the wait for the evening meal and that his mother was summoning them to the table. Then he realized it wasn't her voice.

'Remus?' the unidentifiable person called again, now sounding rather nervous. 'James? Is anybody up here? _Remus_?'

Remus stiffened as he finally placed the voice, his eyes locking with those of his friend. James looked perplexed for a moment, and then his mouth dropped open into a smile of wondrous amazement. In the span of a heartbeat he was scrambling down the ladder into the laundry cupboard. Remus scooted along the heavy beam and hurried after him.


	42. Out of London

**Chapter Forty-Two: Out of London**

James laughed merrily, running to Sirius and clapping him on the back. The taller boy looked gratified but vaguely bemused and rather overwhelmed. Standing in the cupboard doorway, Remus noticed that the new arrival's robes had been thrown haphazardly about him. His black hair, still flecked with ash from the fireplace, was wet: it glistened with moisture and it clung to his skull and neck. With one hand he was trying to return James's gesture of greeting. The other clutched a lumpy bundle wrapped in what appeared to be a green satin pillowslip.

James backed up, holding Sirius at arm's length. He studied the other boy's expression and frowned. 'You look a little spell-shocked,' he said, his voice tinted with concern.

'I s'pose I am, rather,' Sirius said, offering an unsteady and quite lopsided smile. 'To be perfectly frank I wasn't the least bit certain I'd make it out here.'

James tugged affably at a lock of damp hair. 'Did you Floo or fly?' he asked.

'From London? What kind of a nutter do you take me for?' Sirius snorted, some of his unease dissipating in the wake of an opportunity to rib his friend. 'Floo, of course.'

'Then why are you nine hours late?' James raised a querulous eyebrow.

'I mumbled while I was climbing into the fire and wound up in Professor McGonagall's bedroom. The explanations alone ate up six and a half,' Sirius said, very gravely.

Remus's eyes grew wide. 'You _didn't_!' he gasped, in part because Sirius was so very convincing and in part because he felt he ought to say _something_ to make himself a part of the conversation, even if it was more the sort of thing Peter would say.

Sirius cast his gaze towards the ceiling. 'Of course I didn't!' he scoffed, looking pleased by the reaction his words had garnered. Then his expression grew grave. 'I only just got away.'

'Uh, Black?' James said. 'When you say _got away_, d'you mean we need to worry about hordes of your barmy Slytherin relations descending on the place to drag you back in leg irons?'

Sirius chuckled, but it was not an earnest sound. 'Course not,' he said. 'Thirty-eight minutes ago Mum burst into my room, told me to have a quick wash, pack what I needed and get over here before someone came looking for me.'

James let out a whoop of delight. 'Mum!' he cried. 'She's a good egg, isn't she? I'll just bet she sent a graciously-worded letter. Nobody likes to be on the receiving end of one of her graciously-worded letters.'

'Frankly I think she just wanted me out of the house. She and Dad are going to Gringotts tomorrow with Uncle Cygnus to set up Drommie's business vault.' Sirius frowned perplexedly. 'It looks like the hat shop is a reality after all.'

'So they're going to the bank. What does that have to do with the price of fish?' asked James.

'They don't like leaving me unsupervised,' Sirius said, grinning impishly. 'Not since the time they came back from the St Mungo's Christmas gala to find all the family china pasted to the underside of the cabinet shelves.'

'I can't see your mum taking kindly to that,' said James.

'Oh, she didn't. Dunno what she was expecting: I was only eight, and it seemed like a brilliant idea in theory,' Sirius said flippantly. 'So she doesn't trust Grandmother to keep an eye on me anymore. I'm too quick for her by half.' He grinned and put his hand to the side of his mouth, speaking in a most conspiratorial fashion. 'Between you and me, if she _had_ left me at home with the old folks I would've been down those stairs and through the fire quicker than ague in a swamp.'

James wrinkled his nose delicately. 'Charming image, thank you,' he said. 'But then she actually gave you permission to be here?'

'Even better!' Sirius said, positively beaming as he spoke. 'She _ordered me out of the house_. That means I don't have to go back 'til she sends for me, and she can't even blame me for it!'

He danced and impromptu and rather lopsided jig on the spot, hampered by his burden. Then he glanced down at the awkward bundle and looked sheepishly at Remus. 'D'you have somewhere I can stow this, mate? I didn't want to chance her changing her mind, so I didn't bother with a suitcase.'

'Through here,' Remus said, pushing open the door to his room. Sirius poked his head over the threshold, taking in the simple furnishings and the unadorned white walls.

'Bet it's cheery in here on a winter morning,' he said. 'Where's the lamp?'

Remus switched on the overhead light. The squeal of glee that erupted from Sirius's throat made him jump.

'Electricity!' he cried. 'You've got _electricity!_' He reached out to flick the switch, laughing as the light went out. He pressed it again: on. And again: off. And a fourth time: on. 'It's so… uncomplicated!' he said. 'A four-year-old could manage it!'

'Until something goes wrong with the wires,' Remus said, nodding with sombre authority. 'Then you need to send for someone to repair it – which is always awkward in this house, as I'm sure you can imagine.'

Sirius wasn't listening to him, and so of course did not laugh. His eyes were wide and he was standing very stiffly, like a hound on the scent of a fox. His mouth moved in a slow, silent, rapturous arc. 'The motor,' he exhaled at last. 'Where is it? Where's your mum's motor?'

'It's parked in the street—' Remus began, but before he could finish Sirius was bolting down the stairs. The other two boys exchanged a helpless look.

'I'll go after him,' James said resolutely, charging for the steps. 'Oi! Black!' he cried as the sound of the front door opening drifted through the house. 'It's pouring rain out there!'

'So?' Sirius called, his voice retreating steadily. 'My hair's already wet!'

Remus hurried down the stairs, joining James in the open doorway. They watched as Sirius sped down the path, skidding to a stop on the pavement beside the little brown automobile. Cautiously, as if it might melt away at his touch, he stretched out his palm to press against the smooth metal of the bonnet. For a moment there was only the sound of the rain on the grass. Then a delighted laugh rang out into the evening. Sirius rounded the car swiftly, peering into the windows and feeling the door handles and bending to grin at himself in the side mirrors. He squatted so that he could poke at one tyre, and he ran his fingers over the raised letters of the number plate. He bent low over the pavement, neck crooked so that his head was very nearly inverted, to look under the body. For a moment Remus wondered if he was actually going to get down in the rushing water of the gutter to study the underside of the vehicle.

Then Sirius got to his feet and straightened, turning back toward the house. 'Any chance of a ride?' he asked eagerly.

'I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind,' Remus called back. 'Though it's nearly time for supper.'

This word had an immediate effect. Sirius raced back to the steps, an avid look in his eyes. 'Supper?' he said. 'What are we having?'

'Chicken with asparagus and roast potatoes,' Mrs Lupin said, coming out of the kitchen and standing at the end of the entryway looking at the three boys. 'And yes, Sirius; I promise that we'll go for a ride in the motorcar tomorrow.'

It was difficult to say which pronouncement excited Sirius more, but it was the second one that he deigned worthy of comment. 'On the dual carriageway?' he asked eagerly.

'If you like,' Mother promised. 'Now, why don't you change into some dry things before we eat?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Sirius said crisply, with more earnest respect than Remus had ever seen him show an adult. It seemed that, as the owner of the wondrous contraption, Mrs Lupin was due some special consideration.

Mother smiled and nodded, retreating into the kitchen to finish laying the meal. Sirius started for the stairs, halting with his foot on the first step. 'Remus?' he said. 'Could you come and help me, please?'

Remus moved to follow, and so did James. Sirius shot him a quelling look. 'Just Remus, mate, thanks,' he said.

James scowled good-naturedly but acceded, turning once more to study the watercolour painting so fascinatingly devoid of motion.

Sirius led the way upstairs and tugged Remus into the bedroom. He closed the door and leaned heavily against it, palms splayed as if he feared someone would try to force it open. His aristocratic features crumpled into lines of wretched misery.

'Remus, I'm_ sorry_!' he moaned. 'I'm so sorry! I didn't think she'd really leave you out there. We tried, James and I, to talk her 'round. Well, James tried.' He flushed crimson, and only then did Remus realize how pale he looked. 'I mean, I t-tried to give her what she wanted, but she wasn't having it. Oh, Remus, I'm so sorry…'

'It-it's nothing,' Remus said hurriedly, dismayed by his friend's remorse. 'Mr Potter came for me; I got home safely.' He felt a twist of nauseating remorse. 'Sirius, what happened after I left?'

'Left?' Sirius laughed hollowly. 'You mean after you got chucked out. James… Mum… Hermes found you okay, didn't he? Did it… did it help at all, having him down there?'

His eyes were anxious, imploring. Remus nodded.

'It helped a lot,' he said truthfully. 'Thank you.'

Sirius seemed soothed by this answer. The torment in his eyes let up a little. He turned his head so that his cheek rested against the door at his back. 'I don't think James understands that I tried,' he whispered. 'I tried to talk her 'round. I just… it's no use doing it the way he was trying, all reasonable and cheery. And it's no good shouting. That only makes it worse.'

'I know you did the best you could,' Remus said solemnly. 'I only wish I hadn't put you in that position. If I hadn't asked to use the fire, or if I'd just gone home when I had the chance…'

'Hey!' Sirius said, abandoning his desperate posture against the door and gripping Remus's shoulders. 'Not a bit of that was your fault. Mum's not rational. You can't think she's rational; it'll drive you mad. Understand?'

Remus nodded, though he was not entirely certain that the vehement assertion was meant for him. The desperate hold on his shoulders loosened, and Sirius picked up his pillowslip full of belongings where it sat next to the elegant leather suitcase.

'Wouldn't have been so bad,' he muttered; ''cept Drommie and Cissy had gone off to the morning room to play with the harp. Bet I could've convinced Drommie to go out and help you if I'd had half a chance to see her.'

'James got help; I was all right,' Remus murmured. Sirius had upended his makeshift satchel on the bed and was sorting through a tangle of rumpled clothing. He shook out a set of robes, eyed them critically, and then began to undress.

Remus could not help himself. He watched the other boy anxiously, eyes raking up and down his body in search of bruises or scars or other signs of mistreatment. Aside from a little pink line along his sixth rib, he was mercifully unmarked.

But of course, it had been more than two weeks since the disastrous dinner, and human children healed quickly.

Sirius hauled the robes over his head, tugging them down and straightening the collar fastidiously. He looked at the crumpled heap of his wet ones as if he had no idea what to do with them. Living in luxury with two house elves, Remus supposed his friend did not much handle his own laundry.

Opening the wardrobe, he took out an empty hangar. He picked up the damp robes, shook them out, and hung them on the wardrobe door. 'I'm sure Mother can wash them for you,' he said.

'They're only wet from the rain;' Sirius said. 'I put 'em on less than an hour ago.' He set about unceremoniously ramming the rest of his belongings back into the pillowslip. 'I brought my bathing things,' he said. 'They're probably too small, but I brought them. Mum doesn't hold much with bathing.'

Although Remus knew it was not what Sirius meant, his eyes flicked to the dark hair – hair that had been wet from '_a quick wash'_ even before he had gone out to admire the motorcar. 'We were planning to go down to the sea tomorrow,' he said. 'And there's Quidditch on Saturday: Mrs Potter sent tickets.'

Sirius turned, his face now alight with happiness. 'Bathing and Quidditch and a chicken supper,' he said. 'Cornwall's next to paradise in my book!'

He clapped Remus on the arm twice in rapid succession and brushed past him, moving out into the corridor with a jaunty spring to his step. Remus glanced briefly about the little bedroom before switching out the light and following his friend.

_~discidium~_

The three boys were seated at the table, waiting while Mrs Lupin carved the chicken at the kitchen surface. James and Sirius were talking merrily about nothing in particular, and Remus was trying to follow the meandering nonsense of their happy words when the back door opened and Father came in, shaking the rain from his cloak. He looked tired and rather cold, but he was smiling. He sidled up behind his wife and kissed her just below the knot of hair at the nape of her neck.

Mother laughed softly and turned, holding the carving set carefully out of the way as Father leaned to press his lips to hers. When he tried to move in for a deeper kiss she stepped back, smiling. 'Now, Ross; you'll embarrass Remus in front of his friends!' she chided gently.

Father glanced at the table and his eyes fixed on those of his son, who was watching him with wonder on his face. He looked so happy.

'I don't know,' said Father. 'He doesn't look as if he minds.'

Mother chuckled and shook her head, turning back to the chicken. 'Go and get tidied up, and then we can – oh.' A look of pleasant surprise settled over her face and she glanced at the neat robes and unsullied face of her husband. 'I suppose there's not much tidying up you need to do.'

'No indeed,' Father said, turning on the faucet and washing his hands. 'Looking for work is a clean business.'

Mother's smile wavered for a moment. 'You haven't found anything yet, then,' she said quietly.

'I've only been looking four days,' said Father. 'I've had a couple of promising interviews, and the folks at the Owl Post Office say it's hard to find people with my sort of experience. I'm certain I'll find something.'

There was a strange undertone to his voice, and Remus twisted in his chair in an attempt to see his father's face, but the man was looking out the window at the stormy sky.

'You're looking for work, then?' James asked from the table. He and Sirius had ceased their conversation and both of them had been watching the interaction between Mr and Mrs Lupin with intense interest. Remus felt a sudden rush of relief that he had cut himself loose from his horrible lie before his friends had seen this affectionate exchange.

Mr Lupin turned and nodded.

'I thought you worked at the Ministry,' said James, rather tactlessly. 'Did you get sacked or something?'

'I was desirous of change,' said Father levelly, moving to take his seat. 'I resigned.'

'Oh.' James looked almost disappointed, as if he had been looking forward to a thrilling tale of brusque dismissal. 'Well, there's a vacancy at Hogwarts,' he said, grinning wickedly. 'Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Sirius snorted. 'You just want a teacher who knows you and will let you coast!' he said.

'I'm certainly not qualified to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Father said. 'History of Magic, perhaps, but—'

'Oh, lord, _would_ you?' Sirius asked eagerly. 'Because I'm sure we could drive off Professor Binns if we tried hard enough. James and Remus already sent old Alfstin 'round the bend.'

Remus sunk in his chair as his mother came to set the platter of fowl on the table. She regarded him curiously.

'I'm not at all sure we heard that story,' she said.

'It was nothing,' James said. 'We didn't drive him anywhere he wasn't already going, and anyway I think it was actually McGonagall that did it.'

'See, Alfstin fixed them a detention for something they didn't even do,' said Sirius. Remus was at once dismayed by and grateful for his friend's selective memory. _James _had been given detention for something he didn't do. Remus had been punished for lying; he was guilty. 'He had them out on the grounds at the crack of dawn running rounds of a track, and I went to fetch Professor McGonagall…'

'Running rounds?' Father muttered, shooting a horrified glance at his peaky little son. For a moment Remus wanted to protest that he could have managed quite nicely if it hadn't been the middle of the waning gibbous week, but he held his tongue. That would only distress his parents all the more.

Sirius nodded, but he was eyeing the chicken greedily. 'That's exactly what McGonagall said. So she went charging down to give him a piece of her mind.'

'As it turns out, Alfstin was less than gracious about accepting it,' James said cheerfully. 'He said if Dumbledore didn't stop her overriding his punishments he'd resign.'

'So he resigned,' Sirius said, tearing his eyes from the meat as Mrs Lupin set down the bowl of roasted potatoes.

'But I mean, it wasn't our fault,' James assured Mother, who was beginning to look rather ill. 'We were just the last straw. He set the NEWTs class two hundred press-ups the month before, and in April he reduced Serena Smythe to tears over her research paper – as if there's ever been a Smythe who did shoddy research. And he'd been up before Dumbledore more than once for shouting at the firsties. And he was just an all-round unpleasant old git.'

'We're well rid of him,' Sirius agreed, eyes still fixed on the food.

The asparagus was on the table now, and Mother set out three glasses of milk and a pitcher of water before taking her seat. She was obviously aware of the direction of Sirius's focus, for she picked up his plate first. 'White meat or dark?' she asked courteously.

'Drumsticks, please!' Sirius exclaimed eagerly.

Mother took the serving fork and lifted both the legs onto the plate. She served up a generous helping of the potatoes and half a dozen stalks of asparagus. She set the plate down in front of the visibly ravenous child, and looked mildly surprised when he did not immediately fall upon the meal. 'You may certainly begin,' she said; 'we don't wait for everyone to be served at ordinary meals. James?'

'White for me, thanks,' said James, handing his dish up the table. Sirius, needing no further invitation, began to eat.

Next Mother filled Remus's plate, not needing to be told that he preferred the dark meat that did not taste so dry and dead as the white. He was about to take his first bite when Sirius moaned in pleasure, eyes fluttering up into his head.

'It's _wonderful_, Mrs Lupin,' he said. He was chewing slowly and relishing every bite, and Remus felt the edge of his anxiety fading. Sirius wasn't half-starved, or he would have been inhaling the food. Perhaps he had merely been craving chicken.

'Thank you, Sirius,' Mother said graciously. 'I'm pleased that you are enjoying it, and we're all so delighted that you were able to come to visit.'

Remus glanced at his father, but he was sprinkling ground pepper on his potatoes and did not seem inclined to disagree.

Sirius grinned, picking up a piece of asparagus and whipping it playfully in a circle before biting off the head. Remus dared to smile. Even Sirius did not suck his asparagus when he had a choice.

'You berk,' James said, grinning broadly. 'You're supposed to say something like "_the pleasure's entirely mine_".'

Remus could see the cheeky retort rising to Sirius's lips, but then he glanced at the two adults and lowered his eyes to his plate. 'The pleasure's entirely mine, ma'am,' he said, in the carefully schooled way he spoke to his ancestors' portraits.

'I promise that isn't true,' Mrs Lupin said. 'Remus has been anxious for your arrival for days, and I'm certainly pleased to finally meet you. It was very gracious of you to have Remus over to dine.'

There was not a hint of reproof in her words, but Sirius flushed crimson and put down his fork, bowing his head over the plate as if expecting an insult or a blow. 'I didn't know my mother would behave that way, ma'am,' he murmured. 'I'm truly sorry.'

'I'm sure none of us are responsible for the deeds of our parents,' Mother assured him, earning herself a tiny, surprised smile from the boy. 'Now you must tell me more about yourself. Remus says you're quite the hand at…' She paused, and Remus could see her groping past _transformation_ for the less familiar word with the same prefix. '…Transfiguration.'

Sirius nodded enthusiastically and Remus watched with joyful relief as he began to speak. He launched into an account of his performance on the final exam, and as he boasted of his accomplishments his spine straightened and his shoulders relaxed and he seemed to grow more at ease. In the intervals when he stopped to take another bite of his meal, James filled the silence with corroborating anecdotes while Mother listened with earnest interest. Even Mr Lupin wore a pleasantly engaged expression, though Remus was still not convinced that his father was taking to Sirius.

For afters there were oranges and little ramekins half-full of vanilla custard. Remus noticed guiltily that his mother had only prepared enough for four; she herself did not partake, but sipped serenely at her tea and watched the boys enjoying their pudding. When they were finished Remus got up to help clear the table, but she shooed him away with instructions to look after his guests.

Sirius wanted to go out and look at the Morris Minor again, but James pointed out that it was still pouring rain and he didn't want to use up his entire weekend's store of clothing in the first night. So they went upstairs instead. James had brought his Gobstones, and they got up a game in the corridor. This proved tremendously interesting, as a slight misjudgement of the angle would send the stone hurtling down the stairs.

At half past nine, Mother came upstairs to oversee the sleeping arrangements. James set out his sleeping back along the foot of Remus's bed. Sirius had not brought anything by way of bedding, and he admitted shamefacedly that he had not thought of it. Mrs Lupin merely smiled and left the room, returning in short order with an armful of blankets and the quilt from her bed. Encouraging Sirius to help, she made a comfortable pallet for him alongside the little bed.

'Now, you needn't go to sleep just yet,' she said as she left them alone again. 'I'll be up in a while to bring you some chocolate.'

The door closed and James, sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, whirled on Sirius.

'We've got some questions for you,' he said shrewdly.

Sirius's gaze flicked to Remus, who looked down at his lap. 'What sort of questions?' he asked warily.

'I for one want to know what happened after I left your place,' said James.

'Nothing happened,' Sirius said.

'Bollocks!'

'I sent Hermes out to stay with Remus, but that's all.'

He was a very good liar, Remus realized. Had he not been so accomplished in the ways of deceit himself he might never have noticed the tiny shift in his friend's pupils, or the way he crossed his ankles defensively as he leaned back against the wall.

'Really?' James said, still unconvinced. 'She has your house elf throw one guest out into the street, and your other guest makes a grand old row in the drawing room before giving her a good stiff kick in the shin – whereupon, may I add, said guest was very inelegantly ejected by Floo – and then she just lets you go off to send your owl down to visit Remus? Why do I not believe you?'

'Because you're a smug know-it-all,' Sirius said, a grinning mask spreading across his face. 'I don't know what you think you saw, Potter, but nothing much happened.'

'So she didn't punish you?' James asked.

Sirius could not quite hide his flush. 'Of course she punished me: the whole night was a sodding disaster and Blacks do _not_ take well to being assaulted on their own turf. I've spent most of the last fortnight shut up in my room without my wand, and I'm probably banned from the dinner table until Regulus brings home his intended to meet the family, but that's the extent of it.'

After almost a year's acquaintance Remus knew Sirius too well to believe that he would ever admit to the whole of the matter. James, too, was not satisfied.

'My mum asked after you,' he said; 'and your dad said you were indisposed.'

'Like I told you,' Sirius said. 'I was shut up upstairs.'

There was truth in his eyes now, but Remus had caught the faint inflection placed on the word _upstairs_, and he knew Sirius could not be talking about his bedroom.

Hazel eyes grew narrow and James leaned forward as if to peer into his friend's very soul. 'So she didn't hit you?' he asked.

Sirius shook his head.

'She didn't hurt you?'

The hesitation was barely perceptible. 'No.'

'She didn't… I don't know, call you nasty names or threaten to disembowel you or anything?'

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Well, of course she did _that_,' he said. 'She does that even when I don't bring women in full formal attire descending on the house full of stern but exquisitely polite recriminations, and invite over half-bloods and insolent Gryffindors who kick her! But words don't hurt, do they? And it's not as if I'm not used to the occasional scolding.'

'Seems to me the scoldings are a lot more than just occasional,' James said.

'What if they are?' Sirius asked. 'Where do you think I get all my best insults?'

James grinned. 'All right, fair point,' he said. 'I caught the sharp end of my mother's tongue when she found out I'd been in the wine, too.'

Remus thought that he could just imagine the sharp end of Mrs Potter's tongue.

Sirius groaned. 'I s'pose that means neither of you will ever be allowed to visit again,' he said.

'Honestly, do you think _your_ mother would stand for it, either?' James asked. 'Besides, as long as you're allowed to visit us we'll be all right. It's more fun away from London anyhow, isn't it?'

'London's a lark,' Sirius said. 'It's Grimmauld Place that sucks the fun out of life.'

James tittered. 'Maybe you've got a Dementor in the attic. You ought to have it investigated.'

He didn't see the black look in Sirius's eyes, but Remus did. Of course the allegation of keeping domestic Dementors was absurd; the discomfiture, then, had to be focused on the attic. 'I know James wants to see Pendennis Castle on Sunday,' he said, trying his utmost to change the subject smoothly; 'and you'd like a ride in the motor, but is there anything else you'd like to do while you're here?'

Sirius shot him a look of indescribable gratitude and bobbed his head frantically. 'Shops!' he said. 'Muggle shops. I've money.' He dug in his pillowslip and pulled out a ratty leather wallet burgeoning with pound notes, some old and some new.

'Where'd you get that?' James asked.

Sirius gave him a sly smile. 'Uncle Alphard brings it me,' he said. 'I've been collecting it since I was a kid. Reckon I've got twenty pounds now.'

'We may have to stop at a bank so you can change the old notes,' Remus said. 'Everything shifted over last year. Father found it ever so confusing.'

'Well, it _is_ confusing,' Sirius said. 'What kind of people count money in fives and tens and hundreds? Our system makes much more sense. Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon.'

'And how many Knuts in a Galleon?' James asked with a wicked grin.

Sirius scowled. 'You're not my primary school tutor, Potter,' he said. 'I don't need to do maths for you.'

'Four hundred ninety-three,' Remus said.

James gave an amiable snort. 'You take all the fun out of picking on him, you know that, Lupin?'

A knock at the door announced Mother, coming in with a tray containing three mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of sugar biscuits, still hot from the oven. She meted out the drinks and left the plate on the foot of the bed before withdrawing.

Sirius bit into a biscuit and his eyes closed in an expression of perfect bliss. 'Your mum's amazing,' he sighed wistfully.

'So's mine,' said James, slurping at his chocolate.

'I mean it, Remus,' Sirius said. 'I'm so sorry I ever thought she might hurt you.'

Remus nearly choked on his biscuit. He did not know how he had thought he could get away with unburdening his soul and still keeping his secret.

'You know, that's been bugging me, too,' James said, addressing Sirius rather than Remus. 'He's fessed up to lying about his dad, so then how does he get hurt?'

Remus waited breathlessly, praying that Sirius would alter the course of the conversation – having been so thankful when Remus did the same for him. Instead, Sirius turned piercing grey eyes upon him. 'Exactly,' he said. 'And where did you disappear to on the last two days of term? We know you didn't come all the way down here: that's just daft.'

They were onto that again. Remus wished desperately that he had known then what he knew now: that his father was determined to look after him, and to do what was necessary to protect him. Then he would have stayed at school for a few days more, until he was well enough to travel. Then he could have maintained the fiction that he went home to see his mother.

'And anyway, your mum looks healthy enough to me,' James said. 'It seems to me you've been telling an awful lot of porkies.'

With one hand clutching the biscuit and the other wrapped around his mug, Remus could not give in to the desire to cover his face with his hands.

'It only happens now and again,' he said softly. 'It's nothing, really.' Tears were beginning to prick in his eyes. 'Can't we just forget about what happens at school and have fun together? Sirius, please?' He turned his gaze on his friend, hoping that the words he dared not say shone through from his eyes. _Please. I let you have your secret. Please, please let me have mine_.

'Whatever it is you know we'll find out eventually,' Sirius said, taking judicial swallow from his mug. 'And when we do you know we won't stand for it. Why don't you just tell us now so that we can bring it all to an end that much sooner?'

Of course they wouldn't stand for it, and revealing the truth meant the end of their friendship not the end of the problem. Remus hung his head, looking down at the swirl of cream in his chocolate. 'P-please,' he begged in a tiny, shattered voice. 'Please, can't we just leave it?'

All of a sudden the other two were climbing onto the bed beside him, bolting down their biscuits whole so that each had a hand free. James pressed a palm to his back while Sirius curled his fingers about his elbow.

'We're your friends,' Sirius said, sounding rather hurt. 'Why can't you trust us?'

'I do trust you,' Remus whispered. His throat was burning. 'I just… I want to enjoy the weekend. I don't want to talk about my problems. I don't want to think about my problems. Just for one last weekend. Is that too much to ask?'

James and Sirius exchanged a long, hard look over his bowed head.

'Of course it isn't,' James said at last. 'No more questions this weekend, I promise. So long as it's not your mum and it's not your dad, it's got nothing to do with our visit.'

'When we get back to school, though,' Sirius said fiercely; 'whoever's been doing this to you is going to pay!'

Remus sipped at his chocolate, trying not to reflect on the truth in those words. The one responsible for the maulings and the absences would indeed pay, and the ransom demanded for his folly and his lies would be his dearest treasure: the precious friendships he had built over the past year. But now, at least, he had one final reprieve; one last opportunity to be young and happy and liked. He fully intended to cherish every moment of it.

Swallowing his dread and forcing himself to dwell only in the wondrous present, Remus raised his head. His lips curled into a smile that wavered only a little. 'The seaside, the shops, a ride in Mother's motorcar,' he said. He glanced at James. 'And maybe I could try jumping off the swings again?'

'Jumping off the swings?' Sirius sounded perplexed.

James and Remus looked at one another, and they laughed.

_~discidium~_

True to her word, Mother took them for a drive the following morning after breakfast. James and Remus piled into the back seat, for they both knew Sirius would not stand for anything other than the front. When the key turned and the engine rumbled to life, Sirius leapt on the seat with such eagerness that the crown of his head very nearly hit the roof of the car. He watched, transfixed, as Mrs Lupin worked the clutch and the gear shift and set the vehicle in motion.

'Faster!' he urged, getting up on one knee to look through the rear windscreen. 'It does go faster, doesn't it?'

'Yes,' Mother said pleasantly; 'but if we go too fast here we're liable to be stopped by an irrate policeman. I'll take us out onto the dual carriageway, as requested. Just be patient.'

'Patience isn't his strong suit,' James said, poking at the seat. 'Is this thing safe?'

'You?' Sirius said, grinning toothily. 'Worried about _safety_?'

'I've never been in one of these before,' said James, the very picture of ruffled dignity. 'It never hurts to ask.'

'It's safe,' Remus assured him. 'I've been riding in it since I was a baby, and Mother's a very good driver.'

Sirius slapped his palm against the passenger window. 'How do you open these things?' he asked.

'That crank by your knee,' Remus answered, pointing. 'Turn it and the windows roll down.'

'I thought you were meant to be the expert on all things motorcar,' James said, opening his own window and looking out at the rows of passing houses. 'How d'you not know that?'

'There's only so much I can learn from one book,' Sirius said. 'And if you're so clever, tell me how many cylinders it's got.'

'You know,' Mother said; 'I'm not sure that _I_ know how many cylinders it's got.'

'Four,' Sirius said smugly. 'The 1959 Morris Minor runs on an A-series engine manufactured in—'

He prattled on happily about motorcar mechanics for the next ten minutes, undeterred by James's ribbing commentary. Then Mother made a neat left turn onto the dual carriageway and accelerated. Sirius promptly forgot everything he had ever known about the technical aspects of the automobile as the wind struck his face with a wall of force.

He whooped in delight and thrust his head and shoulders out the window. His hair whipped wildly in the whistling air, and he laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to come from the very core of his being. Mother glanced to her left at her rebellious passenger, and an admonition lingered on her lips for a moment before she plainly decided that the boy was in no danger and there was no reason to mar his joy.

'Barmy as a bat,' James said fondly, rolling up his own window so that only the top third admitted the sea air. 'You'd think he'd never ridden a broomstick or something. Fancy being that excited about an old motorcar.'

Remus said nothing. He was watching Sirius, who was now almost halfway out of the car and beating on the roof with one hand. His mirth was genuine and it was infectious. Remus laughed softly and Mother, turning to be sure the sound had come from him, offered a radiant smile.

'Faster!' Sirius howled, forcing himself to be heard over the roar of the wind. 'Can't we go faster?'

Mother glanced over her shoulder. Seeing no other vehicles she winked at Remus before depressing the accelerator pedal. Their velocity quickened, well above the recommended speed. Remus leaned forward between the front seats to watch the needle as it moved past sixty-five, to seventy – which was the fixed legal limit. It crept to seventy-five, and then to eighty.

His mother was wearing a look of almost girlish delight, her eyes carefully scanning the road ahead and now and again flicking to the mirror. She was a good driver, and a careful driver, and although she was taking a risk as the car sped up to nearly eight-five, she was doing it with precision.

Sirius was cheering now, his eyes closed against the onrush of wind. Remus wondered fleetingly what it must feel like, hanging out of the window like that with the world rushing past. Wonderfully terrifying, he imagined. And liberating. He imagined it felt like freedom.

As they rocketed past a layby there was a jangling of a siren.

'Oh, dear,' Mother said, braking gently as the police motor moved onto the road behind them, accelerating to catch them. Sirius twisted so that he was looking backward, watching with tremendous interest as their car slowed and pulled onto the side of the road and the black and white car with its blue lights parked behind them.

'It's a panda car!' he cried. 'A real panda car!'

'Sirius, dear, please sit down,' Mother said. She did not look angry, but there was a nervous shiver to her voice as she smoothed her hair and reached for her handbag to draw out her driver's permit. 'We mustn't make a fuss: going that quickly is against the law.'

Sirius pulled himself into the vehicle and turned, looking at Mrs Lupin with awe and tremendous respect. His attention was distracted only as the uniformed constable with his lofty helmet strode up to the driver's door and leaned in to look at the transgressor.

'Goin' along at quite a clip, wasn't we, ma'am?' he said in his thick local accent.

'I'm afraid I was, Constable, yes,' Mother said politely.

'It was _brilliant_!' Sirius cried, clearly still elated from the experience. James shot him a disbelieving look, but the boy who braved the wrath of Minerva McGonagall in the name of a good prank was hardly to be daunted by a mere police constable.

The man squinted as he glanced at the tousle-haired passenger. Then he looked at Mrs Lupin. 'Youngster egging you on, was he?'

'No, sir,' Mrs Lupin said. 'The misjudgement was entirely mine. It's such a fine day, and I'm afraid I got a bit carried away.' She smiled in a charming, self-deprecating way.

'It's a policeman!' Sirius said in an eager stage whisper. 'A real Muggle policeman! He's got a helmet and everything – not like those silly old sergeants you see up in London!'

The constable seemed affronted by the boy's words. He frowned.

James leaned forward in his seat, placing his hand on the lip of the driver's window. 'Don't mind him, sir. That's our cousin Alfred. He's a bit soft in the head. Londoner, you understand.'

'Ah.' The policeman jerked his chin upward, a look of provincial condescension on his face. 'Firs' taste of sea air, then?'

Mother nodded. 'I think he was quite enjoying it.'

'Yes, Auntie,' Sirius said, bobbing his head and grinning in what he clearly thought was an imbecilic fashion. 'Thank you, Auntie. May I have a lolly now?'

The constable stared briefly at him, and then glanced at James with his winning smile. He leaned a little further into the vehicle. 'An' what about you?' he asked, addressing Remus. 'What 'ave you to say about all this?'

'I think it was a mistake, sir,' Remus said politely. 'I think you ought to issue a stern warning.'

'So that she learns her lesson,' James agreed.

The policeman looked at Mrs Lupin. 'Is that what you think as well, ma'am?' he asked. 'That I ought to give you a stern warning for going… what was it? Purty near eighty, I should think.'

'Eighty-five,' Mother said demurely. 'I daresay I deserve more than a stern warning for that.'

Remus felt his pulse quickening. What was she thinking? They couldn't afford to pay a fine: money was tight as it was, and there was no telling when more might be coming in. The policeman might have let them off if she hadn't said that.

'Have you got a whistle?' Sirius asked, still playing the part of the enthusiastic half-wit. 'Have you got a truncheon? Can I have a ride in the panda car?' He raised his voice in an ululation that was a credible imitation of the clang of the siren. 'Will you lock us in up in the nick? Always wanted to spend a night in the cells, me.'

The constable looked from Mrs Lupin's mild, respectful expression to the bundle of raw energy on the seat next to her. Remus could almost hear the thoughts that ran through his head. He could stay and write up a ticket, enduring five or ten more minutes of the boy's senseless prattle, or he could issue the stern warning and let the woman and her impudent young passengers on their way. He tucked his notebook into his pocket.

'Well, ma'am,' he said; 'consider yerself sternly warned. Let's keep it to a reasonable speed from now on, eh?'

'Yes, Constable,' Mother said humbly. 'Thank you, Constable.'

'An' ma'am, I know 't'weren't my place to say, but you didn't ought to let the lad hang out of the winders like that. Might get hurt.' He patted her arm in a proprietary manner, speaking as if he were addressing a small and rather slow child.

'Yes, sir. I shall certainly bear that in mind,' Mother agreed.

'Right then. On your way. At a _safe_ speed, mind.' He strode back to his own vehicle.

Mother switched on the engine and pulled back onto the road. She accelerated to just below the limit and put half a mile between them and the patrol car before grinning enormously.

'Well, I'd say we brought that off rather nicely, didn't we gentlemen?' she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Sirius's shout of approval could surely be heard halfway to Bodmin moor. He got up on his knees and crossed his arms on the back of the seat, regarding Remus steadily. 'Lupin,' he said; 'your mum is _brilliant_!'


	43. Seaside Days

_Note: For those of you who might be interested, check out the cover for the July 1972 edition of 'National Geographic' on Google Images. It's a very striking photograph._

_Also, I don't think an author's note is the place to respond to reviews, but I've updated the FAQ section on my profile just for you, Laea!_

**Chapter Forty-Three: Seaside Days**

Remus watched Sirius and James as they played, waist-deep in the ocean. He tried very hard not to be envious, sitting on a rock in the shadow of the pier with his long sleeves and his street shoes. It was good for Sirius to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. His clothes all had a faint musty smell to them, as if they had been shut up in darkness for too long. Watching him now, laughing as he dove under to tug James by the ankle, Remus was filled with tremendous relief. Whatever had transpired at number twelve Grimmauld Place in the wake of the disastrous dinner party, Sirius was still the same fiendishly mischievous and kind-hearted boy he had been beforehand.

He was coming towards the shore now, ambling in a gait exaggerated by the drag of the water on his legs. His swimming togs were indeed rather on the small side, but he had managed to wriggle into them and did not seem to mind that they were shorter than the ones James wore. He reached the sticky wet sand and quickened his pace, trotting up to Remus with an enormous grin on his face.

'Come on!' he said. 'You're meant to be joining us. Just take off your shoes and roll up your trouser legs and wade out. We'll come in a little, and I promise we won't splash you if you don't wish it.'

Remus thought of the scars on his feet and shook his head. 'I don't much like the ocean,' he lied.

'That picture on your mantel tells a different story,' James said, coming up behind Sirius and trying to wipe crusted salt from the lenses of his spectacles. 'Do come. It's fun. I was right about the swings, wasn't I?'

Remus no longer had the strength to resist. 'Very well,' he said. 'You two run along back, and I'll be there just as soon as I get my shoes off.'

James grinned and scampered back to the water. Sirius lingered.

'I'm coming, I promise,' Remus said, bending to loosen his laces. 'You don't need to escort me.'

Sirius was beginning to shiver as the water dried on his skin. He grinned, chaffing his arms with his hands. 'Right you are,' he said. 'But if you don't come James and I are going to haul you out there. Fair warning.'

Remus nodded, unable to keep from smiling. Of course he did not want to be carried off and dumped in the water, but it was wonderful that Sirius liked him well enough to make the offer. As the taller boy hurried back to the cover of the waves, Remus removed his shoes, folding back the tongues so they would be easy to slip on again. He smoothed his socks, tucking one into each shoe. He rolled up the hem of each trouser leg only far enough that he would not get them wet when the water was over his toes. He studied the scars on his right foot carefully, first with his knee bent and his heel on the rock, and then with his leg straightened. At that distance they were not especially noticeable, he thought. The others were busy having a grand time; they surely wouldn't be looking at his feet.

He set his shoes down next to the twin heaps of discarded Muggle clothes and moved down from the dry sand to the wet. It was oozing and pliant beneath his toes; deliciously cool after the constriction of the leather shoes. He reached the edge of the water, where the surf lapped up onto the shore, and stood waiting patiently for the next wave to roll in. When it did he closed his eyes, delighting in the sensation of the water about his ankles and the tickle of the sand as it trickled from beneath his feet. He smiled.

'Aw, come in a little farther than that!' Sirius called. He was in the shallows, squatting to keep his shoulders under the water. A wave crested and broke against the back of his neck and he laughed, getting down on his belly and propelling himself forward with his hands so that he could stay under the water and still draw nearer to Remus.

His posture, however, made the other boy uncomfortable. If Sirius drew too near he would be almost on top of his feet, and then the scars would surely be seen. Remus scuttled sideways, putting on what he hoped was an expression of comical distaste. 'Ugh; don't do that!' he said. 'You look like a water snake!'

It worked. Sirius ducked his head under and then stood up, shaking the water from his hair. He looked out to sea, waving at James. 'Potter, get down here!' he called.

'Aw, just 'cause Remus doesn't swim…'

'Get _down_ here, I said!' Sirius insisted. 'I'll race you up the beach.'

The promise of a competition was all the enticement James needed. He came hurrying up, salt water streaming from his limbs, and used his right great toe to draw a line in the sand, perpendicular to the shore. He positioned himself behind it, crouching like a world-class runner. Sirius mimicked his posture, looking over his shoulder at the third boy.

'You too?' he asked.

Remus shook his head. 'I'm not much for running,' he said, remembering the disastrous detention with Professor Alfstin.

'Count us off, then,' James said. He pointed down the shoreline to a large piece of driftwood sunk in the sand about two hundred yards away. 'Winner touches the log first,' he said. Then he added shrewdly, 'With a _hand_.'

'Fair enough,' Sirius said. 'The usual wager?'

James considered it. 'No. I'll stake two Galleons; you stake ten pounds.'

'Hey! It's taken me a lifetime to save up that much Muggle money!' Sirius protested. 'I can hardly waltz into Gringotts and get my pocket gold changed, can I? Not with Mum around.'

'All right, _four_ Galleons to ten pounds. And I'll even change it for you if you win.' James held out a hand to seal the bargain.

'Fine,' Sirius said. 'Ten pounds if you win, but I'm still going to give you some Galleons to change for me. I don't mean to spend my whole life living off of the largesse of Uncle Alphard.'

'Deal,' James said, and they shook. James settled back into his racing stance. 'Go on, Remus: ready, set, go.'

'Ready?' Remus said. Both boys hunkered down, muscles growing taught and eyes fixed on their target. 'Set?' Sirius tossed his head to shake the hair from his eyes. '_Go_!'

They took off in a flash, twin blurs of bare limbs and brightly coloured nylon. From his place at the starting line – already all but washed away by the waves – Remus found it impossible to say who was in the lead. Nor was he certain who had the better odds of winning. James was superbly fast, but Sirius had the longer legs. Speculation was pointless: the whole thing was over in less than a minute anyhow, and James, whooping with delight, turned a spectacular cartwheel in the sea foam. Sirius stamped his foot irately, but even at this distance Remus could see he was grinning.

A moment later he was loping back with easy grace. 'We're going down to the end of that little headland,' he said, pointing. 'Come on!'

Before Remus could protest that they shouldn't leave the clothes and shoes unattended, Sirius had him by the wrist and was running back to James, obliging Remus to trot after him. He did his utmost to keep up, though his left leg protested, and Sirius was not running as swiftly as he had been. They caught up to James, who took Remus's other hand, and together the three of them leapt over the weathered log, hurrying up the coast. Remus was always half a step behind the other two, but he managed to hold his own.

When they reached the headland Sirius and James scrambled out into the water, laughing and splashing at one another. Remus took three steps before a wave wet the rolled hems of his trousers. He halted, watching his friends move out to where the sea drew near their ribs. Where they were going he could not follow, however much he wished to.

_~discidium~_

When the clock on the pier showed it to be half past one, the three boys meandered back to the rock where their belongings were waiting. Remus pulled on his shoes and socks as quickly as he could, scarcely taking the time to brush the sand from between his toes. Sirius and James ran around for a while, chasing one another until they were dry. Then they dressed. After that they climbed the path to the head of the cliff, where there was a little chip shop – quiet now after the noon rush.

Remus had two fifty-pence pieces in his pocket, given to him by his mother for this express purpose. Sirius begged to be allowed to be the one to order, so Remus handed him the money and watched as he gleefully requested three helpings of fish and chips. The old cash register dinged as the shop girl rang them up, and Sirius made a small noise of delight.

'Can I try it?' he asked.

The Muggle girl, perhaps five or six years older than the trio, eyed him uncertainly. 'I don' think so,' she said.

Sirius gave her his most charming smile. 'Please? Just let me open it once? What harm would it do?'

'Well…' She appeared to be searching for an answer, but without much success.

'Please? Be an angel and let me try it.' Sirius tilted his face upward and Remus had to stifle the urge to laugh as he actually batted his eyelashes in what was obviously meant to be taken as an endearing fashion.

Apparently it worked: the girl blushed a little and lifted the hinged barrier that separated the counter from the front of the shop. She pushed the drawer closed. 'Now push that red one there,' she said.

Sirius obeyed, and the drawer sprang open. He let out a single barking laugh, and before the girl could interfere he closed the drawer and pushed the button again.

'Tha's enough,' she said, shooing him back to the right side of the counter.

'Don't forget we've got change coming,' Sirius said. 'You owe me three Knuts.'

'He means sixteen pence,' Remus said, before the girl could ask. She counted out the coins and offered them to Sirius, who handed them in turn to Remus, who pocketed them carefully to be returned to his mother.

Ten minutes later they were walking down the street, munching contentedly on fried cod and chips sprinkled liberally with vinegar.

'Not half bad,' James said, nibbling at a chip. 'Must be nice to live so near the seaside.'

Remus nodded, unwilling to speak with his mouth full. Shop-made fish and chips were a rare treat for him, though Mother did wonderful things with cod at home.

Sirius was still laughing at the idea of eating lunch out of a piece of yesterday's newspaper, even as he tried to read it without spilling his food onto the pavement. '_Dockers Strike in Second Week. Parliament Considers State of_ … what's that word? The oil's made the ink run.'

'State of emergency, I think,' James said, pointing at a news vendor just ahead. The morning paper was displayed on the side of his stand, proclaiming _Heath Declares State of Emergency_. 'Sounds serious.'

'Not from this, it doesn't,' Sirius remarked. 'What's it matter if there's no men to shift cargo? Can't they just round up some house elves or something?'

'It's a _Muggle_ newspaper, Sirius,' James said, enunciating with care.

'Oh.' Sirius peered into the well that held his food, nudging some chips aside to study an inert photograph. 'Right. Bad luck for the Muggles, then. Wonder why our sort never strikes?'

'Don't you pay attention in History of Magic?' James asked unnecessarily: neither he nor Sirius _ever_ paid attention in History of Magic. 'We have goblin revolutions instead.'

'So then it's actually bad luck for us,' Sirius said, taking a large bite of fish and savouring it with hooded eyes. 'If you'd told me a week ago that I'd be eating something that tasted _this good_ off of an old newspaper, I would have called you an ugly lying git.'

After they had eaten they went back down to the beach and sat in the sand to build a scale model of Hogwarts. James and Sirius stripped back down to their bathing things, but Remus of course could not enjoy that luxury. There was sand in his shoes and sand in his socks, sand up the legs and in the waistband of his trousers, and sand under the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. But he was as happy as he ever had been, sculpting the front steps of the school out of the sticky, salty sand. James, of course, tried to make the Quidditch pitch, with less than impressive results. Sirius managed to get the Astronomy Tower to a height of thirteen inches before it crumbled.

The tide was going out, and eventually they elected to abandon the ruinous sandcastle in favour of gathering shells. Remus went barefoot for this, but in the fresh mud of low tide his scars were quickly obscured. James and Sirius quickly gathered an enormous heap of shells: as many as they could lay their hands upon. Remus, being unaffected by the novelty, chose only one: a miraculously unbroken painted top with delicate coral-coloured swirls. He checked carefully to be sure that it was empty before rinsing it in the surf. He would keep it always, he decided, as a memento of a wonderful day.

_~discidium~_

The following morning James was up almost before the sun, eager to head out to the Quidditch pitch. Despite the early hour, Mother was already fixing breakfast – eggs and porridge and applesauce. The three boys ate happily, Sirius once again eulogizing about Mrs Lupin's cooking.

They left the house at half past eight, hurrying out to the car before the neighbours could see the strange clothing they wore. Remus, Sirius and James managed to squeeze into the back seat, with much laughing and shoving of errant elbows. During the long drive to the pitch, which was hidden in a wood off of the meandering Maenporth Road, they played a spirited round of _I Filled My Grandmother's Cauldron_. With his sharp memory, Remus found that he was more than equally matched to the other two, which was always a pleasant surprise.

Although Remus had been to numerous House games, he swiftly discovered that a professional Quidditch match was an entirely different experience. For one thing, the spectators were not divided by factions: supporters of the Falmouth Falcons and Puddlemere United mingled in the stands. This led to a great deal of good-natured ribbing and more than one argument. For another, there were hawkers roaming the crowd, selling everything from pennants to Chocolate Frogs. The bright colours of the Hogwarts teams were absent from the pitch: the Falcons wore grey and United wore brown.

As for the match itself, it was far more rough-and-tumble than anything that would have been allowed at Hogwarts. Falmouth in particular seemed a violent team. Their Beaters were ruthless, and even the Chasers could be seen attempting to ram their opponents or drive them off of their brooms. Sirius and James took great pleasure in screaming themselves hoarse as they cheered on Puddlemere. Remus was torn between supporting his local team, as he supposed he ought, and cheering for the other, which was not so ferocious and obviously ranked high with Sirius. In the end he decided that he preferred United, and he clapped quietly whenever they made a goal.

Mother seemed rather uncomfortable about the whole situation. She watched the players anxiously, as if in a state of perpetual fear that they would fall. Father was enjoying himself immensely; he was perched on the edge of his seat watching the action with avid intent. Remus had never realized that his father had more than a passing interest in Quidditch, for he did not recall him ever going to see a match. Then Remus realized that quite likely Father could not afford the tickets.

When they returned to the house that afternoon the boys promptly slipped into a drowsy lethargy, weary from the early start and the morning's excitement. They spent several hours lounging in the bedroom, talking and joking and playing Exploding Snap. At some point in the proceedings Remus fell asleep, curled on his side at the foot of the bed. When he awoke an hour later, drowsy eyed and warm, he found that James and Sirius were not in the room.

He found them in the corridor, armed with a butter knife and one of Mother's hairpins, trying to pick the lock on the door to the third bedroom.

'What are you doing?' Remus asked, horrified.

Sirius, who was on his knees working the tools, looked up and grinned. 'Oh, hey,' he said. 'Is there a key for this door?'

'Yes, there is,' Remus said.

'Well, it would be helpful right about now,' said James. 'What's inside here anyhow?'

'Just some old things,' Remus said uncomfortably, glancing at the door and feeling the same shiver of horror that he always did when he thought about the third room.

'So why is it locked?' Sirius asked.

'It's locked,' said Remus, rather more coldly than he had intended; 'because we don't go inside it. Now please stop doing that.'

James snorted. 'That's ridiculous,' he said. 'This place is like a doll's house. You can't just shut up a whole room and not use it.'

'We don't need a third bedroom,' Remus said. 'It's only Mother and Father and I. Now please. Please stop.'

The mounting anxiety showed clearly in his voice, and Sirius reacted to it. He withdrew the makeshift picks and let his hands fall to his sides. 'Okay,' he said. 'Okay, if it means that much to you—'

'It does,' Remus told him.

'What's in there?' James asked, brows furrowing with curiosity.

'I told you,' Remus said. 'Old furniture and toys and clothes and things. Nothing you would find interesting.'

'That's what you said about the cellar,' James remarked shrewdly. Sirius trod on his toe. 'And about the attic,' added James hurriedly; 'and you were certainly right about that. No secrets in the Lupin house, eh?'

'No. None at all,' Remus said. A horrific suspicion washed over him. 'D-did you go down in the cellar, then?' he asked.

'No,' said Sirius. 'We tried, but it was locked. My mum's confiscated my wand 'til September and Potter, being a genius, left his at home, and we couldn't find yours. And as you can tell I'm hardly a whizz with lock-picks. So no, we didn't see the cellar.'

It sounded like the truth, and James was nodding ruefully. Remus felt himself relax. 'It's locked because it's very old and not at all safe,' he said. It was not quite a lie, even if it was only one night a month that the room was unsafe. 'We don't keep anything down there at all.'

'I keep hoping to find a secret passage or something,' Sirius said, getting to his feet and pocketing the tools. 'Do you never get bored of such a little place?'

'Sometimes,' Remus admitted.

'I see why you haven't properly developed your taste for exploring, anyhow,' the tall boy remarked. 'You've never done much of it before this year, have you?'

'Not much, no,' said Remus. 'Should we go downstairs or something? We could play in the garden until supper.'

They yielded to his suggestion, but got no further than the kitchen. Mother was busy with supper, making pastry for a beef pie. Sirius gravitated toward her like a moth drawn to a flame, watching with intense interest as she rolled up her sleeves and plunged both hands into a bowl of ice water.

'What are you _doing_?' Sirius asked, transfixed.

'The best pastry is made with cold hands,' Mother said. 'The surest way to see to that is to chill them as you work.'

Sirius whistled softly. 'Doesn't it hurt?' he queried.

'Not especially,' said Mother. 'You don't need to be frostbitten, only cold.' She removed her hands, dried them quickly on a dishcloth, and began to work the dough with the tips of her fingers, agitating it as little as possible. 'Go ahead and try it if you like.'

Sirius reached across the surface and stuck his hands in the bowl. He dragged it nearer to him, fingers planted on the bottom. 'It's not so bad,' he acceded. 'Not much colder than the first spray from the showers at Hogwarts in winter. How long do I leave them?'

'No more than a minute,' Mother said pleasantly. 'If you leave them too long they start to—'

'Burn!' Sirius yelped. 'Ow!' He yanked his hands out of the water, but as he did so he tugged unwittingly on the side of the bowl. It flew off of the countertop and onto the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces and sending water and ice in every direction.

James laughed and Remus inhaled sharply. Sirius's eyes went wide and he immediately hunched his shoulders and ducked his head as if expecting a blow.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered frantically, sounding dangerously near to tears. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.'

Mother, who had scarcely even blinked when the dish fell, brushed the flour from her hands and fetched the brush and dustpan from beside the sink. She moved around the surface and knelt down, gathering up the shards of the bowl and the largest of the ice chips.

'I'm sorry,' Sirius whimpered again, cringing away as she stood up to fetch a cloth. 'P-please, I _didn't_ mean it.'

'Of course you didn't, dear,' Mother said pleasantly. 'It was only an accident; it could have happened to anyone.'

Sirius raised his eyes to look at her, awe and abject relief upon his face. 'Y-you're not angry?' he stammered.

'Why should I be angry?' Mrs Lupin asked. 'These things happen, and you didn't even spill on the counter. If you had the water might have spoilt the pastry, so you see we're really quite lucky. A little damp won't hurt this old floor.'

She moved to kneel, but Sirius snatched the towel from her hands. 'Let me!' he said, dropping to the floor and scrubbing at a great pace. 'Please let me.'

Mother smiled. 'Thank you, Sirius. You're a gracious young gentleman.'

Sirius made quick work of cleaning up the spill, and then rang the towel out over the sink and ran upstairs to put it in the hamper.

'Don't tease him about it,' Remus whispered as soon as he was out of earshot. 'Please.'

'Why would I tease him?' James asked. 'He made the mess; it's only right he should clean it up.'

Remus had not been talking about the mess, but about the fear Sirius had shown. He wondered uneasily what the punishment was for breaking a dish at number twelve Grimmauld Place.

By the time Sirius returned, Mother had sorted the bits of broken plate from the ice, setting them aside on a rag for later attention from her husband. She asked whether the boys would mind collecting some herbs and two dozen parsnips from the garden, and they happily agreed. This experience, too, was something novel for Sirius. He had great fun unearthing the tender young taproots and picking the lushest sprigs of parsley. Back in the kitchen he watched eagerly as Mrs Lupin scrubbed the first parsnip, and then insisted upon doing the rest. She showed him how to pare them and cut them into sticks for roasting, and he set about the task eagerly while Remus cleaned the herbs and James, perched on the stool in the corner, watched in bemusement.

As it was Saturday, Father returned early from his quest for work and they ate the moment the pie was done. Sirius sat down in awe, and all he could talk about throughout the meal was the parsnips. Remus realized after his fourth comment that Sirius had never before eaten anything he had himself laboured to prepare.

While the boys were enjoying baked apples with cinnamon for pudding, Father mended the broken bowl with a quick _Reparo_. Mother brought it to the table, smiling.

'You see, Sirius?' she said kindly. 'It's quite as good as new.'

This wasn't strictly true: there was a chip on the edge that hadn't been there before. But Sirius had no way of knowing that and the dish was certainly functional again. Remus felt a warm rush of gratitude for his mother's tact and understanding.

That evening everyone sat together in the sitting room, Mother working on Remus's supply of handkerchiefs for September and Father poring over the jobs pages of _The Daily Prophet_ while the boys took it in turns to play chess. James and Sirius were equally matched, and defeated one another half the time. Remus was a consistently stronger player; the best the others could manage was a noble defeat and, in the case of Sirius, one stalemate.

'There must be a way to…' He frowned at the board.

'No,' Remus said, smiling a little. Mother had slowed her stitching to watch the last game, and he knew she was proud of his skill.

'But if I moved my bishop…'

'Then my rook would have your king in check.' Remus pointed.

'But if I… damn. Then your queen would have me.' Sirius was scowling now, a furrow of frustration forming along the left side of his mouth.

James laughed. 'Let it alone, Black. It's a draw. That's the best anyone has managed against Lupin all year!'

Sirius's expression brightened. 'I still say there's a way to turn a tidy profit off of you,' he said to Remus.

'So you've said,' Remus demurred. 'I can't see how.'

A wicked grin spread over the other boy's face. 'I'm working on it,' he said. 'Rematch?'

'Not fair!' James said. 'It's my turn to be ignobly defeated.'

Sirius snorted. 'You needn't sound so happy about it,' he said, though he was grinning.

'Ah, but someday I'll beat him,' James said sagely. 'And that will be a day worth celebrating.'

'Dorothy?' Father said. He had finished with the jobs column and was now working on the Saturday crossword. 'A seven-letter word for the absence of rule?'

_'Anarchy_!' Sirius said cheerfully. He winked at his friends. 'My specialty.'

'Thank you,' said the wizard with a tiny bemused smile, writing in the word. 'I don't suppose you know a nine-letter word for mammoth, sixth letter "D" and eighth letter "R", do you?

Sirius got up and went to lean over Mr Lupin's shoulder.

_'Considerable_?' Mother suggested. 'No, wait, that's too many letters…'

'Not mammoth like large,' Sirius said. 'You know: _a _mammoth. _Pachyderm_. Oh! And ten down is _puffskin_.'

So while Remus and James set up the board and played another rather one-sided game of chess, Sirius and Father worked through the crossword together.

_~discidium~_

That night Remus awoke in the darkness to the sound of muted whispers at the foot of his bed. He remained very still, straining to listen, but the voices were muffled. Presently James and Sirius got up and crept quietly from the room. Assuming they had gone to raid the icebox, Remus curled up again and drifted back to sleep. He did not hear them come back in, but when he awoke in the morning they were both fast asleep.

Pendennis Castle was a site under the mutual protection of British Heritage and the Society for the Preservation of Magical History. Six days a week it was open to Muggle sightseers, but Sundays were reserved for witches and wizards. Mother dropped Mr Lupin and the three boys off at the foot of the drive, promising to return at four o'clock to collect them.

James had insisted that they come to visit the old fortress, and he was equally insistent about paying the eight Sickles for admission. They went up to the gun tower first, where James had a great deal of fun taunting the ghoul and Sirius inspected the heavy old iron canons. Remus read both sets of plates – the papers beneath glass meant for the Muggles, and the raised brass letters that could only be seen by wizards. The castle had been built during the reign of Henry VIII, when the magical folk of Britain had not yet segregated themselves completely from Muggles, and there was a great deal of intertwining history.

'Bit of a wanker, this Henry,' James said, glancing over Remus's shoulder at a printed image of the king standing with his legs spread as if to straddle the world. 'Doesn't look the sharpest knife in the drawer.'

'He was actually very cultured, if a bit unstable,' said Remus. 'And his wife was a witch, you know.'

James snorted. 'Which one?'

'Anne of Cleves. That's one of the reasons he didn't try to have her beheaded or put away like the others.' Remus moved to lean against one of the narrow windows looking down to the sea. 'That, of course, and she was clever enough not to argue with him when he grew tired of her.' He reflected sadly that he hoped he would be half as gracious as Anne when the time came for him to be put aside, unwanted.

'I'm surprised she didn't just hex him or put him under the Imperious curse or something,' Sirius said.

'He was a Muggle, but he was still the king,' said Remus. 'He had his second wife tried for high treason, and a lot of the evidence given against her was slanted to make the court suspect her of witchcraft. It would have been foolish for his fourth wife to press her luck. Even witches can die on the chopping-block.'

'She did quite well out of the annulment, too,' Father said. 'She was given a number of estates and the title of _the King's Beloved Sister_, and she had high precedence at court. She was a cunning woman.'

'Sounds like the sort of stunt Drommie would pull,' Sirius said. 'I still can't believe she's got half her dowry to throw away on a hat shop.'

'Not the hat shop again,' James groaned. 'Do you never think of anything else?'

'I don't like things that don't make sense,' Sirius said starchily. 'You know that perfectly well.'

'Only problem with that,' muttered James; 'is that sometimes you find things you don't want to know about.'

'I do not,' Sirius declared boldly. 'There's not a thing on earth I don't want to know about.'

They went to see the tunnels, where a number of very amicable ghosts of soldiers killed in the numerous conflicts the castle had seen over the centuries were more than happy to share their stories. One in particular, a young Tommy from the first World War, fascinated Sirius, who was still talking about him as they went out onto the cliffs to eat their picnic lunch in the grass.

'He joined up after Paschendale,' he said. 'But of course he was a wizard so there was trouble about his papers. He wanted to be sent overseas, but he wound up stationed here instead. Says the Ministry don't let wizards involved in Muggle conflicts use their wands – Statute of Secrecy, you understand – but the rifle was almost as good. A lot of waiting and watching, he said, and cold nights in the sea air. Really sad bit is he didn't die in action: he slipped one night on patrol and fell down the cliff. So now he's still manning his post, you see?'

'Ugh,' James said. 'I don't think I'd want to do that forever.'

'Nor me,' Sirius agreed. 'But at least he gets to share his perspective with the visitors, eh?'

After lunch they toured the keep itself, and visited the kitchens where the ghost of an old cook named Maude scolded Mr Lupin for keeping an underfed child. She proceeded to prescribe a building-up regimen for Remus consisting of large quantities of wine, raw eggs, eel broth, black pudding and suet. It all sounded perfectly ghastly, and Remus was quite glad when they moved on to the galleries. There, a pretty ghost wearing pocket hoops and a silk _pet en l'air_ insisted upon telling them all about scandalous goings-on in France.

Sirius insisted upon seeing the guardhouse, where he asked dozens of questions about the two-way wireless that the robed security wizard could not answer. By the time he accepted that he was not getting anywhere it was nearly half past three, and time to head back down to the drive.

The four of them were on the lookout for the little brown motorcar when there was a roar of an engine off to the north. Sirius perked up his ears, listening with a pensive frown on his face. 'Doesn't sound like a proper contraption,' he said. 'A car, I mean. It's too…'

'Noisy?' James asked as the sound revved.

'_Open_,' Sirius said.

At that moment a dark speck appeared over the crest of the next hill, moving at a great speed. It vanished before anyone could make a positive identification, only to appear again two minutes later, rocketing past at what had to be at least seventy-five miles per hour.

'Look at that thing! Would you look at that!' Sirius shouted, jumping up and down and running along the side of the road as if he could keep the wondrous machine in sight. 'Just sitting on top of it like that! You'd have the wind in your face the whole time! Because of course the trouble with motors is that the driver can't properly stick his head out the window. What is it? What _is_ that thing?'

Remus had seen them before, of course: with the two wheels and the padded leather seat. They looked rather like overgrown bicycles, but they had no proper pedals and they were much broader and louder. 'I'm not sure what they're called,' he admitted.

_~discidium_~

When Mother took them to the Muggle high street on Monday as requested, Sirius had the single-mindedness of a man possessed. He made for the first Muggle newsstand he could find and began rifling through the magazines in search of a picture of the machine he had seen the previous afternoon. James wandered off to peer into shop windows full of clothes and toys and books. Remus, who had no money to spend and in any case nothing in particular he wanted, studied the bright yellow cover of an American magazine sporting a photograph of a dark-skinned man swathed in white. The intense black eyes were captivating and rather unnerving.

'Hah!' Sirius said triumphantly, brandishing a magazine with a large photograph of the two-wheeled car on its cover. 'What's this thing?' he demanded of the newsstand owner.

'That's a Triumph Bonneville,' the man said. 'One of the greatest bikes ever made.'

'No, I mean what _is _it?' Sirius asked. 'What's that sort of machine called?'

The man looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted tentacles. 'It's a motorbike, o'course,' he said. 'Not from 'round here, are you?'

James came sprinting up, launching into his 'Cousin Alfred' story as he dragged Sirius away. Remus stepped out just in time to snatch back the magazine before the stall owner could protest.

'Thank you, sir,' he said politely, casting a rueful eye on the rifled racks. 'Frightfully sorry about the mess.'

He bolted after James and Sirius, who was now dragging the bespectacled boy into a bookshop.

Afterward Remus wondered what the elderly lady behind the counter had made of them. Sirius demanded to see every book she had on the subject of motorbikes, whereupon she produced two rather dusty volumes from the back of the shop. Convinced that this could not possibly be all the information available on what he had decided was the most captivating subject known to Muggle-kind, Sirius deployed his friends and Mrs Lupin in a comprehensive search of the stacks. The hunt was not a vain one: Mother found a slender book filled with glossy photographs, and James found a book on the Mod subculture with a whole chapter dedicated to bikes. Sirius bought all four, though he had to get some of his Muggle money back from James to cover the last two pounds fifty.

After that the shopping trip was essentially over, because although James rather wanted to continue on he grew so swiftly exasperated with Sirius's attempts to walk and read at the same time that he gave up. They returned to the little house on Chancery Row, and the boys settled in the back garden to pore over the books.

Monday was to be the last day in Falmouth. After supper the boys would Floo to the Potters' home to spend the rest of the week. They could not stay past Saturday, for James and his family were headed to Essex for the Smythe-Fitzhenri wedding – to which, Sirius said with no small measure of glee, the Blacks had never received an invitation. So after dinner they went upstairs so that Remus could pack what he needed for the visit.

'One thing I'd like to do before we leave,' Sirius said; 'is try my hand at this business of jumping off swings. It sounds like a lark.'

To that end they went down to the little park, where Remus sat halfway up the climbing apparatus and watched James instruct Sirius in the finer points of the sport. Sirius took to it swiftly, and was soon making inroads onto the grass. At first he and James took it in turns to jump, but then they decided to synchronize their leaps. The first two attempts were rather uncoordinated; James first jumping well ahead of Sirius, and on the second attempt falling short of the taller boy's leap by almost a yard and a half. The third and fourth they managed reasonably, and the fifth was perfect: they landed as mirror images of one another, and Remus clapped vigorously.

Of course it was inevitable that disaster should strike. On their sixth attempt Sirius's wrist caught on the chain and he flew off at an angle, colliding with James in midair. They crashed to the sand in a tangled heap and Remus, crying out in alarm at the sight of his friends descent, lost his balance and tumbled backward off of the metal bar.

All three boys landed within five seconds of one another, and at first Remus did not know which one of them had been the source of the sickening _crack_ that seemed to echo off of the trees. Then he heard the laughter: giddy and gleeful and unequivocally unhurt. And then he felt the pain.

It took Sirius and James a minute or two to realize that their friend was in distress. Remus lay back in the sand, his left hand clutching at the nearest post as he took short, shallow breaths and promised himself he would not scream. A tear of frustrated despair pricked the corner of his eye and he screwed his lids tightly shut. It was so unfair. He had decided not to leap from the swings again because it was too risky, and he had hurt himself falling not more than three feet. The fire shooting up through his knee and into his hip told him that he had damaged his healing leg.

He felt a hand on his head first. Sirius was reaching under the bars, his expression one of anguished concern. 'What's wrong?' he asked frantically. 'What happened?'

James got onto his belly and wriggled up to Remus, taking his right hand and gripping it. 'Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?'

'M-my leg,' Remus choked out, gritting his teeth against the waves of agony.

'What should we do?' Sirius cried, looking half panicked. 'What should we do?'

'Go back to the house and get Mrs Lupin,' James said firmly. Before Remus could beg them not to leave him, he felt his hand being squeezed. 'I'll stay here.'

'The house,' Sirius said, trying to swallow his terror. 'Mrs Lupin. Right. Right. She'll know what to do.'

'She won't,' Remus protested. 'S-she can't carry me and she hasn't got a wand and there's no way to get 'hold of Father and…'

'We can carry you,' James said, looking at Sirius and prompting the other boy to nod vehemently. 'If we can just get you out of here and onto the bench we can carry you.'

'They look okay,' Sirius said uneasily. 'Y-your legs I mean. Are you sure you've hurt one?'

Remus nodded tersely. 'The left one. It's pr-probably just a crack. I… I've hurt it before.' He shook his head convulsively. 'You can't carry me; I'm too heavy.'

'Between the two of us we'll manage it,' James said firmly. He had a grimly determined look on his face and he gave off the soothing impression that he was entirely in charge of the situation. 'C'mon, Sirius, get a hand under his shoulder and hold onto his head. Let's get him up on that bench.'

As they dragged him out from under the bars Remus found his vision filling with black spots. When they hefted him up onto the bench, he very nearly lost his hold on consciousness. But then suddenly he was slung between them, sitting on their interlocked arms with his own draped over each boy's neck. He wavered and they adjusted their hold so that the outer arms supported his thighs and the inner arms were crossed behind his back.

'Got him?' James asked.

'Got him,' Sirius said. He sounded far calmer now, and Remus let his head flop against the dark hair to his right.

It was strangely comforting, knowing that he had friends – strong friends who could lift him, and loving friends who cared enough to do so. Sirius and James moved quickly but very carefully, mindful of jostling their injured comrade. All the same the world was a very vague place by the time they turned onto the Lupin property. Remus did not know what they said to his mother or how the three of them managed to get him upstairs to his bed, but once there he lost all desire to cling to the waking world. He fell into a stuporous swoon.


	44. Gesture Without Motion

_Note: T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men". Google it. Read it. Tell a friend._

**Chapter Forty-Four: Gesture Without Motion**

It was determined, when at last Father came home and was able to make a proper examination, that Remus had indeed cracked the healing callus on his fibula. The setting was swift but painful, though admittedly less so than the initial one had been. Once his leg was splinted and he was propped up in bed with his nightshirt on and his lower limbs hidden beneath the blankets, Sirius and James were at last allowed back into the room to see him.

They jostled for the place at the head of his bed, Sirius winning out by virtue of his longer limbs. Despite his discomfort and his bitter disappointment, Remus could not help but smile at their eagerness to be near him.

'Is it serious?' James asked. 'Are you going to St Mungo's? Because my father could meet us there and have you seen to in minutes.'

Remus shook his head. Under no circumstances could he allow Mr Potter near his medical records, or indeed within earshot of a Healer examining his disfigured limbs. 'Father's mended it. I'll wear a splint for a few days, and then I'll be all right.'

'But if you need a splint it can't be properly mended!' protested Sirius.

'It is,' Remus fibbed, a twinge of guilt taking hold of his stomach as he realized he was once again about to use his mother to cover up an inconvenient truth. 'It's my mother, really. Muggles take broken bones far more seriously than wizards do.'

'She ought to see sense,' said James. 'There's no reason for you to lie about in bed for days on end with a perfectly good leg.' His face fell into an expression of dismay. 'Does this mean you can't come with us?'

Remus swallowed the lump of frustration building up in his throat. He reminded himself fiercely that if he accepted James's offer of help at St Mungo's the Potters would not want him under their roof anyhow, and at least this way he could look forward to a few more weeks of friendship when he got back to school.

'I can't,' he said. 'Mother… she only wants what's best for me, and I don't like to worry her.'

'We could explain to her,' Sirius offered. 'If it's put right then there's no reason you can't come along.'

The wretched wish that they would just let it alone flooded Remus's soul. Every protestation seemed to make his lies look more and more feeble. How could he explain the dread of the hospital? The sickening mortification of being prodded and handled by imposing strangers who thought of him as nothing more than an animal? How could he explain the look in his father's eyes each time one of them spat the word _werewolf_, or _half-breed_ or _creature_? He could not, of course. It was as simple as that.

'My mind's made up,' he said softly, fixing his gaze on his lap. 'I'm sorry, but I shan't be going.'

It was dreadfully difficult to say the words, and harder still to hear the disappointment in James's voice as he tried to sound cheerful, saying, 'Well, next summer then. And we'll make it two weeks, and perhaps Peter can come and the four of us can get up a proper game of pick-up Quidditch.'

'Next summer,' Remus echoed hollowly. The vast expanse of the school year stretched before him. Ten months in the same dormitory as these two brilliant and determined young wizards. Ten months, ten transformations, and not even a shadow of an alibi to hide behind. He knew that he had to try to keep his cover; he had to think of something. But he was weary and he was hurting and he was so very, very tired of the endless lies.

'Sure,' Sirius said. His cheer, too, was strained. 'We can plan it properly, and all. It'll be brilliant.' He squeezed Remus's shoulder. 'We promise not to have a bit of fun without you.'

Remus looked up, eyes wide. 'You mustn't promise that!' he cried, anxiously. Sirius desperately needed to have as much fun as he possibly could. 'If I've spoiled your summer I shall never be able to bear it!'

James grinned and patted his uninjured knee. 'Don't fret,' he said. 'I'll see he has a good time.'

Mother brought up a supper tray so that the three boys could spend every last minute together. But then it was time for goodbyes, and Sirius and James gathered their baggage and their paper bags laden with seashells, and they went downstairs. Remus could hear them talking and laughing all the way. When the silence fell it was positively deafening.

_~discidium~_

After ten days Remus's leg was healed enough that he could hobble about without a conjured splint. He favoured his left side carefully, and he moved with much more caution than was his wont, but at least he was able to go downstairs and enjoy a change of scenery.

He had had a letter from James and Sirius every day until Saturday, and he had read them all avidly. The other boys did their best to cheer him up; downplaying their own delights and talking incessantly of their plans for the autumn term. Sirius had already dreamed up new ways to make mischief, and James speculated almost ceaselessly on who they would have for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Remus savoured every word; when reading the notes he could almost imagine himself at the Potter home with them, enjoying the fresh air and the wide open spaces and the beautiful gardens.

Mother was cleaning the fireplace when Remus came into the sitting room. She had on her oldest dress and a ratty apron with one torn tie, and her hair was covered with a bit of old towel. Yet she looked rather charming with a smudge of soot on her nose as she scrubbed at the hearth. She sat up on her heels at his approach, smiling tiredly.

'How are you feeling?' she asked.

'Better,' Remus told her. 'I mean to take it slowly and let it heal properly. It was foolish of me to risk hurting it before it had properly healed.' He sat down on the couch, lifting his leg carefully onto it.

Mother nodded ruefully. 'I suppose if we had taken you to the hospital they could have had it put right at once,' she murmured.

'I don't want to go to that place any more than you do,' said Remus softly. He hesitated. 'Why do you call it what you do?' he asked.

'What do you mean?' Mother said absently, bending forward to resume her work.

'You know.' Remus closed his eyes briefly, recalling the precise turn of phrase. '_The beach of the tumid river_.'

A hollow laugh touched Mother's lips, followed by a small enigmatic smile. 'It's where _we grope together and avoid speech_,' she said, as if that made any sense at all. A thought seemed to strike her, for she set the blackened brush in the tin pail by her knees and got to her feet. 'Remus…'

She wiped her hands on her apron and came to kneel beside the sofa. Her eyes were grave and there was a certain uneasiness to them.

'There's something I wanted to speak to you about,' she said carefully. 'Your father and I have been talking it over, and he doesn't want me to put it to you, but I feel you are wise enough to understand, and old enough to make your own choice in the matter.'

His heart palpitated uneasily. He could not think what she was about to say, but from her expression and his father's misgivings it was hardly likely to be pleasant. 'What is it?' he asked softly when she did not go on.

'Your father…' She closed her eyes and exhaled, reconsidering her words. 'It has come to our attention that last month there was a young boy, perhaps six or seven years old, who was bitten by a werewolf.'

'I didn't do it!' Remus yelped. 'You know I didn't: I was locked in the cellar the whole time and—'

'Remus!' Mother cried, clasping his wildly gesticulating hands in her own. 'Remus, of course you didn't do it. You _were_ in the cellar the whole night, and no one could ever believe you capable of such a thing.'

Remus felt he was going to be sick. When the wolf ruled the night he was capable of anything. The damage he inflicted upon himself each month bore testimony to that.

'The reason I'm telling you this,' Mother said with the determined air of one pressing on through hostile terrain; 'is because in a little less than two weeks' time this little boy will be experiencing his first transformation, and I – we – your father and I wondered if you might be willing to meet him and to talk to him about it.'

'T-talk to him about… about the wolf?' Remus's throat was dry and his pulse was racing. 'Why?'

'I think there are things you could say that would comfort him, and give him hope – and perhaps help his parents as well,' Mother said. 'After all, we managed together, and you're at Hogwarts now, and you've grown up into such a fine young man. I think it would be good for this boy's family to see that there's hope.'

Remus looked down at his leg still-healing leg. 'Hope?' he asked.

Mother nodded firmly. 'Remus, this coming full moon will be your one hundredth transformation, do you realize that? For this poor child it will be the very first one. Don't you think it would have helped you when you were first bitten, to have a kind and sensible boy tell you that it wasn't the end of your life?'

'I suppose,' Remus said hoarsely. 'B-but then they'll know about me, and—'

'And you'll know about them,' said Mother. 'Remus, if we never try to trust anyone then we become empty shells.' She smiled again, the vague, dreamy smile. '_Stuffed men – headpiece filled with straw_.'

'I…' Remus did not want to do it. He was not certain that he could bear to do it. But his mother was right. It would have helped, if only a little, if he could have grown up understanding that he was not alone; that there was hope of a future, of attending Hogwarts, of a blissful year of friendship and camaraderie. 'I'll do it,' he whispered. 'Of course I'll talk to him.'

Mother nodded. Her eyes were glinting with unshed tears. 'That's my brave, kind young man,' she said. 'I knew you would want to do what you could to help. I'll have your father send off the letter this evening.'

_~discidium~_

The answer came on Saturday, less than a week before the full moon. Remus was standing on a footstool in the middle of the living room while Mother crawled about on the floor, letting out the hem of his school robes in the hope that they would do for another year. They would have to purchase one set at least, for Remus only had two now with the third having been made over into dress robes. The thought of that extravagance made him feel rather ill now. Father had still not found work: all the promising interviews had come to nothing, and prospects in Cornwall and Devon were nearly exhausted. He was now ranging as far as Dorset, and it was looking increasingly likely that he would have to consider London after all, despite the hope that he might have found something nearer to home.

Remus did not understand why his sire was having such difficulty. He was an intelligent and educated man, and he had not been sacked by the Ministry; he had resigned. His declining performance in recent years and his abrupt departure had left him without a letter of character, but his employment history was neat and reliable: he had been with the Ministry of Magic for fourteen years. Still, it seemed, no one wished to hire him.

Mr Lupin was at home, for he had given up trying to look for work on Saturdays. Business owners often left things in the care of employees on the weekends, and those who did not were irritated when job-seekers pestered them during the busiest day of the week. Remus heard the owl in the kitchen, and he held his breath as his father came in, carrying a cream-coloured envelope as if he feared it would explode.

'Dorothy…' he said hoarsely. 'It's… would you read it?'

Father had been reluctant to send the invitation to the other family. He had argued that they were opening themselves up to shame and ridicule and possible discovery. Mother had countered with all the same points that she had made to Remus, and one other that frightened the boy and obviously sickened the man. 'And once they see that it can be managed, they won't be tempted to give up on their child!'

She opened the letter now with carefully capable hands, keeping her eyes fixed upon the page long after she had read it.

'Well?' Father asked, when the silence stretched past three excruciating minutes.

'They say they don't need to meet us,' Mother whispered. Her voice was very taut and her hand was trembling.

'What do you mean?' the wizard asked. Father's expression was very guarded and his eyes were fixed now on the baby shoes over the fire. 'They haven't had him put…'

'They write that… th-that their son isn't living with them anymore,' Mother said. 'That a well-intentioned stranger turned up at the door and offered to… to… take him off their hands… to raise him for them.'

Father swayed, gripping the mantelpiece so that his knuckles turned white. Revulsion and grief and something eerily like remorse warred for purchase on his face. He drew up his free hand to cover his mouth.

'There must be something we can do,' Mother said, but her voice was low and shattered and Remus knew she did not believe it.

'If there was anything that anyone could do, don't you think it would have been done already?' Father snapped. He released his hold on the mantel and bolted across the room and out the front door. Remus saw him stagger over to the ash tree, as if he were about to vomit. Then, without any consideration of the possibility of observing Muggles, he Disapparated.

Mother crawled over to the fireplace and reached for a match. She set the letter ablaze and tossed it against the back of the chimney, watching grimly as it burned.

'Well,' she said at last, shuffling on her knees to resume her place at Remus's feet. 'I suppose there's nothing more to say about it.'

And nothing more was said. Father came home that night silent and pale and smelling of cheap spirits. On Sunday he scarcely left his bedroom. On Monday he was at the breakfast table, pale but determinedly cheerful as he prepared for another day of hunting for work.

_~discidium~_

On Tuesday the job search had to be put on hold, for the Lupins went to Diagon Alley to obtain the necessities on Remus's school list. Remus knew his parents had hoped to delay the trip for as long as possible, for money was desperately tight and there was always the chance that Father would find work in the interim. But with the full moon on Thursday and the journey back to Hogwarts falling only a week later, there would be no other opportunity to go.

Father went in search of the potions ingredients, leaving Mother and Remus to scrounge in the second-hand bookshops for _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two _and something called _Rudiments of Magical Pest Control_ by Felicia Foxworthy. The first proved simple enough to find: the shop had them in abundance and Remus managed to unearth a not-too-badly-battered copy for twelve Sickles. The second book seemed nowhere to be found, and when Mother inquired about it with the shopkeeper he laughed at her. It was a new book, he said: only just released. They would have to try Flourish and Blotts.

Mother thanked him and led Remus out of the shop, but there was a furrow of care on her brow as she looked down towards the more prosperous quarter of the street. 'We'd best find your robes first, dear heart,' she said, trying to smile and not quite succeeding.

'I can manage with two sets,' Remus said softly, hurrying after her. 'If I hadn't been so foolish and insisted upon going to dine in London I'd still have three. It's my own—'

'Hush!' Mother said. 'I know exactly why you wanted to go up to London, and foolishness had nothing to do with it. That boy needed a chance to get away from the city, and you made sure he had it. That comes cheap at the price of a set of robes.'

Despite her bold words, the quest for something presentable, affordable, and near to the right size proved difficult. In the end they settled upon a set of grey robes that fit Remus well enough. They were cotton, not wool, but they were neat and well-constructed. Remus did not dare to point out that they were the wrong colour. He wondered if he might not transfigure them into black robes, but he had a sneaking suspicion that clothing was exempt from many of the usual rules of magic – or why did shabby robes exist at all?

His fears were allayed when Mother took him down to one of the higher end sartorial establishments and bought a phial of inky black dye. She meant to recolour them.

Father found them as they were coming back out into the street. He had an assortment of small packages tucked under his arm, and he was looking rather strained. When Mother explained about the book he closed his eyes and sighed.

They settled Remus on a bench with the various parcels and moved off several yards to sort through what remained of their allotted coins. Remus did not need to hear their words to know that there was not enough to buy a new book, whatever _Rudiments of Magical Pest Control_ cost. By the time they moved back toward him he was ready. He held out his Galleon even before they could ask for it. Mother smiled graciously as she took it. Father looked positively wretched with misery.

As it turned out, there were six Sickles and fifteen Knuts left over when the book was purchased and wrapped. Mother handed the change to Remus, shaking her head before he could protest.

'Take it,' she said firmly. 'It was your Christmas gift and as soon as we can we'll pay back the rest. I promise.'

Remus glanced questioningly at Father, who nodded resolutely – though he did not seem able to look his son in the eye.

That afternoon Remus watched with interest as Mother dragged out an old galvanized washtub and set about dying the grey robes. Once they were rinsed and washed and dried and pressed, she let him put them on, and he studied himself carefully in the mirror in his parents' room. The dye had taken deeply and evenly, and the cotton hung in soft folds from his belt. He smiled.

'They look new!' he said.

Mother nodded, looking quite pleased as she studied the fruits of her labour. She folded her hands to hide the purplish stains on her fingers.

_~discidium~_

All through Thursday, as he endured the aches and the fever and the loathsome cravings, Remus thought about the other werewolf – the one whose parents had let him go off with a _'well-intentioned stranger_'. He wondered where the little boy was now, and whether there was anyone to rub his sore back and bring him slices of cold tongue and recite poetry to help keep his mind off of what was to come. Then he realized that likely the other boy had no idea of what was to come; that he was out there somewhere suffering through the malaise with no way of knowing how much worse it would be tomorrow. Remus wondered if the child missed his mother.

'Why would parents let their son go away with a stranger?' Remus asked as the shadows began to lengthen and Mother got up to stir the pot of stew. She had been obliged to use frozen mutton this time; as clear a sign as any that the money was coming to an end.

She was silent for a minute, and at first Remus wondered whether she had heard him – or indeed understood what he meant.

'Sometimes people are afraid,' she said at last. 'They're afraid of what they do not understand, and it seems easier just to pass the problem along. It's easy to believe what you want to believe, and to hope that…' Her voice faltered. 'That it will all work out for the best.'

'I don't understand,' Remus protested, very softly. 'Who would take him? Who would want a werewolf?'

Mother spun around so swiftly that the heel of her pump squealed against the floor. '_I_ want a werewolf,' she said fiercely, throwing aside the wooden spoon and rushing to kneel before him. 'I wouldn't barter away twenty-eight days a month of the sweetest, dearest, most compassionate boy in England just to be rid of one night of noise below the floorboards. Remus, never once did I consider letting you go. Your father and I love you, and we will always be here for you.'

'Not always,' whispered Remus. 'B-but perhaps by then I'll be able to do for myself? That's what Madam Pomfrey says.'

Mother smiled and nodded. 'She's a wise lady, Madam Pomfrey. I think we're very fortunate to have found her.' She stood up and enfolded him in a gentle hug that did not too badly aggravate the muscles in his back. 'Now then. What about a nice cool bath? We still have a little more than an hour.'

_~discidium~_

Remus remembered very little about the aftermath of that transformation. It seemed to him that he slept a great deal, and from time to time someone would trickle a dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion down his throat. He hoped it was still the bottle he had brought home from school, for he knew his parents had no money for apothecaries. By Monday he was moving about the house again. That evening, when they had finished their simple supper of freshly baked brown bread and the last of the stew, Mother went to the icebox and brought out a platter on which was set a small chocolate cake.

'What's this?' Father asked, smiling wearily. The search for work was beginning to wear on him, and he was no longer so light-hearted when he came home in the evenings.

'We're celebrating,' Mother said, setting the cake before her husband and moving to fetch dessert plates and forks. 'Remus has made it through his one hundredth transformation.'

Remus hung his head. That was nothing to celebrate. It was shameful and it was terrible and it filled him with a disjointed horror.

'His one hundredth…' Father murmured. From his tone it was obvious that the thought had not occurred to him before. 'You've been _counting_?'

Mother nodded. 'One hundred full moons, and our son is still healthy. We've come through more than eight years now, and we're still together and we're happy and we're safe. I think that's worth celebrating, Ross. Don't you?'

There was a protracted pause. Then Father reached across the table to curl his hand over Remus's. The boy looked up, surprised to see that despite the lines of care on the man's face, he was smiling – a little sadly, perhaps, but earnestly. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I do.'

The first bite of cake tasted like ash in Remus's mouth, but then the rich texture and the sweetness penetrated through the haze of bewilderment and he was able to give himself over to relishing the wonderful treat. More precious still was the knowledge that his parents loved him and wanted him and did not care – or at least could bring themselves to accept – that he was a monster. It was so much more than he had any right to expect, and so much more than the other little boy had been given. He was grateful.


	45. Settling In

_Note: Sorry, everyone! I'm truly sorry for the lack of updates these last few days. There was a minor family crisis this week. But fear not! No one is in mortal danger, and given another week or two the emotional equilibrium will be restored. And best of all, I've got time for the story again! I only hope it was worth the wait…_

_Also, for those of my dear reviewers to whom I had not replied prior to the conflagration, replies are forthcoming. I just thought that given the delay you might like me to post first! Please forgive me if I'm wrong._

**Chapter Forty-Five: Settling In**

There was no money for petrol to London – no money even for coach fare from the Leaky Cauldron – and so Mother did not come to see Remus off to school. As it was Father had to Apparate three times in a span of minutes, and when he reappeared in the disused lavatory at King's Cross with the school trunk in tow he was grey-hued and trembling. The station was crowded and there were no trollies to be had, so he and Remus carried the heavy baggage between them.

There was the usual assortment of people in the vicinity of Platform Ten: witches and wizards in varying states of attempted Muggle dress, those who did not seem to care whether they blended in or no, and an assortment of parents who were either Muggles themselves or very accomplished at the art of disguise. Some were saying farewell to their children, while others appeared to be waiting for family members who had passed through the barrier.

Remus and his father went through together, settling the trunk in the last compartment of the train. The others had not arrived yet: it was only five minutes after ten. Father hesitated, and then slid the door to the compartment closed and sat on the bench across from his son.

'Remus, I don't want you to spend your time worrying about how your mother and I are faring,' he said. 'I promise we'll get along somehow. Something will crop up sooner or later, and I don't want to have you fretting about us. I want you to focus on your studies and to enjoy being back at Hogwarts with your friends. Can you do that for me?'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said. 'But Father, my school things—'

'None of that,' the man said firmly. 'Your school things are a necessity, every bit as important as anything else. I won't have you scolding yourself over two books and a handful of potions ingredients.'

'I could've done without those, anyhow,' Remus demurred. 'I'm rubbish at Potions.'

Father almost laughed. 'All the more reason you need the proper things to start with,' he said. 'Now please. Please promise me you'll just enjoy the new term without worrying yourself about us.'

'I promise,' Remus said, though the cavern in his chest opened again at the words. He knew he only had a little longer to enjoy the wonders of Hogwarts before he had to cope with the reality of discovery.

'There's something else,' Father added, glancing at the door and then out of the window. 'I wanted to talk to you about Sirius Black…'

'He doesn't know,' Remus said hastily. He had wondered when this question would arise. He had very nearly brought it up himself on more than one occasion since the others had come to stay. 'It was a misunderstanding…'

'I realized that when I saw how well the two of you got on,' said Father. 'He seems like a decent sort of lad.'

'He is,' Remus agreed, nodding emphatically. 'They both are. And Peter. I've… they've been such very good friends to me.'

He knew that some of his wistful yearning could be heard in his words, for his father's eyes were suddenly suffused with sadness.

'Remus,' he whispered; 'you mustn't tell them. You can't allow yourself to think that they might… that they would understand. They're nice enough boys, but they're wizard-bred and there are some things that are – are simply too dangerous to share with them.'

'Don't you think I know that?' mumbled Remus, fixing his eyes on his hands as they writhed wretchedly in his lap. If he stared hard enough, he thought, his eyes would be too busy for tears.

Strong fingers, still unsteady from the strain of Apparition, gripped his right shoulder. 'Of course you do,' Father said. His voice was wracked with some intangible torment. 'I just… I know it must be tempting at times when they're so considerate of you. I know they carried you back to the house between them on the day you cracked your leg, and when I got home they very nearly yanked my arms off hurrying me up the stairs to tend you. But you have to understand that they thought—'

'That I was a human boy who had just had a pointless accident,' Remus said desolately; 'not a werewolf who had re-broken a leg it injured in a frenzied fit.'

Father exhaled tortuously. 'Remus, you mustn't speak that way,' he murmured.

'It's the truth, though, isn't it?' asked the boy, daring to look up in the vain hope that his father would tell him it was not. Mother would have found a way to make it seem untrue.

The wizard merely sighed and drew his right hand across his brow. 'Remus, you must know how I fear for you. I love you and I do not want to see you hurt. I am only trying to help you to protect yourself.'

'I know,' Remus said, not trusting his voice any further. He told himself that he did not need friends; that it was enough to be allowed to go to school – but he did not believe that anymore. Now that he had tasted the sweetness of belonging it would be unbearable to return to ostracised anonymity. Even worse if he could not have even the facelessness he had had before.

'If anything happens,' Father was saying; 'if anything goes wrong I want you to send for me. I will come at once. I will do whatever I must. And Dumbledore. Remember that you can trust Dumbledore, and Madam Pomfrey. They will help you.'

'And Professor McGonagall,' Remus added softly. 'She understands, or she tries to. I can trust her.'

'There, you see?' said Father, though he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself rather than the boy. 'You're not alone. There are people to turn to.'

Remus nodded and tried to smile. 'You mustn't worry about me, either,' he said. 'I'll be all right.'

'I know you will,' Father said. 'You're mother's quite correct. You've survived so much, and you're still the same dear boy you always were. You're very brave, Remus. We are both so proud of you.'

'You ought to go,' Remus said, glancing out the window at the platform now filled with people. 'The others will be here soon.'

He dug into his pocket and brought out two ten-pence coins that his mother had pressed into his hand as he kissed her goodbye. He held them out to his father. 'You mustn't Apparate back straight away,' he said. 'You're to sit for half an hour and rest, and have a good hot cup of tea with plenty of sugar. You're not to try the journey back until you're properly ready.'

Father looked at the coins and shook his head. 'I'll have some tea when I get home,' he said. 'We can't afford that kind of extravagance.'

'Mother told me you would say that,' Remus said firmly. 'She said I should remind you that we can't afford to have you Splinch yourself.'

The man laughed softly. 'So you and your mother are conspiring to look after me now, are you?' he asked, his tone wry and almost bitter. But he took the coins and nodded. 'I promise I shan't Apparate before I'm ready,' he said. He hesitated for a moment before getting to his feet. 'I suppose this is goodbye, then, Remus?'

Remus bobbed his head sombrely. He stood up to embrace his father. 'Good luck,' he whispered. 'I promise not to fret, but I shall be thinking of you. Please write when you find work.'

'I will,' said Father. He pressed his lips to the crown of Remus's head. 'And the very best of luck to you, too. Please, please be careful.'

'Yes, Father,' Remus whispered. Then he let his arms fall to his sides and watched as the man slipped from the compartment. Remus closed his eyes tightly, battling with his despair. He had to put on a cheerful face before his friends arrived. He was determined to cherish these last days or weeks of acceptance and inclusion, for he knew that he might well need to live off of them for the next six years – perhaps the whole rest of his life.

Resolved to enjoy the happy reunion and what would almost certainly be his last journey back to Hogwarts in the very back compartment, he looked out the window in the hope that he could spy his friends as they came onto the platform. He saw Lily and Sev hurrying through the crowd together. Lily's eyes were shining with excitement and Severus was tugging at the collar of his ratty Muggle shirt as if it choked him. A Slytherin whom Remus recognized as Rodolphus Lestrange thrust out his foot into the younger boy's path, and Snape stumbled. Lily rounded back to him, her face etched in concern, but he shrugged her off and doubled the pace of his retreat to the train.

The Smythe sisters came through the barrier, and Remus was surprised to see that despite Thalia's school-leaving at the end of the last term there were still four of them. The two elder ones wore Prefects' badges on the breast of their frocks, and each held the hand of a small girl created in their image, with curling auburn pigtails and a look of awe upon her sweet little face. Rowena, in Remus's year, followed two paces behind, looking less than enthusiastic to be heading back.

Then at last Remus saw one of the faces he had been seeking. Sirius looked neither happy nor excited nor even relieved at the prospect of returning to school. He was pushing a heavily laden trolley that appeared to have a gammy front wheel, and he was struggling to manoeuvre it through the crowd. Orion Black was walking next to him, dressed in a silk Savile Row suit and a black bowler hat. He made no move to assist his son, though he had both eyes fixed coldly upon him and therefore could scarcely be unaware of the difficulty the boy was having.

Sirius's face was a mask of stoic resentment, though every now and then his mouth twitched in what was either fury or pain. The healthy glow of summer was gone from his cheeks, replaced with the wan look of one who never much left the house. He was wearing what appeared to be a new suit of Muggle clothes: crisp wool trousers, a white shirt with a winged collar, and a knitted argyle waistcoat executed in grey and green. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable and no small bit ashamed as he passed a group of Slytherin girls who sniggered into their hands.

Sirius and his father vanished from view as they drew near the train. Only then did Remus noticed that they were being closely followed by another father-child pair. The man bore a frightening resemblance to Walburga Black, and he was pushing a trolley of baggage. Beside him, looking elegantly pristine in her school robes with a Prefect's badge gleaming on her chest, was Narcissa Black. They stopped just beyond Remus's window, and the man reached to stroke her hair. He said something that was accompanied by a fond, fawning smile, and brushing his fingertip against the badge. She rose up on her toes, face upturned so that he could kiss her cheek. Remus realized that he must be Cygnus Black, father to Bellatrix, Drommie and Cissy.

He had no further time to reflect, for the compartment door flew open and Sirius stumbled inside, thrust forward by his father. He fell against the seat but righted himself quickly and turned to grab the cage as it was pushed at him.

'Do try to keep yourself out of trouble this term,' Orion said coldly. 'And if we learn that you've been using that bird to send letters to the wrong sort of people I promise your mother will have a thing or two to say about it!' Then he slammed the compartment door and was gone.

Sirius looked wildly around the compartment, relaxing visibly when he realized Remus was alone. He stowed the cage in the luggage rack, looking apologetically at the disgruntled owl.

'I'd let you out if I could,' he said; 'but that's not allowed on the train. You heard dear old Dad.'

Hermes made a vexed trilling noise.

'No,' Sirius sighed. 'I haven't anything to feed you, either.'

'I have,' Remus said. He pulled out a paper bag from his satchel and unrolled the top carefully. Inside there were two sandwiches individually wrapped in waxed paper. He undid the corner of one and picked off a long strip of the crust, offering it up to his friend.

Sirius smiled. 'Thanks,' he said, breaking the bread into small bits and offering them one by one to the disgruntled owl with his right hand while he rubbed the bird's eye ridges with his left. Mollified, Hermes offered a sound almost like the purr of a contented kitten.

'Say…' Sirius ventured, eyeing the bag as he sat down. 'Does that mean you've no money for sweets?'

Remus swallowed the instinct for embarrassment and nodded. His mother had bought a bit of crab especially for him, and she had put in a glass bottle full of ice wrapped in a flannel so that the sandwiches would stay cool without turning soggy. He had an apple and a bundle of cold roasted parsnips as well. Mother had taken great care in its making, and it was not a meal to be ashamed of.

'I'll give you a Galleon for the rest of that sandwich,' Sirius said, rooting in his pocket. 'I'm starved: missed breakfast.'

'I don't need money,' Remus said, handing over the parcel immediately. He tried not to watch as Sirius tore it open and bolted down the sandwich as if he had not seen food in a week.

'Don' be daf',' he said, his mouth burgeoning. He shoved the gold coin into Remus's lap. 'Muft huft yechoftglit.'

'Beg pardon?' said Remus blankly.

Sirius swallowed, sighing pleasurably. 'Your mum, mate. She's a marvel.' He straightened and grinned. 'I said _must have your chocolate_. It's a part of the complete Hogwarts Express experience.'

'That sandwich wasn't worth a whole Galleon,' Remus said, passing the coin back.

'Was to me,' Sirius argued.

'I can't take it: that's a swindle,' Remus said. 'You can buy me something from the trolley if you like, but I shan't take your money.'

Sirius gave him a long look and shrugged. 'Have it your way,' he said, pocketing the Galleon. 'Just don't you dare protest when I treat you.'

'Fair enough,' Remus said. 'Thank you.'

He wanted to ask why Sirius had been escorted to the train in such an ignominious manner, but he refrained. 'How was the rest of your summer?' he asked instead.

Sirius wrinkled his nose in disdain, and then laughed raucously. 'Oh, _wait_ 'til I tell you!' he said. 'Just you wait! It's too perfect; really it is!'

The compartment door slid partway open and Peter squeezed around it. He saw Sirius's expression and grinned. 'Hallo, everybody!' he said merrily. 'Did you have a nice holiday? Did you get to go down to visit Remus after all? Did his mum make the pie without any crust?'

'Sit down before you spook the owl!' Sirius said with a good-natured grin. 'How was August in Basingstoke with the cousins?'

'Birmingham,' Peter corrected. 'It was ever so much fun. Uncle Edmund took us to a show at the Hippodrome, and we spent days and days running about the neighbourhood. Muggle children seem nicer in Birmingham.'

'Did you get my letters?' Remus asked.

'Yes I did; thanks ever so!' Peter's face fell. 'I didn't write you back, did I? I meant to…'

'You promised to, from what I recall,' Sirius said dryly. 'Too late for it now, anyhow. You ought to have given Bournemouth a pass and come down to Cornwall.'

'Birmingham,' said Peter, but Sirius was still talking.

'It was brilliant. We swam in the ocean,' he said; 'and I've got about two hundred shells in my trunk, and I met a ghost who was a soldier in one of the big Muggle wars, and Remus's mum made the most _wonderful_ chicken, and I helped her cook some parsnips, and we went to see the Quidditch – United won, naturally! – and it was all perfectly lovely until Remus fell and hurt his…' He paused, frowning worriedly. 'How _is _your leg?'

'Quite as good as new,' Remus promised. 'Mother just insisted I rest it, as I said.'

'You hurt your leg?' asked Peter, reaching across the compartment to pat Remus's arm consolingly. 'I'm sorry.'

'You missed a bloody _brilliant_ – I mean, uh, it was a shame you couldn't come to stay with the Potters,' said Sirius, reigning himself in. 'We missed you.'

'It's kind of you to say so,' Remus told him. 'Did you have fun?'

'Loads!' Sirius said brightly. Then he frowned. 'I'm never going to forgive Adrian Fitzhenri for getting married so early in the month; put a right damper on the rest of the summer.' He got to his feet and stretched enormously before flopping back onto the seat with such force that Peter very nearly bounced off. 'Wonder where Potter is,' he said, craning his neck at the window. 'It's nearly a quarter to.'

'I can't believe we're in second year, can you?' Peter asked. 'Mum said I've grown a whole inch in the last year; all my measurements needed to be taken over when I was fitted for my robes.'

Sirius nodded sombrely. 'Being as we were in first year last year and we'll be in third next year, I'm shocked,' he said. Then he eyed Peter critically. 'I'd say it's nearer an inch and a half, though.'

It was an earnest observation and not a compliment, but all the same Peter's chest puffed out a little and he grinned proudly. Sirius, apparently unaware of the effect his words had had on the smaller boy, stretched his legs out across the compartment floor and tucked his hands up behind his head. 'Just as soon as James gets here I'll—'

The compartment door opened and a rangy little boy with sandy hair peeked in. 'Hi!' he said. 'How many seats left in here?'

'None,' Sirius said, sitting up straight and glaring at him. 'This is our compartment: shove off.'

'But there's only three of you,' protested the boy. 'I just want to—'

'I said _shove off_,' Sirius growled, grey eyes narrowing menacingly. The first year swallowed convulsively and fled. Sirius grinned and sat back, wafting his hand at the door. 'Be a good sport and close that, would you, Peter?'

As Peter got up to obey Remus shifted uncomfortably against the wall. 'You shouldn't pick on the firsties,' he said quietly.

'Who's picking? I'm just guaranteeing us our privacy.' Sirius's expression was guileless, as if he had no perception of his behaviour as inappropriate. 'I've got things I want to tell you lot, and it'd ruin the fun to have some wide-eyed gormless little kid listening in. I'm doing you a favour, really, but if you want to sit with the first years you're welcome to go and do it.'

Remus closed his hands in his lap, staring down at them. Next year, he knew, he would be lucky if even the first years tolerated his presence in their compartments.

James Potter's arrival allayed the awkward silence before it could take. He strolled contentedly into the compartment, a gilt cage swinging from his right index finger.

'Meet Ronan!' he said cheerfully, indicating the bird inside. It was a slender, speckled owl with shockingly golden eyes. 'Reckon he and Hermes will make quite the pair.'

Hermes did not look nearly so certain as the cage was deposited next to his. He withdrew against the bars, looking disdainfully at the smaller bird. James dug out some treats and offered one to Ronan, who took it happily.

'And speaking of owls,' said James, flinging himself on the seat next to Remus and squinting suspiciously at his best friend. 'Why the devil haven't you been writing me back?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Owl lockdown. Things have been rather strained among the proprietary members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black lately.' The train jerked into motion and James stood up to wave to his parents, who were watching on the platform. When he settled down again he was faced with a gleeful Sirius.

'Remember the hat shop?' he said slyly.

James groaned. 'I thought I made it perfectly clear that I don't give a toss about the stupid hat shop!'

'What hat shop?' asked Peter.

'_It isn't a hat shop_!' Sirius crooned. There was a look of fiendish delight on his face. 'Go on: guess what it is?'

'A sweet shop? A haberdashers? A highly specialized emporium that turns out very small armchairs?' James asked.

'It was a con!' cried Sirius. 'She finagled half her dowry off of Uncle Cygnus, and she got five thousand from my mother, and she ran away with it!'

James rolled his eyes. 'Dare I ask where?' he said.

'Oh, where's not important,' Sirius said dismissively. 'What's important is with who.'

'With whom,' Remus corrected reflexively.

'The Hufflepuff Beater!' Sirius was fairly bouncing on the seat. 'She ran off with the Muggle-born Hufflepuff Beater! Drommie got _married_! She's Mrs Ted Tonks now.'

This pronouncement did not have the dramatic impact Sirius was obviously hoping for. James looked exceedingly unimpressed. Peter was puzzled. Remus frowned.

'But your family must have been furious,' he said.

'Yup!' Sirius said brightly, though a shadow passed over his face and his smile faltered for a moment. 'But there's nothing they can do about it now. It's all over; they're married and settled and beyond the reach of my mother and Drommie's father and Grandmother's cane! Not a thing they can do, any of them, and it's _killing_ the lot of 'em!'

'They could take legal action and try to get the money back,' James pointed out. 'If she told them it was for a hat shop and used it to elope instead that's taking money under false pretences.'

'That's the best bit!' Sirius was laughing manically now, tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. 'She thought of that, too! She got a deed of gift off of my parents for the five thousand – tax reasons, you see. And she had Uncle Cygnus sign the rest over to her in a contract absolving him of liability for any properties and premises purchased with said Galleons, and turning over all discretionary control to her – along with the interest from any investments. He feels a right prat now, let me tell you! He and Aunt Druella haven't been on speaking terms since!'

'And he fell for it?' James asked incredulously. 'No wonder your aunt's angry. How thick can you get?'

Sirius shrugged lazily. 'Uncle Cygnus was always one for dodging responsibility where he could. That pretty much had to be Andromeda's reasoning, and there's no denying it worked.' He frowned. 'Only trouble was I couldn't go to the wedding. They recalled Uncle Alphard from Singapore to be there, but I didn't merit an invitation.'

'She probably didn't want to implicate you,' Remus said. It made him glad to know that at least one member of Sirius's family cared enough to shield him from his mother's rage.

'No, she _probably_ didn't want my mother descending upon the registry office in a hail of hellfire and brimstone,' Sirius said. 'I'm underage. They'd have had the Trace pinning me down before I got to the nearest Underground station. Wouldn't be the first time.'

'All the same,' Remus said; 'aren't you glad she had no cause to think you had anything to do with it?'

The laugh was hollow and the grey eyes suddenly haunted. 'Oh, I wouldn't say she thought I had nothing to do with it,' hedged Sirius. 'From what I gathered at the drumhead trial in the drawing room, I ought to have kept a closer eye on her at school.'

James sniggered, and Sirius nodded at him, looking marginally more cheerful.

'Yeah, I thought you'd appreciate the irony of that one,' he said. 'Anyhow, let's just say I'd still be on owl lockdown if school weren't starting up again. Good old Hogwarts, eh?'

'Dunno,' James said. 'Without Drommie watch, however shall we fill the time?'

Sirius smirked. 'I'm sure we'll think of something,' he said.

'We shall have to,' James agreed. 'Three people stopped me in the corridor to congratulate us for driving Alfstin off. We're famous!'

'Excellent.' Sirius rubbed his hands villainously, the gleam of mischief driving the eerie emptiness from his eyes. 'Because I've got an idea of how liven up breakfast on the first day of lessons.'

James waggled his eyebrows. 'Do tell!' he said.

'I'm sorry, but I'm still confused,' Peter interjected. 'What's all this about a hat shop?'

_~discidium~_

Less than half an hour into the journey Remus had all but forgotten his fears. It was impossible to dwell on the impending catastrophe when he had Sirius and James to entertain him. The banter between them was flawlessly natural and consistently amusing. As they expounded upon Sirius's idea, solidifying it into a careful plan, their merriment was contagious. Remus looked at Peter, watching the other two with adoring eyes, and he knew that his own face mirrored the rapturous expression. There was something almost unearthly about the ability the pair of friends had to take up residence in the moment, living only for the next quip and their plans for the evening. By the time the witch with the trolley full of sweets arrived, all four boys were clutching sides that ached with laughter.

Sirius, James and Peter all bought copious amounts of sweets, and they were shared around in such a way that there was no question of Remus feeling left out or ashamed of his financial position. He ate his sandwich as well, though when Sirius discovered he had some of Mother's roasted parsnips these had to be passed about the compartment, too. Peter agreed that they were very tasty, and earned a bout of raucous laughter when he remarked that they would likely taste better warm.

The smell of the food and the noise of the diners agitated the two owls, and so the cages were brought down and the birds fussed over for a while. They could not be let out, of course, but they seemed satisfied to be the centre of attention for a while. After that the compartment grew rather quiet. Satiated and drowsy after the boisterous early hours, the four friends settled in various positions of repose, drifting on the edge of an afternoon nap.

Remus did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he heard the screeching of the brakes as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. There was a flurry of activity as cages and satchels were gathered up and shuffled among eight hands until they found their owners. They moved in a tightly knit knot to the waiting carriages, and bundled inside the nearest one with much good-natured teasing and banging of elbows. A year ago Remus would have been terrified by such close contact with other boys. Now he could not imagine anything else in the world more simple and wondrous.

The walk up from the gates to the castle was uneventful. In the Entrance Hall the boys laid aside their burdens to be taken up to the dormitory while they dined. They followed the meandering crowd into the Great Hall and took their customary places at the Gryffindor Table. For a few minutes the hall was filled with happy chaos; friends reuniting after two months' absence, fifth years exclaiming over their classmates newly confirmed as Prefects, and rivals greeting one another coldly.

Into the last category fell James Potter and Aeolus Andrews. The twins arrived shortly after Remus and his friends, and Aeolus sidled up and offered James his hand.

'I say, Potter,' he remarked briskly. 'Ever so good to see you again. I hope we can put the past behind us and move on, wot? No hard feelings?'

James regarded him with narrow eyes. 'No hard feelings?' he said, his voice low and dangerous. 'I'm sorry, Andrews, but I don't think you quite understand what passed between us.'

'Come, now!' said Aeolus. 'That was months ago, and even you've got to admit that the outcome was a positive one. We've got rid of Alfstin, and I here Dumbledore's done a little better this year. In a way, don't you think we've got me to thank for it?'

'I'll tell you what _I_ think,' Sirius said languorously, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table. '_I_ think you're a pompous git who likes to take credit for other peoples' work when it suits him, but lacks the spine to own up when it doesn't.' He grinned toothily. 'Not the very best sort of chap, if you ask me, _wot_?'

There was a ripple of laughter around them, and a third-year seated several places up chortled and called out, 'You tell 'im, Black!'

Aeolus grew rather pink, and he jerked forward as if he wanted to leap across the table and do Sirius an injury, but his sister laid her fingertips on his elbow and shook her head. Chagrined, he slinked away to find a place a little further down the table.

A hush fell over the Great Hall as the doors were thrown open and Professor McGonagall strode in, leading the bevy of first years. Remembering his own Sorting, Remus glanced up toward the staff table. The Hat stood waiting on its stool, and behind it the teachers sat, all watching with eager interest save for Professor Binns, who had already managed to doze off.

Professor McGonagall was far easier to hear than Binns had been last year: her voice carried to the very back of the hall as she introduced the Hat. It launched into its song – different from the one it had presented the previous September, but still along the same lines. Then the first child was called and the Sorting began.

It was fascinating to watch, now that Remus was spared the anxiety of imagining the Hat decrying him to the entire school. Some of the first years crept forward timidly. Others strode onto the platform as if they owned it. Some were obviously delighted by their placement. Others seemed puzzled or surprised. Only one or two looked rather shocked and disappointed: a little golden-haired girl who was placed in Slytherin, and a rather portly boy who wound up in Hufflepuff. The mousy boy Sirius had driven out of their compartment was also placed in Hufflepuff; he seemed quite pleased. And, of course, the young Smythe girl - Ilythia - was placed in Ravenclaw with her sisters.

When the firsties were seated and the Hat and stool cleared away, McGonagall took her seat and Dumbledore stood up to address the school. After an effusive welcome and the usual reminders regarding the forbidden nature of the Forest ('You know, we really ought to see what's out there sometime,' whispered Sirius.) he turned to the one unfamiliar face at the staff table.

'And it is my delight to welcome Professor Meyrigg,' the Headmaster said; 'your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.'

A well-muscled witch dressed in neat tweed robes stood briefly and bowed to the subdued applause of the students. Her hair was dressed in two plaits wound in a coronet about her skull, and there was something about the arc of her jaw and her sturdy stance that gave off the unmistakable impression that she was rather sporty. She sat down again and Dumbledore proceeded to wrap up his speech. Remus did not hear much of it, for Sirius and James were scrutinizing the new teacher and remarking upon her.

'She's Welsh,' James said, wrinkling his nose.

'Maybe she's just married to a Welshman,' said Sirius.

James snorted. 'Just as bad. And who wears tweed robes? She looks like one of those no-nonsense types. Probably have us up at the crack of dawn for cold showers and salty porridge.'

Sirius sniggered. 'Is the great James Potter _afraid_ of the new teacher?' he teased.

'Certainly not!' James said indignantly. 'I just happen to like knowing what I'm dealing with, and you never can tell with a Welshie. I live by the border, remember? I'm telling you that Welsh witches are bad news.'

'Surely she couldn't be as bad as Professor Alfstin,' Peter said, glancing nervously at the staff table. 'Could she?'

'Well, my mother's never had her 'round to tea,' Sirius said. 'As far as I can see that makes her an improvement already.'

'I think we ought to wait and see,' Remus offered softly. 'After all, she's new to the job and she's likely quite nervous and in her place I don't think I'd like being judged on my name and the way I dressed.'

James laughed. 'You're a sweet kid, Lupin, but that's carrying sympathy a little too far. What's a teacher got to be nervous about? We're the ones who are stuck with her all year.'

'Of course,' Sirius said with a wicked grin; 'she's also stuck with _us_ all year, and between you and me I put the odds in our favour.'

The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the feast. Everyone tucked in contentedly, and Sirius heaped his plate so high that Remus began to feel rather ill. He fixed his eyes across the table on James and Peter as his seatmate fell upon the meal with voracious abandon despite the copious quantities of sweets he had consumed on the train.

When the meal was finished the Prefects came around to give the password to the Tower. Dorcas Meadowes stopped by the four friends, peering down at them through her horn-rimmed glasses. 'Well, well, well,' she said.

'Dorcas Meadowes!' Sirius said sunnily, cutting to the end of their customary greeting. 'Ready for another thrilling year at Hogwarts?'

'I'm here with a warning, Black,' she said. 'I've got my eye on you. If you and your antics cost Gryffindor the House Cup again this year, I'll be most displeased.'

'In all fairness,' James said; 'it wasn't his fault. If Hufflepuff hadn't mopped the Quidditch pitch with our Chasers we might've stood a real chance.'

'All the same,' said Dorcas; 'I've got my eye on you. _Both _of you.'

''S not fair,' Sirius said dryly as the Prefect moved off. 'Why do we always get picked on? Why didn't she warn off Remus and Peter?'

'Because Remus and Peter aren't troublemakers,' James said. His smile was truly devious and rather frightening as he added; 'Yet.'

Remus was not certain he felt comfortable with this pronouncement. After all, his mother was right: he could not make trouble for Professor Dumbledore after everything the Headmaster had done for him. On the other hand, James and Sirius placed such a premium on mischief, and he knew he would do almost anything to keep their respect for as long as he could.

It was a glorious moment when the four of them entered their dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower. Their trunks and sundries were at the foot of each bed, and the empty owl cages were hanging from the wrought-iron tree in the corner. The four-poster beds with their luxuriant hangings stood immaculate and inviting after the long and tiring day. Remus hurried to unearth his nightshirt while Peter went after his pyjamas and Sirius and James – obviously not intending to sleep any time soon – sat down on James's bed, bouncing and chattering merrily.

'I can't quite believe we never thought of it before!' Sirius said. 'I mean, it wouldn't be called the Forbidden Forest if there weren't something absolutely _brilliant_ hiding inside that Dumbledore doesn't want students knowing about.'

'Well, obviously,' said James. 'We'll add it to the list, all right?'

'I think we should go tonight,' argued the taller boy. 'It's a beautiful evening. We could sneak out under the cloak and — what?'

James was laughing, shaking his head. 'D'you honestly have the energy to go wandering around the grounds on the sly tonight? Wouldn't you rather just have a quiet evening in? Besides, we ought to plan that particular expedition with care. It would never do to get caught!'

'The Forest is dangerous,' Peter piped up. 'There's monsters in there.'

'Really?' Sirius asked avidly. 'What sort of monsters? What've you heard?'

'Well… there's unicorns, aren't there?'

Sirius roared with laughter. 'That's your idea of a monster? I suppose you'll be telling me about the flesh-eating chickens next?'

'No!' James chortled. 'No, Peter's right. Let's not forget the large rabid rabbits, and the _evil_ lord of the weasels.'

'Stoats,' Peter said, grinning tremulously as he tried to enter into the banter and thus to redeem himself. 'It's the lord of the stoats.'

'Precisely,' Sirius said, and Peter's smile grew steadier and more earnest. 'And the spooky old raven who calls out the time… _ten_ o'clock,' he croaked in an admirable imitation of the bird's creaky call.

'And _deep _in the Forest where the wild things sleep,' James said in a deep, haunted voice; 'you'll find the…' He stopped abruptly, turning to look at Remus. He grinned enormously. 'Glad to see you're getting used to us,' he said. 'You ought to know by now we won't poke fun.'

It was then that Remus realized with sickening dread that he had been about to haul his robes over his head. Having grown accustomed over the last weeks to once more changing with his feet firmly planted on the floor, and being so entranced by the conversation the others were having, he had very nearly forgot himself.

'N-no, I…' He stammered fruitlessly, unable to form words. 'I…'

He scrambled onto the bed, drawing his curtains as swiftly as he could. He flung himself down upon the mattress, curling into a ball as he trembled with horror and anxiety. He was becoming careless. He had let himself grow used to the others, and now he was becoming careless. His father's entreaty echoed in his ears beneath the roar of his hammering heart. _Please, please be careful. Please, please be careful._ He had not even made it through an entire day without giving himself over to folly and forgetfulness. He could not afford to think of himself as one of the group. He was something other than a human child, something other than an ordinary boy, and if he wanted to have these last precious weeks to treasure he had to be cautious. He had to be wary. He could not let himself forget, even for a minute, that he was different.

Beyond the hangings the conversation had resumed. Peter was now speculating that perhaps there were demonic hedgehogs in the Forest, and by the time Sirius was through elucidating upon the idea the aforementioned hedgehogs were six feet tall with teeth as long as dinner knives. They also, apparently, spewed fire from their nostrils and had spines filled with a deadly venom. On and on they went, but even after Remus was at last in his nightshirt he did not dare to go out to join them. He folded his robes and put them at the foot of his bed, and then crawled beneath the covers and huddled against the headboard, curled into a tight ball as he tried to shut out his father's strained and anxious voice. _Please, please be careful. Please, please be careful. Please, please be careful…_


	46. Of Dreams and Dark Creatures

**Chapter Forty-Six: Of Dreams and Dark Creatures**

The words were still ringing in his ears when Remus awoke the force of sudden impact against his mattress, heart hammering against his ribs and nightshirt drenched in sweat. Removed once more from the familiarity of home, it seemed the nightmares had returned. It made sense, in a horrible sort of way. For the dreams were always set in the halls of Hogwarts – or in this case in the boys' dormitory. Remus's legs ached as if he truly had run all the way up the winding stairs. As if he truly had been kicked by a wrathful Sirius and then hurled down the steps by a righteously indignant James while Peter shouted hateful names after him. And over it all he could hear Father's voice: _please, please be careful. Please, please be careful. Please, please…_

There was a sudden draft as the left-hand curtains parted. In the starlight that filtered through the windows Remus could make out the pale face of Sirius Black. He could not help it. He shrank away.

'Bad dream?' Sirius whispered, climbing onto the bed and closing the curtains. He lit his wand with a murmured incantation and Remus felt his hand fly up to shield his eyes from the unexpected glow.

'Please… please…' he mumbled, still in the clutches of the night terror. He felt a gentle hand on his head, brushing the hair away from his dampened cheek.

''S okay,' Sirius said. 'Everybody has nightmares.'

'James doesn't,' protested Remus miserably, somehow managing to sit up and pressing his spine against the headboard. 'You don't.'

'Untrue,' said Sirius. 'James himself admitted to the being-eaten-by-a-tiger-and-it-tickled dream that time you woke us all up, and for your information I just finished having a nightmare myself.'

It was precisely the sort of thing Sirius would say in order to make his friend feel less ashamed, but there was an edge to his voice that prompted Remus to look up at him. The pallor was not wholly an artefact of the poor light in the dormitory. Sirius did indeed look white and rather shaken. He smiled unsteadily.

'I'll tell if you tell,' he offered in an uncharacteristically timid voice.

It was clear that he wanted to talk, but Remus could not agree to the exchange. The fleeting thought occurred to him that he could always concoct some sort of lie, dream up some random tale of terror as far from the truth as possible. But his conscience stopped him. How could he lie while his friend bared private truths? He had done so before and it had almost driven him mad with self-loathing and remorse. He could not bear to put himself in that position again.

'I—I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I can't talk about it.'

For a moment he dared to hope that Sirius would let the matter drop, as he and James had done when he cracked his leg. He might have known that had been an isolated miracle. Sirius frowned.

'Why not?' he asked. 'We're friends, aren't we? Friends can tell each other the embarrassing stuff.'

'Do you tell James the embarrassing stuff?' Remus asked softly.

'Well, no…' Sirius shifted awkwardly, bringing up one cambric-covered knee and resting his chin upon it. 'But James doesn't understand, not the way you can. Even if maybe you let me think what I wanted to before, even if _that_ wasn't true, you still understand, don't you?'

There was quiet desperation in his eyes. Remus nodded. 'I understand,' he breathed. And he did. He understood all too well what it was to be lonely and hurting and ashamed, at the mercy of something one could not control – something so much more powerful than oneself that there was no hope of ever escaping it. Perhaps it was unfair to compare Sirius's mother to the wolf, but the parallels were striking.

Sirius blinked three times in rapid succession as if reigning in his emotions. 'So why do you think I can't?'

'It's not that,' Remus lied in haste. 'It's not. It's only… everyone always thinks it helps to talk about it, but it doesn't. It only stirs it all up again, when I'd rather just forget and go back to sleep.'

Sirius did not speak, but Remus could see the hurt in his eyes. 'That's all, Sirius, truly,' he pledged softly. 'I do trust you. Of course I do.'

'That's the thing, though,' Sirius said, his voice flat and his expression closely guarded. 'You _don't_ trust me. If you did you'd tell me what was going on with you, instead of fobbing me off with wild stories.'

Remus wanted to say something, anything that might restore the gulf that had just opened in their friendship, but the only thing that came to mind was the hateful truth. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he closed his mouth and hung his head. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I wish I could tell you everything, but if I did…'

'If you did,' Sirius said levelly; 'then maybe you'd find out what it means to have friends.'

He slipped between the curtains, taking the light of his wand with him. Alone in the dark, cold and damp and utterly wretched, Remus huddled against the bedpost. Sometime not long before dawn he at last fell asleep again, from sheer exhaustion. When he awoke again it was to the cheery noises of the others preparing for the day. He emerged tremulously, terrified of the reception awaiting him. But James greeted him with a cheerful _good morning_ and Sirius clapped him amicably on the back. Peter, who still looked more than half asleep, nodded once in his general direction. It was as if the midnight quarrel had never occurred at all, but Remus did not dare to hope for that.

_~discidium~_

Defence Against the Dark Arts was their first lesson of the year, and James and Sirius were very nearly late. It had taken Professor McGonagall almost twenty minutes to work out who was behind enchanting the plates of the Slytherin Prefects so that each let out a different bloodcurdling scream whenever it came into contact with eggs. In the end, Narcissa Black proved the pranksters' undoing. She came down towards the end of the meal, taking her place among the others with the air of one exercising studied dignity under extremely difficult circumstances. The others, who had by now deduced what was setting off the plates, warned her off of the eggs, and she reached for a slice of seedcake instead. She picked up her knife and set down the cake, only to be greeted by a high-pitched trilling shriek of anguish – for of course, though the pampered young lady likely did not know it, seedcakes were made with eggs.

She screamed reflexively in response, the knife flying from her fingers and clipping Lucius Malfoy in the ear. Narcissa tried to scramble backward over the bench, but her foot caught on the hem of her robe and she tumbled backward, crashing into the backs of the Hufflepuff Prefects. She crumpled on the floor, startled and whimpering, and two of her friends hurried up the table to help her to her feet. They led her from the hall, her milky complexion blotchy with the flush of humiliation and her long hair in disarray.

Sirius laughed so hard that he actually began to choke on his sausage, at which point Professor McGonagall came swooping down from the staff table to dislodge the piece of meat with a flick of her wand. Once she was satisfied that her pupil was breathing again, she meted out detention to Sirius and James, followed by a stern lecture that had continued long after everyone else – Remus and Peter included – had been herded from the hall by the Prefects.

So it was that the dark-haired hellions – having set a new school record for earliest detention of the year – waltzed into the Defence classroom only moments before Professor Meyrigg appeared, striding determinedly to the front of the room and setting her dragonhide briefcase on the desk with a _bang_.

'Find a seat, you two, and sharpish,' she said firmly. The melodious cadence of her voice and the long vowels were unmistakable, and James smirked at Sirius. She was definitely Welsh. 'Now you're my second year Gryffindors, aren't you? Good morning.'

Apparently the uneasy silence did not suit her, for she crossed her arms and perched on the edge of her desk, her right foot dangling and her left leg anchoring her soundly. 'What's this?' she said. 'No one told me I was teaching a class of mutes. I was hardly expecting a rousing chorus, but I had hoped for a bit of a welcome – or at least a _good morning _or two.'

'Good morning, Professor Meyrigg,' said Athena Andrews immediately.

'Thank you, my dear, but the moment is passed,' said the teacher, smiling sagely. She dusted her hands on the lap of her robe and went on. 'Well. I know we've all had some excitement over breakfast, but let's get down to business now, shall we? First of all you ought to know that I can't be bothered with taking a register. If you choose to skip out of lessons that's your concern, but don't come crying to me when you do poorly on your examinations. Fair enough?'

Sirius was smirking. Remus was not sure whether this meant his friend intended to skive off, or if he was merely appreciative of the professor's plain-speaking manner.

'Second, when I give you a work period I don't mind talking. If you would rather waste your class time and do your essays in the evenings that's certainly up to you. But if you turn in late work there will be consequences.' She surveyed the class gravely. 'One thing I'm afraid I won't stand for is unauthorized use of your wands in the classroom. When we have a practical lesson you will be expected to follow instructions. Any unsolicited charms or hexes will result in a loss of wand privileges in my lessons for the remainder of the term – which I am sure you appreciate will make it very difficult to do well in this course. The sort of behaviour that precipitated my predecessor's resignation,' she added, with a long look at James; 'will not be tolerated.'

'How 'bout that, Potter?' Sirius whispered. 'She knows you already!'

'Was there something you wished to say to the class, Mr Black?' asked Meyrigg, arching her brows.

'I was only saying that you know James already, Professor,' Sirius said with his most endearing smile. 'But now I see you know all of us.'

'I wouldn't say that, Mr Black,' the teacher remarked, smiling shrewdly; 'but after your little performance at breakfast I had several of my fellow instructors offer me advice on coping with the two of you.'

'Oh,' Sirius said, looking pleased. 'That explains it, then.'

Professor Meyrigg's lips twitched briefly, and she surveyed the rest of the class. 'Now, I see you've all brought your textbooks. Has anyone started to read it?'

Remus looked down at the glossy cover and the carefully preserved spine of _Rudiments of Magical Pest Control_. He had covered the first several chapters last week while bedridden after his transformation, handling the book gingerly for fear of damaging it. He was torn between guilt that his parents had been obliged to provide such an expensive volume for him and quiet pride that he had been able to pay for most of it himself.

No one else had raised their hand to the teacher's query, and Remus did not dare to do so either. If there was one thing he had learned in Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, it was that this particular class was not a place in which one wanted to draw attention to oneself.

'Ah, well, it was a bit too much to expect, I suppose,' said Meyrigg. 'All right, then. Who can tell me the best way to cope with an infestation of gnomes?'

James made a tiny choking noise, ducking his head over his desk to hide his snigger. Apart from that, the class was silent.

Professor Meyrigg stood up and paced the length of the room, looking from face to face with a pensive cast to her eyes. 'My, we are a quiet class,' she said. 'Very well. Which of you got the top mark in Herbology last year? Come on, now,' she said, when this too brought no response. 'I'm sure at least half a dozen of you know the answer to that question; out with it.'

Aeolus Andrews raised his hand. 'It was Lily, miss,' he said, pointing. 'Lily Evans.'

Lily, who had obviously been just as eager as anyone else to escape scrutiny, flushed pinkly for a moment before squaring her shoulders and folding her hands neatly on her desk. When Professor Meyrigg turned to her, she had her head cocked, the very picture of dignified attentiveness.

'Miss Evans,' said the teacher. 'May I call you Lily?'

'Yes, Professor,' Lily said. Whether she wanted the familiarity or not, there was nothing else she could have done.

Professor Meyrigg nodded in satisfaction. 'Lovely. Now, Lily, part of keeping an orderly garden is ensuring the gnomes stay out, but of course that isn't always possible. How would you get rid of a gnome that had managed to get in?'

'How's she meant to know that?' James muttered resentfully. 'Evans is Muggle born. Typical Welsh logic.'

'Hush!' Peter hissed, obviously eager to keep the teacher's attention on the far side of the classroom.

'The easiest way is to make the gnome dizzy, isn't it, Professor?' asked Lily. 'Grab it by the feet and swing it 'round and 'round, then toss it over the garden wall.'

Professor Meyrigg smiled. She had an affable if rather energetic smile. 'I see someone has been reading ahead after all.'

Lily flushed. 'I… I may have thumbed through the book, Professor,' she demurred.

'That's nothing to be ashamed of. If you would all make a habit of that you'll find that the lessons are a good deal more interesting.' Meyrigg moved up to the front of the room again, flicking her wand at the blackboard so that a chalk drawing of a gnome appeared. 'Now, let's talk a little bit about the characteristics and habits of the common garden gnome…'

As far as Remus could see, the lesson went well. There was no shouting, no vitriolic criticism of the pupils, and not once did Professor Meyrigg use the words _useless, pointless _or_ children_. James, however, was less than impressed.

'Gnomes?' he said as they left the classroom. '_Gnomes_? In Defence Against the Dark Arts? Is she mad? Is she stupid?'

'I thought she made a lot of sense,' said Peter. 'And anyway, gnomes are the first chapter in the textbook.'

'On the topic of the textbook,' Sirius remarked; 'isn't it rather an odd choice for a Defence class? I mean, gnomes and doxies and pixies and Red Caps are all annoying, but they're hardly the root of all that's evil.'

'We're meant to study Dark creature control,' Remus said softly. 'I suppose gnomes are a good way to introduce the basic principles…'

Sirius snorted. 'Between your gnomes and Pettigrew's unicorns, it's a wonder there are any wizards left in England at all! Being we're so infested with dangerous beasts, you see.'

'Precisely,' said James. 'I mean, if we were studying Dementors or vampires or something—'

'—or werewolves,' Sirius added. 'Or even Boggarts or minor demons or the like—'

'—then I'd understand it!' finished James. 'But this stuff just insults our intelligence.'

They continued down the corridor, complaining about the new Professor in a good-natured way that clearly communicated that they were enjoying the business thoroughly. Remus, whose stomach had petrified into a cold mass beneath his ribs at the mention of werewolves, found himself lagging behind, feet dragging and head bowed. The old fear of being used as the subject of a practical lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts crept up from the recesses of his memory. Worse still was the knowledge that his friends lumped his kind in with Dementors.

It was all that he could do to drag himself into the History of Magic classroom. Paying attention to Professor Binns was absolutely impossible.

_~discidium~_

By the end of the first week, Professor Meyrigg was getting favourable reviews from the upper years. She had the OWLs class working on their counter-curses, and the sixth years were already duelling. The NEWTs class was immensely relieved when their start-of-term review session did not end in two hundred press-ups. The fourth years seemed to be reserving judgement, but then they had only had two lessons with her. And of course the firsties could not yet tell a good teacher from a bad one. Yet among the second and third years Meyrigg remained unpopular, for the general consensus seemed to be that she was patronizing them.

The other second year lessons started up more or less where they had been left at the end of the previous term. Professor McGonagall had them transfiguring slightly larger objects now, and Professor Flitwick was moving on to practical household charms. Professor Binns droned on as if completely unaware of the presence of the class. Professor Slughorn bobbed up and down the rows in the dungeons, making much of his favourites and fawning over James and the Andrews twins during lulls in the work. Remus managed a passable imitation of Pepper-Up Potion, though he would not have liked to be the one to take it.

For the most part it seemed as if this was going to be a reasonably straightforward term, until Thursday night. The second year Gryffindors left the common room shortly before eleven o'clock for the Astronomy Tower, where Professor Arachne had set up an enormous map of the moon. Remus huddled against the battlements, grateful for the mask of darkness that hid his dread from the others. At present they were only discussing topography and the history of lunar studies, but sooner or later he knew the phases of the moon would enter into it, and then…

Fortunately, neither Sirius nor James was the type to read ahead in the textbook. Remus had a little time, at least, before they reached the inevitable conclusion.

_~discidium~_

'Well, I hope you lot aren't too knackered after that _extremely_ taxing first week!' Sirius said as they piled into the dormitory after supper on Friday. 'Because tonight we're going to find out what Dumbledore's hiding in the Forest!'

'Brilliant!' James said. 'If we meet any dragons, I get first crack at the eyes, all right?'

'Y-you don't really think there are dragons in there, do you?' asked Peter worriedly.

'I've never seen smoke pouring off of the trees, so no. I don't think there are dragons in there,' said Sirius. 'Now, maybe _mummies_…'

'Come off it, Black!' James scoffed. 'Really, Peter, about the worst we're likely to run into are those hedgehogs of yours.'

'Well,' Peter said, grinning unsteadily; 'but the time we got done with them the hedgehogs sounded pretty frightening, too.'

'Don't worry,' Sirius pledged solemnly. 'If we run across any deadly hedgehogs James and I will protect you.'

'I'll hold you to that, you know,' said Peter, rummaging in his cupboard for his cloak. Sirius and James were already nearly ready to go; James tucked the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket and turned expectantly to Remus.

'Aren't you coming?' he asked.

'I think I'd best stay here,' Remus said. He was unsure how much he could take of roaming the woods with the others, listening to them talking about Dark creatures again. Yet there was another part of him that was alive with curiosity and the thirst for adventure. After all, each opportunity to run around with his friends might be the very last one.

So when Sirius said _bollocks!_ and helped him on with his cloak, Remus did not protest. The four of them made their way nonchalantly through the crowded common room and past the portrait-hole. In the corridor they broke into a run, dashing up corridors and down the ever-shifting staircases until they reached the Entrance Hall.

'Where might you lot be going at this hour of the night?' a pleasant voice inquired. The boys looked around, bewildered, until Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, drifted out of a nearby pillar. 'It's getting a bit late for an evening stroll.'

'We've still got an hour 'til lights-out,' said Sirius. 'We wanted some fresh air.'

'You wouldn't be planning another caper in the greenhouses, would you?' Nick asked eagerly. 'The last one was marvellous!'

'You knew that was us?' James asked, looking exceedingly pleased.

'Oh, everyone knows it was you,' said Nick. He tapped the side of his nose, and the motion upset his not-quite-detached head. Peter gasped in horror and Sirius and James bit their tongues to keep from laughing as it bounced against his ruff. The ghost did not appreciate it when students poked fun at his undignified cause of death, and it was best when creeping around after dark not to alienate the castle spirits. 'Even Dumbledore, I think,' Nick said, grabbing a fistful of hair and righting his head.

'What's this?' an unpleasant voice demanded. Mr Filch came out of one of the corridors, pushing a broom and glowering. Mrs Dashwood was at his heels. When she caught wind of the boys she arched her back and hissed menacingly. 'Creeping about and causing trouble, are we?'

James and Sirius exchanged an awkward glance. Unlike Nick, Filch would not be easily placated with claims of an evening stroll.

'No, sir,' Remus said politely. 'We were just going down for a cup of tea with the groundskeeper. He was kind enough to invite me to drop in on him this year.'

Filch wrinkled his nose. Remus was not certain whether he outranked Hagrid, or Hagrid him, but it seemed the caretaker was not interested in crossing swords with the massive man. 'Well, be off then and stop loitering!' Filch snapped. 'And be sure you're back well in time for lights-out, or I'll hang you by your thumbs!'

'Good evening, then, gentlemen,' said Nick, doffing his flat cap and bowing graciously. 'Do give Hagrid my regards.'

Hastily the four boys piled out onto the front steps of the castle.

James clapped Remus on the shoulder. 'Well done!' he said. 'Did Hagrid really invite you over for a cup of tea?'

Remus nodded. 'I do mean to visit him,' he said; 'but not tonight. It's too late to go calling.'

'When you do, can we come?' asked Sirius. 'I've always wanted to get a close look at him. Looks like he could crush a coconut with those hands of his.'

Peter made nervous noise, and Remus smiled reassuringly. 'He's very friendly and gentle,' he said. 'I'm sure you'll all like him.'

'Liking him can wait,' James said. 'Tonight the order of business is to sneak past him and get into the Forest.' He looked surreptitiously around before shaking out the Cloak.

'Let's take the stairs first,' Sirius said sensibly. 'Trying to coordinate four of us is going to be a challenge. At least there's not much to run into out here.'

'Except the Whomping Willow,' James said, pointing. 'Maybe we'll just get past that before we get under the Cloak. What do you think?'

'It sounds like a good idea to me,' Remus offered quietly. This appeared to be all the accord James required, for he strode off towards the gamekeeper's hut and the others followed.

When they were within a hundred yards of Hagrid's door, they drew together into a tight formation. Sirius cast an appraising look up towards the castle with its brightly lit windows. Apparently satisfied that no one was watching, he gave James a nod of assent, and after a little wrangling they were all concealed beneath the Invisibility Cloak.

Moving as one was a challenge for four, but fortunately they had not far to go. As soon as they were under the cover of the trees James whisked off the Cloak and tucked it away. He led them a few yards further into the Forest before lighting his wand. Sirius and Peter did the same, but Remus did not.

'Aren't you going to light up?' asked James.

Remus shook his head. 'If we do run into trouble, somebody ought to be ready to do something about it.'

'See, this is why we need you around,' Sirius said. '_Nox_.' His wand flickered out. 'Potter, you lead the way. Then Lupin, then Pettigrew. I'll be rearguard.'

In that fashion they wended their way into the trees. Presently they came upon an overgrown path, and their progress was easier.

'Seems like we should be telling scary stories or something,' Sirius said in a loud voice that made Peter jump. 'So far I don't see what all the fuss is about.'

'You ought to be quiet,' James whispered. 'Odds are if there _are_ any interesting creatures about your shouting will scare them off.'

'Perhaps we ought to sing a song!' Peter suggested, his voice rather shrill. The light from his wand was trembling in an unsteady hand. Remus fell back a pace and pressed his elbow reassuringly against the portly boy's arm.

They walked on and on, and the darkness deepened around them. There was no moon tonight: it was that blessed time of the month when the silver harbinger did not show its face. Now and then the glimmer of a star appeared in a gap in the canopy above, but for the most part the only light came from the two wands. At last they reached a place where the path diverged into two; one branch winding southeast and the other northeast. The quartet halted, indecisive.

'Left?' James asked. 'Or right?'

'We could go back,' Remus added. 'If we run we might make it before lights-out.'

'Don't tell me you're scared!' laughed James.

'I am,' said Peter. 'And I'm scared about what Mr Filch will do if we get in late. D'you think he really meant it about hanging us by our thumbs?'

'Not a chance,' Sirius scoffed. 'Dumbledore wouldn't stand for it, and McGonagall would probably have him disembowelled or something. We've come all the way out here and I haven't seen as much as a Jarvey. I vote we forget about the question of left or right and take off straight down the centre.'

'You mean leave the path,' Remus said, purely for the purposes of clarification.

'I don't think that's a very good idea…' Peter warned.

'Leave the path…' James mused. 'A bold proposition, sir. I like it!'

'Thought you would,' Sirius said smugly. 'Lead on, intrepid Colonel Potter! Your troops await your command.'

'Why thank you, Major Black,' said James. 'Their loyalty is greatly valued, and it shall be amply rewarded.'

He flourished his wand before striding off into the underbrush. Remus followed, and Peter hurried after him, reaching with his free hand to grab hold of his friend's sleeve. Sirius brought up the rear, a tall presence in the darkness. After only a few steps, he began to chuckle.

'_Major_ Black,' he sniggered. 'Good one, James.'

Somewhere in the distance there was a sound of a snapping twig. The four boys froze, James squinting into the darkness and Sirius getting up on his toes, face upturned as if to sniff the air.

'What's that?' Peter hissed, abandoning Remus's sleeve to hook himself around the other boy's wand arm. Remus wordlessly disentangled Peter, shifting him to the other side. For three or four minutes they stood there, motionless and listening. At last James relaxed and shrugged his shoulders.

'So much for the beginning of a great adventure,' he said. 'Let's keep going.'

And so on they went. The chill of the evening was beginning to take, and the Forest seemed dank and oppressive. The massive trees towered overhead, and more than once one of the boys stumbled over a protruding root. It was well after lights-out now, and still there was no sign of anything interesting. Sirius, growing bored of the silence, began to hum.

'Stop that!' hissed James. 'Stealth, remember? You'll scare off the werewolves.'

Peter's grip on Remus tightened. 'Are there _werewolves_ in here?' he whimpered.

At least one, thought Remus wretchedly, wishing for all the world that he were back in the dormitory and well away from the direction this conversation was taking.

'Don't reckon they'd do much tonight but poke fun at your round little tum and maybe try and pinch your shoes,' said Sirius. 'No moon tonight, Pettigrew.'

Remus was suddenly overwhelmed by the ghastly realization that there might actually be werewolves in the Forbidden Forest, forced from normal society and hiding here. How dreadful it would be, he thought, to live like an animal, sleeping rough and foraging for food. And what would they do in the winter, when the snow was thick on the ground and the nights so bitterly cold? Was that what awaited him, he wondered, when his parents were gone and his friends abandoned him and he was forced to give up his place at Hogwarts because everyone _knew_?

'Don't worry,' Peter whispered, patting his arm consolingly. 'Don't be afraid: Sirius is right. It's the new moon, and werewolves can't hurt us now.'

Remus realized he was quaking, and he tried to control himself – but it was useless. James snorted.

'Not half as much as we could hurt them, anyhow,' he said scornfully. '_We've_ got wands!'

Remus felt his grip tighten on the slender stave in his hand. The lazy derision in James's voice was as much to say that it was unthinkable for a werewolf to have a wand. Perhaps even to say that a werewolf was unworthy of a wand. His thoughts were growing muddled, racing frantically through his head. If there were werewolves in the Forest, surely Dumbledore would have mentioned it, or at the very least done something for them. Surely the Headmaster who had been kind enough to admit a part-human to his school would not leave others to starve on his very doorstep. Again Remus was haunted by the memory of the other werewolves at St Mungo's, gaunt and emaciated and desperate for food. His knees trembled and gave way, and he sank down amid the mulch on the Forest floor.

'Remus?' Peter said worriedly, pressing his knees against the other boy's back.

Sirius knelt down, reaching into the darkness to grip a thin shoulder. 'Are you all right?' he asked, his words filled with gentle concern.

'Please,' Remus whispered, glad of the darkness that surely concealed the tears brimming in his eyes. 'Please, I want to go back to the castle.'

'Sure,' James said, bending and helping him to his feet. 'Sure. Let's go back.' He put an arm around Remus's shoulder, and Sirius gripped him around the back. Peter crowded in as near as he could. 'This way,' James said, turning a little to the right and setting off through the trees.

They walked, keeping as straight a course as they were able, but though the minutes dragged past they did not reach the path. Remus's legs were beginning to ache and Peter was breathing rather heavily when Sirius said, 'Anyone know where we are?'

'Well,' James said slowly; 'we're in the Forbidden Forest…'

'We're lost!' Peter yelped, quivering with mounting panic. 'We're lost! We're going to die out here! Oh, we never should have left the path! What are we to do?'

'Hush up!' Sirius snapped. 'Anybody know what direction we're facing? Remus, you're the human compass: where are we?'

'I d-don't know,' Remus said wretchedly. He tried to orient himself, but without light it was difficult, and with his addled thoughts it was nearly impossible. _Human_ compass? What Sirius would say if he knew... 'South, maybe. Or east.'

'Southeast?' James suggested.

'I don't know,' Remus repeated.

'There must be a spell for working out the way you're facing,' Sirius said. He craned his neck skyward. 'If only we could see the stars. It must be – what? Half past midnight? Maybe one o'clock?' He wandered over to the bole of a large pine. 'Reckon I could climb her,' he said.

'Not in the dark,' James said. 'You'd pick a rotten branch and fall to your death or something. I think we should just keep a straight course, and we'll be out of here in no time. Follow me!'

'It's following you that got us out here in the first place, Potter,' Sirius said crossly. 'You wouldn't know a straight course if it bit you in the bollocks.'

'As I recall,' James growled; '_you_ were the one who suggested we leave the path!'

'And I didn't hear you complaining at the time!' yelped Sirius.

'Hush!' Remus cried, lapsing into an urgent whisper. 'Quarrelling won't solve anything. We need to cooperate.'

'Cooperate,' Sirius said, as if he had never heard the word before. 'Right. _Cooperate_.'

'I think we're facing south,' said Remus. 'I'm – I'm not sure, but I _think_ we are. So if we turn ninety degrees to the right we'll be facing west. If I'm right.'

'Let's say you are,' James declared. His voice faltered a little. 'So if we're facing west then all we need to do is keep a straight course—'

'Fine!' said Sirius. 'But _I'm _leading the way this time.'

They set off, but either Remus was mistaken or they were deeper in the woods than any of them had thought. After walking for what seemed like miles, they were still surrounded by trees and overgrown shrubs. Exhausted, they sat down amid the roots of a gigantic elm. Peter pressed himself against the trunk, making small, frightened sounds deep in his throat. Remus drew his knees up to his chest and rested his brow upon them. Sirius settled on a high root, legs spread and head in his hands. James settled cross-legged on the ground, tossing his wand aimlessly so that the light arced through the air.

'I hate to say it,' he remarked at last; 'but I think we've done it this time.'

'We ought to just sit here,' said Remus softly. 'Someone will come looking for us eventually.'

'What will we eat?' Peter asked. 'What if we starve before rescue comes? W-what if something comes to eat _us_?'

'Is that all you ever think about?' Sirius asked crossly. 'Food?'

'I think about it when I'm in danger of _becoming_ food,' Peter said stiffly.

'Never should have left the path,' James muttered.

'Damn you, we all agreed!' Sirius shouted. 'It's not my sodding fault we're lost, you hear me? I'll not stand for—'

He fell abruptly silent. Somewhere near at hand there was a shrill clicking noise, like someone working a pair of rusty pincers very rapidly. James sprang to his feet, pressing his back against the tree. His wand went out.

'What the bloody hell is that?' he demanded, his voice hoarse.

'S-sounds like Quick-Snipping Clippers,' Sirius wavered. 'I don't suppose old Hagrid likes to go pruning in the dead of night?'

'W-we're going to die!' Peter moaned. 'Whatever it is, it's going to eat us!'

'Stop snivelling and hold up your wand!' snapped Sirius. 'You're the only one who's got a light, and if we can see it maybe we can stop it!'

Remus forced himself to stand, joining the other two in their combat-ready pose. Peter scuttled around behind him, pressing himself between Remus and the tree. With his free hand clapped over his eyes, he thrust out his wand between Remus and Sirius.

The noise was growing louder now, the clicks coming still more rapidly. There was another sound, too: a creaking of joints and a rustling of something large and heavy brushing against the ground. Whatever it was it was drawing closer, and quickly. Though it was still beyond the range of Peter's wand, Remus could see strange glinting orbs in the blackness, weaving in and out between the trees. The light reflected off of countless facets, and he felt his courage abandoning him as he realized they were at least five feet off the ground.

Yet despite his terror he held fast. Sirius and James were doing the same, and in any case there was nothing to be gained by running. At least if they kept their positions they could die like wizards, wands in hand and heads held high. And Remus realized suddenly that he very much wanted to die like a wizard, not a wolf.


	47. Out of the Frying Pan

_Note: Say it with me, folks! Full moon tonight..._

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Out of the Frying Pan**

The resolution to stand firm was difficult to cling to as the first great hairy forelegs emerged from the darkness. A second pair followed, and with them a vast bulbous body and a massive head that sported the glinting glassy eyes and a pair of sheering chelicerae – the source of the clicking sound. Knobbed joints creaked with the effort of supporting the mass of the creature, and between the last set of legs a set of spinnerets glistened wet with oozing silk. It was a spider, bigger than a Shetland pony and obviously hungry.

Sirius found his voice first, but his words were less than useful. 'Cor blimey…' he breathed.

The monster was advancing, venom dripping from its fangs as the scissored mouth worked menacingly. The faceted eyes gleamed and glittered, lolling wildly as it drew near.

'_Stupefy!' _James hollered. A bolt of scarlet light shot from the tip of his wand and struck the spider squarely on its calloused underbelly. It stumbled, but hardly seemed to slow in its approach.

'All together,' Remus choked out.

Sirius whipped his head to the right with such force that one of the vertebrae made a sharp popping sound. 'Do what?'

'P'raps if we do it all together,' said Remus frantically. 'On three? One, two, _three_…'

'_STUPEFY!_' they roared in unison. The three columns of light converged and this time the spider tumbled backward, a shrill shrieking sound issuing from beneath the clicking. Breathless the three boys watched as it tried to rise, legs quivering and tangling and giving out beneath it. The eyes fixed upon them, glowing with malice and feral fury. The pincers snapped twice as fast as before.

'What now?' James yelped hoarsely. 'I-it's angry…'

'As opposed to before,' Sirius said, sarcasm biting through the terror in his voice; 'when it was perfectly happy about the prospect of eating us?'

'It's possible it doesn't eat humans, isn't it?' asked James. 'I mean… spiders _don't_ eat humans…'

'I'd lay pretty stiff odds that spiders the size of Guernseys do,' said Sirius feebly.

'Oughtn't we to try it again, or something?' Remus asked anxiously. The spider was once more struggling to stand, and this time its legs held for a good eight seconds before failing. 'I think the spell's wearing off.'

This time James counted, and three more Stunners left the beast heaving impotently. 'Now what?' James gasped. 'How d'you squash a giant spider?'

'Forget squashing it. I vote we run,' Sirius said.

'Run _where_?' wailed Peter, his wand-light wavering. 'We're _l-l-lost_!'

'If we assume the spider came _out_ of the heart of the Forest,' Remus ventured hoarsely; 'then it stands to reason that the grounds are behind us, doesn't it?'

'Good enough for me!' Sirius exclaimed. He swooped down and grabbed hold of Peter's arm. 'C'mon, Pettigrew, let's move it! Who knows how long we've got before that thing gets up! _Lumos!_'

Peter found strength in his terror, and a moment later the three of them were crashing through the underbrush. Sirius herded Peter forward while James and Remus flanked their rear with wands at the ready, glancing back over their shoulders at intervals in search of signs of pursuit. They scrambled over fallen branches and under towering roots, and they dodged around bushes and boulders, trying to hold to a course as straight as they could manage. In other circumstances James and Sirius might have thought such a flight undignified. Now no one seemed to mind it.

When they reached an open span of ground they stumbled, startled by the lack of obstacles. 'What is it?' Sirius cried, paranoia evident in his tone. 'Where are we?'

'I—I think it's the path…' Peter stammered.

'The path!' James exclaimed. 'Remus! Which way out?'

'I don't know,' Remus said helplessly. 'Who's to say the path is straight? Or even that this is the same path we took in?'

'Make your best guess, then!' said Sirius. 'We've got to try _something_, haven't we?'

'R-right?' Remus said quaveringly, hating the way his voice shook but comforted at least a little by the knowledge that the others were all just as frightened as he was.

'I think it's left,' Peter protested quietly.

'As if you'd know!' snorted Sirius.

'No,' Remus said, craning his neck painfully to look up at the patch of sky above them. A cold rush of relief threatened to rob him of the last remnant of strength in his knees. 'No, look; he's right! It's Aquila!'

The constellation was partly obscured by the trees, but the three closely-aligned stars of the eagle's shoulder could be seen, and two of the cadet stars, closely paired. It was enough to identify the grouping, and enough to orient them.

James squinted skyward. 'It is… there's Altair and… which one's Tarazed?'

'The one closer to the Denebs,' Sirius recited. 'So the left-hand path goes…'

'West-southwest,' said Remus. 'But it might not run straight, and it might double back deeper into the Forest, and it might—'

'It's good enough for me,' James said hastily. 'Let's get out of here.'

They hurried along the path. Remus's legs were beginning to tremble, and his side ached with exhaustion, but collapse was not an option. He stumbled once, crashing to his knees, but James grabbed his arm and hauled him up again. It felt as if they had been running for days when at last the underbrush began to thin and the trees were no longer so closely packed. Moments later they were tumbling into the open air on the neatly-trimmed lawn beside Hagrid's vegetable patch.

Peter made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, falling to his knees and scurrying forward to grip the low garden wall as if it were his touchstone to civilization. Sirius let his wand drop into the grass, clutching his knees with trembling hands and drawing deep, panting breaths. James sat down, one leg crooked and the other bent up, his face cast to the heavens. Remus knelt, lowering his body unsteadily and forcing himself to lean back instead of forward, propping himself up with a quaking arm. Like a wizard, he thought. Not a wolf.

It was a long time before any of them spoke. They were all too much occupied with breathing and with regaining control over their faculties. At last, Sirius raised his voice, cheerful and steady and exceedingly comforting. 'Well!' he said brightly. 'I'd say that went rather well.'

_~discidium~_

The histrionic laughter that seized all four boys in the wake of that comment was reaching painful intensity when it was interrupted by a deep, resonant noise. For a horrible moment Remus thought that the spider had caught up to them, but then he recognized the sound. It was the barking of a dog. There was a fresh wave of alarm as he realized it was coming from the groundskeeper's hut.

Sirius swore under his breath and James scrabbled in his pocket for the Invisibility Cloak. 'Come on, come on, come on!' he whispered frenetically, shaking it out and gesturing for the others to draw nearer. They did so, Remus scooting on his backside and Peter crawling hurriedly through the grass. Sirius had only to take two steps and hunker down. They bunched tightly together and pulled the edges of the cloak about them, crowding as near as they could without actually climbing into one another's laps.

The cottage door opened, and the massive form of Hagrid squeezed through it. He was holding a lantern aloft, and his shaggy head scanned the grounds in a broad sweep.

'There's nuthin' there,' he said, looking over his shoulder into the house – from which the barking still issued, angry and urgent. 'Well go an' see fer yerself, then, ye daft thing.'

A great dark shape bounded past the gamekeeper and into the garden, sniffing eagerly at the rows of culled cabbages. It was a boarhound, immense and slavering.

'Ye see?' Hagrid asked. 'Notta thing. C'mon inside now, girl. C'mon, Poppet.'

James looked incredulously at Sirius, mouthing _Poppet_? Remus was inclined to agree. The dog looked more like a Sabre or a Killer or a Snarl. The impression was only intensified when she bared her teeth and began advancing on the invisible boys, hackles raised.

'Wha' is it, girl?' Hagrid asked, leaving the door of the hut and ambling forward, lantern aloft and heavy brows furrowed. 'Wha's out there?'

Peter was trembling violently, biting his lower lip to keep from crying out. Sirius and James were gesturing hastily at one another, in a sort of sign language that both seemed to understand instinctively. Remus held his breath, waiting until the last moment to spring up and reveal their presence so that the man could call off his dog. Whatever the punishment for wandering the Forbidden Forest it was surely preferable to being gnawed by Poppet.

Then the dog sprang, muscular legs launching her off the grass and right over the heads of the huddled students. A low, ominous growl tore from her throat and Hagrid, eyes suddenly wide, thrust the lantern down on the garden wall and thundered back to the house. He reached one long arm inside and it emerged holding a crossbow, loaded with a wicked-looking bolt.

It happened so quickly that none of the boys had any chance to cry out. The shrill clicking noise that Remus rather fancied would haunt them all for the rest of the term came from behind them, and four heads whipped around under the Cloak. The spider was emerging from the Forest, swaying and scuttling awkwardly like an inebriated clown but clearly intent upon its prey. Poppet's ears went very flat and she snarled menacingly. The spider rose up on its wobbling legs as if to plunge its fangs into her, and at that moment an arrow flew over the heads of the boys, lodging deeply in the creature's eye.

The spider's shriek of anguish was deafening. It fell backward, twitching and writhing, and Poppet pounced. Remus closed his eyes against the dark spray of ichor, and tried to stop his ears – but his hands could not muffle the noise of the boarhound's attack, nor the dying wheezes of the spider. When he dared to look up, the beast was a pulpy mass with eight protruding legs, and Poppet was lying on the grass, licking her forepaws and looking exceedingly proud of herself.

'Good girl,' Hagrid said hoarsely, hurrying past so near the four friends that he almost stepped on Sirius. 'G-good girl.'

Then he sniffled enormously and dropped the bow, routing in his pockets for a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth. He blew his nose with a noise like a foghorn. The dog, whimpering solicitously, got to her feet and moved to nuzzle his hand with her bloodied snout. Hagrid patted her head, tears rolling down into his beard.

'I know ye had to do it, girl,' he sobbed. 'I know ye did. I jus'… why'd 'e come out o' the Forest? W-why…'

The dog yipped pointedly, and Hagrid nodded.

'Ye're right,' he said. 'Ye're right. Bes' get 'im out o' sight…'

Then he grabbed hold of four of the massive clawed feet – if _feet_ was the word for the things at the ends of the hairy legs – and hauled the carcass off toward the Forest. The dog followed him, sniffing the dark oozing trail the spider left. As soon as they vanished among the trees, James bolted to his feet, careless of the fact that this left the other three exposed. He whisked off the Cloak and gestured urgently.

'Let's get out of here!' he hissed, glancing back once more at the place where the monster had fallen. 'That's more than enough adventure for one night even for you, Black!'

'I'd say so,' Sirius agreed. He scrambled up, dragging Remus and Peter with him.'

They covered the ground between the hut and the castle so swiftly that Remus was not entirely convinced they had not spontaneously Apparated. Once inside, James pushed the door closed and pressed his back and palms against it, looking about at the empty Entrance Hall.

'Right,' he said, his breathing levelling with athletic ease. He looked at Peter, who seemed to be having great difficulty drawing in his air, and at Remus, who was white and shaking with enervation. Finally he turned to Sirius, whose chest was heaving although in other respects he looked much the same as he ever did. 'We'll rest a few minutes before we creep back upstairs,' James decided.

They congregated on the bottom steps of the great marble staircase. Remus only just managed to sink down in a controlled manner. Peter flung himself on the floor, pale and quivering. Sirius, cognizant of his dignity, strolled over and lounged across the step. James settled, looking torn between anxiety and supreme satisfaction.

'Still think it went rather well?' he asked Sirius.

The taller boy snorted, then stiffened. Brisk footsteps sounded on the floor above. 'Cloak!' he hissed. James whipped it out and they scrambled for cover – not a moment too soon.

At the top of the stairs appeared a petite, sturdy figure wrapped in a heathered grey travelling cloak. Her hood was low over her face, and the tweed robes peeked out only at the bottom of the cloak, but it was impossible to mistake Professor Meyrigg. She was carrying a little suitcase, and she paused to survey the hall before striding purposefully down the stairs and out the front door of the castle.

They waited until she was gone, and then for seven minutes more. At last, Sirius frowned.

'What d'you suppose she's doing creeping out of the school in the dead of night?' he asked. 'Suspicious, if you ask me.'

'So sayeth the king of creeping out of the school in the dead of night,' James scoffed. He frowned. 'I wonder what she's got in the case.'

'Maybe she's leaving,' Sirius said. 'Maybe she's had enough of us already.'

'Wouldn't she bring all of her baggage, then?' James asked. 'Nobody carries everything they own in one little suitcase.'

'We could break into her office and see if anything's been left behind,' Sirius suggested, grinning evilly.

'Please, can't we just go to bed?' Peter asked feebly. Then his expression brightened. 'Unless you'd like to pop in at the kitchens? I think we've earned a snack.'

The wicked smile remained, but Professor Meyrigg's office was now forgotten.

_~discidium~_

Happily it was the weekend, for by the time Remus was finally able to tumble into bed it was half past three in the morning. In his exhaustion he did not dream – neither of discovery nor of wizard-eating spiders. He could have lain in until afternoon, but he was roused shortly before ten by James and Sirius and hustled outside. James had his broomstick with him, and with Quidditch trials coming up later that week he was determined to get in a bit of practice.

'Where's your broom?' he asked Sirius as the quartet stepped out into the indifferent September morning. The clouds were thick and low and it looked rather like rain. 'I thought you said you had one coming.'

Sirius scowled. 'Couldn't see Alphard, could I?' he grumbled. 'I was shut in and he was banned from the house; aiding and abetting Andromeda, you see. I'm surprised they didn't blast _him_ off the wall and all. But I suppose there's only so much they could hold him responsible for, being he was abroad until the last sodding minute.'

'Blast him off the wall?' Peter echoed, bewildered.

Sirius let out a derisive snort. 'Fine old family tradition,' he said. 'The Squibs and the prodigals and the family disappointments get blasted off of the Black family tree. You two saw it,' he added, jerking his head at James and Remus. 'Great nasty old thing in the drawing room. Been in the family for eight hundred years, as my mother never ceases to remind us. Mum made quite the ceremony of removing Drommie's name.'

'Huh,' James said. 'Our family tree's written up in the old Potter Bible. Reckon Gran would turn in her grave if anybody tried to censor it.'

'Well, your gran and my mum wouldn't have much to talk about,' Sirius grumbled. He looked enviously at the lovingly polished broomstick swinging from James's hand. 'It really is a beautiful broom,' he said.

James grinned at it. 'It's only a Shooting Star,' he said fondly. 'But it goes along at a good pace. And anyhow I'll bet if I make the team I can wrangle something new out of Mum and Dad.'

They made their way to the stretch of ground near the Quidditch pitch, where several other hopefuls from the various houses were congregating. Someone had a set of practice balls, and soon enough there was an informal match going on. Sirius and Peter watched enraptured, but Remus found it too difficult to keep track of two teams when all were wearing black school robes. His attention wandered off toward the pitch proper, where a gargantuan figure in a tent-like greatcoat was trimming the grass.

Hagrid was working far more slowly than usual, and with none of his usual gusto. Remus got to his feet and found himself gravitating towards the towering man. He stood there, some feet away, for a number of minutes before his presence was noticed.

'What d'ye want?' Hagrid said huskily. Then his eyes widened in recognition and a rather soggy smile spread through the foliage of his beard. 'Why, it's little Remus Lupin! How d'ye do?'

Remus might have felt rather affronted by the use of the word _little_, save that next to this man he undeniably was. He nodded sombrely. 'How do you do?' he replied.

'Ter be honest, lad, not so good,' Hagrid said mournfully. 'It's been a bit of an 'ard day.'

Remus felt a pinch of remorse, and he pressed his lips tightly together. Had the spider been known to Hagrid, then? Or was the tender-hearted man merely mourning the destruction of a fellow creature? 'I'm sorry,' he said softly.

Hagrid chuckled. ''S'not yer fault, Remus,' he said, setting down his clippers and sitting heavily in the grass. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a rather dog-eared piece of newsprint that Remus recognized as having been clipped from the morning's edition of _The Daily Prophet_. The burst of relief that came from knowing he and his friends were not wholly to blame for the groundskeeper's distress was tempered almost immediately when he caught sight of the headline.

'She were a friend, ye see, Agnes,' Hagrid sniffled. 'We was a' school together, an' even after I 'ad to leave the castle she were kind to me. Use' ter come down an' visit. Allus made me a pair of mittens fer Christmas.' He made a snorting sound something like a soggy laugh. 'Never did get the size righ'.'

Remus, who no longer read every inch of the paper, was craning his neck in an attempt to make out the details of the story. 'How did she…'

Hagrid shook his hairy head. 'Don't say,' he sniffled. 'Bu' it's clear enough, isn'it? She ran afoul of the wrong sort. Got 'erself quietly put out o' the way. Been 'appening all over London, they say.' He sniffled softly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 'She didn' deserve te go like that.'

Uncertain what he could possibly say to ease the man's suffering, Remus dug in his pocket and brought out his handkerchief. He offered it to Hagrid, who accepted it gratefully and use the little square of linen to blow his nose and mop at his eyes. 'Ye're a good lad,' he said wetly. 'Whyn't you come down te the cottage sometime for a cuppa?'

'I've been meaning to,' Remus promised. 'It's… today's the first day off we've had this term. What about tomorrow?'

'Tomorrer?' Hagrid said. He shook his head. 'I can', lad. I'm goin' down ter London ter see Agnes's husban'. Offer my condolences, ye see. Wha' about next Saturday? I'll fix us up some nice fresh biscuits. Bring a frien' or two if ye like.'

'Three?' Remus dared to ask.

''ow's that?' said Hagrid.

'I have three friends,' Remus said with quite pride and a wondrous delight. The unhappy thought that this state of affairs was swiftly reaching its end almost didn't surface at all.

'Never!' Hagrid snorted. 'Ye've got four a' least. En't we frien's?' He held out his hand eagerly.

Remus put his small palm against Hagrid's massive one and they shook. 'Why yes,' he said softly. 'Yes, I suppose we are!'

He could not help wondering, as he remembered the tears the man had shed for the murderous spider, whether Hagrid might not mind when he found out that his new 'friend' was a werewolf.

_~discidium~_

Professor Meyrigg was absent from meals all weekend, and there was a good deal of speculation on Monday morning as to whether or not she had disappeared. James was convinced that she had gone running back to Wales. Sirius bemoaned the fact that with all of the flying practice they had not found time to break into her office. Peter kept repeating what James had said about carrying all one's worldly goods in a small suitcase.

Yet when they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom after breakfast, there was Meyrigg, sitting at the desk behind what looked like an owl cage draped with black flannel. She was wearing tweed as usual – green today – and her hair was twisted up into its usual coronet of braids. Yet there was a certain glow to her healthy face that had not been present the week before. She smiled at the four boys.

'Good morning,' she said cheerfully.

'Good morning, Professor,' Remus replied, remembering how she liked to be addressed. He was a little surprised at his temerity, so accustomed had he become to keeping as quiet as possible in this classroom, but he was pleased when she nodded at him.

'You may have a seat if you like, but don't trouble to take out your books,' she said. 'Today's will be a practical lesson.'

James and Sirius exchanged a sceptical glance, but the four friends settled in their usual places to wait for the lesson to begin.

When the class was assembled, Professor Meyrigg had them move all of the desks against the wall. Unlike Alfstin, she did not remark upon their chosen method of locomotion, and she even went so far as to stride down and haul a few tables herself. Then she instructed the class to sit cross-legged in a circle, teasing them good-naturedly when it came out looking more like a kidney. When at last a suitable degree of roundness was obtained she collected the cage from her desk and took a seat between Betta MacFusty and Kat Weatherby.

'We've been talking about gnomes for a week now,' Meyrigg said. Sirius snorted and James rolled his eyes. 'I thought it might be helpful for those of you who didn't grow up around them to get a sense of how they look and behave. So I brought along a little assistant for today's lesson. Let's all be sure our knees are touching: we don't want him running loose through the castle.'

There was a little shuffling as the circle tightened. Then Professor Meyrigg whisked the cover off of the cage, revealing a squat, ugly little gnome sitting sullenly against the bars. She opened the door of the cage and gently tipped him out onto the floor. He made an indignant grumbling noise and then, realizing he was free, clambered to his feet and attempted to run for it. He crashed into Matthew Mole's leg and fell back, dazed.

'Now, let's review,' Professor Meyrigg said. 'What is the natural predator of the gnome, Matthew?'

'The Jarvey, ma'am,' said the boy, still eyeing the gnome with interest. The gnome, having evidently decided that this was no route of escape, charged off at a tangent and careened into Charlotte White.

'Charlotte.' Meyrigg smiled. 'How do you get a gnome out of your garden?'

'M-make it dizzy, Professor,' said Charlotte timidly.

This time the gnome bounced off of Peter's knee. He made an unhappy sound deep in his throat, but Professor Meyrigg didn't seem to notice. 'Peter, what might you grow in your garden that would attract a gnome?'

'Murtlaps?' he said.

'Very good!' Meyrigg nodded approvingly. The class watched eagerly as the gnome picked himself up and made another escape attempt, unwittingly selecting the next person to answer the teacher's question.

So the lesson proceeded; the class reviewing what they had learned while watching the gnome wander around. After a while, convinced at last that there was no way out, the gnome settled down in the centre of the circle to sulk. By that time the Gryffindors had grown so accustomed to answering questions in turn that Meyrigg had only to call them by name to garner a response. It was a thoroughly enjoyable lesson – perhaps a little too easy, but pleasant and enjoyable and stimulating.

'So maybe she's not that bad,' James conceded as they settled in their places in the back of History of Magic. 'I still say we ought to be studying something a little more vicious than gnomes.'

'Tell that to Vivian Viridian!' Sirius chortled. The lone incident in the lesson had occurred when Vivian had reached instinctively for the gnome, who had bit down upon her wrist. The minute punctures that had resulted from the contact were quickly put right by Professor Meyrigg, but after that Vivian showed a degree of reticence towards the subject of the class.

'I'm only saying that she needs to be taught that we're not a bunch of extremely thick-headed trolls,' said James. 'We can cope with a lot more than gnomes.'

'It's only our second week,' Remus pointed out. 'I rather like her.'

'Me too!' said Peter happily.

'Only because she brings it all down to your level,' Sirius ribbed. At the front of the room, Professor Binns was droning through his lecture, as blissfully unaware of the four chattering boys as they were of him. 'I just wonder where she disappeared to over the weekend.'

'What's it matter now?' asked James. 'She's back, isn't she? And obviously wherever she went she brought back a gnome.'

'It doesn't take two days to catch a gnome,' Sirius said primly.

James grinned. 'How would you know? Get many gnomes at Grimmauld Place, do you?'

'Uncle Alphard gets them,' said Sirius. 'He lives in the country. Well, has a house in the country anyway. More and more it seems as if he's never there.'

'You really are bitter about the broomstick thing, aren't you?' James asked. 'Why didn't you bring your old one?'

'Because it's locked up at Alphard's, that's why,' said Sirius crossly. 'I really wanted to try out for the Gryffindor team, too.'

'You play Beater, though, don't you?' James asked. 'They're only looking for Chasers and a Seeker.'

'I think they ought to throw the trials open for the whole team,' groused Sirius. 'I suppose Eldritch McKinnon hasn't thought of that?'

'I suppose he's decided that the Beaters are good enough, and the problems lie elsewhere,' James countered. 'Namely among the Chasers. Of course,' he said, smirking; 'I fully intend to set that right.'

_~discidium~_

On Wednesday afternoon, a throng of eager Gryffindors congregated on the Quidditch Pitch. The four remaining members of the House team were assembled, directing the trials to the specifications of Eldritch McKinnon, who had succeeded Jean MacFusty as captain. James was, of course, prominent among the hopefuls. Sirius, Remus and Peter, eager to support their friend, found seats in the front row of the Gryffindor box and leaned down to watch the proceedings.

First the whole group of candidates – of which there were about thirty – was set to flying in a broad elliptical pattern around the pitch. The four players watched them, culling out those whose flying was erratic or sloppy or slow. This was not a concern for James, of course. He moved swiftly and with great precision, weaving in and out of the crowd and moving at an exceedingly swift pace.

When there were two dozen remaining, they were sorted into those who were trying for Chaser and those who aspired to be Seeker. Eldritch took the first group, splitting them into teams of three and sending them up half a dozen at a time to toss a Quaffle about. The one remaining Chaser worked with him, while the two Beaters set about putting the Seeker candidates through a series of complex manoeuvres on the other end of the pitch.

At last, they were down to six Chaser hopefuls. James was among them, as well as Betta MacFusty. The others were all older students, none of whom Remus recognized. McKinnon and the Chaser quickly had them up in the air, trying to score on Eldritch. This went on for such a long time that the sun began to set and the air grew cold. Remus found it impossible to keep track of who was giving the best performance. James seemed to be doing quite well; he nearly always managed to get in a goal. But all of the others were quick and talented, too. In the end when Professor McGonagall came out to order everyone inside for supper, the results of the trials seemed impossibly inconclusive.

James was waiting for the others at the foot of the Gryffindor box, flushed and perspiring but grinning wildly. His hair was sticking out in every direction, and his robes were rumpled. 'Did you see me out there?' he asked. 'I was in my stride today, I tell you! I've _never _flown like that!'

'Your left side was a bit weak,' Sirius pointed out. 'But you out-flew MacFusty, that's certain.'

'Oh, you've _got_ to make the team, James!' Peter pledged. 'If you don't it'd be just stupid! You were _brilliant_.' He cast adoring eyes at the taller boy, and James preened a little.

He patted his broomstick with pride. 'Well done, my girl,' he said. 'Not bad for an old Shooting Star.'

Sirius snorted. 'An _old_ Shooting Star?'

James nodded sagely. 'Three whole years,' he said, leading the way back to the castle.

Despite the initial show of bravado, James was on tenterhooks waiting for the result of the trials to be posted. By Saturday he was driving Sirius quite around the bend.

'Would you stop chewing that quill?' he demanded in a voice that could be heard throughout the crowded common room. 'You'll be swallowing it next.'

'And what if I did?' James asked irately. 'What's it matter to you?'

Sirius groaned. 'We've got to get you distracted, mate. I don't know about Remus and Peter, but I for one can't take another three days of this. Either you're in or you're out; there's nothing that'll change it now. What's the use of agonizing over it?'

'I got in,' James said, though he did not sound even remotely certain. 'I've got to get in. I won't stand for it otherwise.'

'Even if you don't,' said Remus kindly; 'there's always next year.'

'What d'you mean, _there's always next year_?' James howled, biting down on his quill with such force that he sheared off the tip. He sputtered for a moment, spitting out bits of feather. 'Don't be loopy, Lupin! There's only six years left before I take my NEWTs! If I miss out on this year I'll only have five – and what if I miss out on _next_ year, too? It'll be a ruddy disaster!'

Sirius patted the crown of his friend's head. 'It's so cute,' he said sagaciously. 'Our very own James Potter, having a crisis of confidence like an ordinary mortal. Don't worry, James: we shan't abandon you even if you are a pathetic failure.'

James scowled at him, but his eyes were glinting with suppressed laughter. 'Thanks, Black,' he said in a thick, ironic drawl. 'You really know how to make a bloke feel better!'

'It's a gift,' Sirius demurred. 'Anyway, we've got something to distract you, haven't we, Remus?'

James turned to the brown-haired boy. 'You what?' he said.

Remus smiled. 'We've been invited to tea at Hagrid's!' he announced.

James looked less than impressed. 'Tea with the groundskeeper?' he said. '_That's_ supposed to distract me?'

'Absolutely!' Sirius said. He grinned menacingly. 'If it doesn't I'll take you up to the top of the South Tower and throw you into the lake.'

'A most generous offer,' said James graciously. He winked. 'I'll try to enjoy tea with the groundskeeper, then!'

_~discidium~_

As it turned out, tea with Hagrid was immensely enjoyable – at least, the tea and the conversation were pleasant, and it was amusing to watch Poppet patrolling the room as if waiting for one of the boys to step out of line so that she could tackle them into submission. The biscuits left a great deal to be desired, having the colour and texture of fresh lumps of coal. Sirius and James, after the first abortive attempt to bite into one, gave up on them entirely. Remus spent most of the hour trying to soak his in his tea so that it was soft enough to swallow. It was rude, after all, to refuse food one had been offered.

Peter did not try to eat, and indeed seemed rather too nervous to properly enjoy his tea. Despite Hagrid's kind demeanour and his cheerfully rambling conversation it was obvious that Peter felt exceedingly intimidated by the towering man – to say nothing of his mastiff. Small eyes flitted back and forth between Poppet and her master, and as the visit drew on Peter inched nearer and nearer to Remus. When at last it was time for the boys to take their leave, Peter was practically in his lap.

On Sunday Sirius realized suddenly that Professor Meyrigg was once more missing from the staff table. He and James went off to try to break into her office. It was hardly a clever move in the middle of the afternoon. One of the Ravenclaw Prefects caught them in the act and James was distracted from fretting over the Quidditch trials by an evening's detention and ten points from Gryffindor.

Once again, Professor Meyrigg was back in class on Monday morning. They had moved on to pixies now, which James and Sirius seemed to think only slightly less absurd a topic than gnomes. Nevertheless the lesson was enjoyable, and everyone left in a pleasant mood.

James spent the whole of History of Magic drawing broomsticks and Snitches in the margins of his textbook. In Transfiguration he botched his assignment for the very first time in living memory, changing his cantaloupe into a Quaffle instead of a teapot. He rectified the error quickly, but not quickly enough. Sirius was still teasing him about it when they returned to Gryffindor Tower after supper.

As they stepped through the portrait hole, James gestured frenetically for silence. On the wall by the fireplace a roll of parchment had been posted. There was a small group of students clustered around it, and James elbowed them aside without consideration for their seniority of years or the fact that a good many of them were girls. The other three watched, breathless, as he studied the list, running his finger along the names. He turned very slowly away, his face a studied mask of dignity. Hands folded before him and eyes cast far away, he made his way through the crowd and ascended the boys' staircase with measured strides.

The three friends looked at one another. Peter's lower lip was trembling. 'Sod it all,' Sirius muttered. He sighed and jerked his head towards the dormitory stairs. 'Come on,' he said. 'Might as well get it over with.'

They hurried up to the dormitory, hesitating only briefly on the threshold. It was silly, Remus thought, to fear a disappointed James Potter after all they had been through already this year. Yet he could not deny that he was anxious as Sirius opened the door.

James was standing at the foot of his bed, arms folded and eyes downcast. Sirius shuffled into the room, Remus beside him. Peter closed the door and tried to make himself very small behind the other two.

'It's only Quidditch…' Sirius said awkwardly. 'Remus is right: there's always next year.'

'For Betta MacFusty, maybe,' James said, his voice very low and vulnerable. 'She's made the reserve, at least; she'll stand a good chance next time. As for me…'

He sighed enormously and turned around, putting one hand on his bedpost and climbing up onto his trunk with the air of one about to throw himself from the top of a very tall building. Then he dove forward, somersaulting onto the bed and launching into bounding leaps that carried him from the mattress almost to the red-draped canopy.

'_I_ made the team!' he hollered. '_I'm_ the new Chaser. Well, me and Gabriela Walters in fifth year. I did it! I knew I could do it! Never doubted it for a second!'

That night Remus and Peter made their first solo expedition to the kitchens, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. Neither Sirius nor James were nearly calm enough to be trusted to fetch the provisions for a celebration that carried on well into the night.

When the others were asleep at last, contented and satiated and still drunk on James's victory, Remus sat wakeful with an ache in his spine and cold dread in his heart. He had been so blissfully happy that evening, celebrating with his friends, eating pilfered sweetmeats and laughing and planning out the entirety of the Quidditch Cup competition for the year. Now the room was dark and the other beds were shrouded in their hangings. The detritus of their celebrations covered the floor and the trunks.

And all of it was illuminated ominously by the light of the waxing gibbous moon, pouring through the dormitory windows. Four nights remained until the next transformation. His time was running short.


	48. And Into the Fire

**Chapter Forty-Eight: And Into the Fire**

The full moon was imminent, and Remus had come to the end of his lies.

He had tried – for _weeks_ he had tried – to dream up some plausible excuse, some simple explanation that would account for everything: the protracted absences, the dreadful bruises, his illness and exhaustion afterward, and above all the desperate need for secrecy. But there was nothing left. The moon rose on Friday. He might have sold the story that he was going home for the weekend, save that his friends had already discredited it. He could not claim to feel ill: they would only want to visit him in the hospital wing. He did not dare to hope that they might once more be dissuaded by a plea for privacy. And any attempt to lay blame upon a faceless bully would only send Sirius and James on a rampage against the Slytherins. Someone was bound to get hurt, and the lie would come out anyhow.

Remus desperately wished he had someone to turn to for advice. Twice he had tried to compose a letter to his mother, begging for her aid. Twice he had crept down to the common room in the dead of night to burn the spoiled parchment in secret. His mother would only write back and suggest that he tell the truth – or worse, she would show the letter to her husband and _Father _would write, pleading with him to see sense and be careful and keep the secret hidden. Remus had no hope that this sire would offer any sound advice as to how he might accomplish such an end.

He might have turned to Professor McGonagall, but he was reluctant to impose upon her good graces and in any case he was not certain she would take his concerns seriously. Madam Pomfrey did not: she thought James and Sirius were rather foolish children, and that his secret would never be found out by the likes of them. In a moment of desperation, waking from yet another nightmare in which the others confronted him, reviled him and ultimately attacked him, Remus considered going to Dumbledore. But he was such a bother to the Headmaster by his mere presence in the school that he was reluctant to trouble him any further.

So instead he fretted, though it robbed him of sleep and tainted his appetite and aggravated the aches that always tore through his body in the last waxing days of the month. His friends' cheerful banter grated upon his frayed nerves, and his desperate resolve to savour every minute of their company for as long as he had it began to flag. After lessons on Wednesday he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and try to steal a few dreamless hours of slumber. When James and Sirius announced that they were going down to the courtyard to see if there was anyone there worth hexing, he begged off and lay down instead. Within moments he was asleep.

_~discidium~_

He awoke to low voices near at hand. Three voices, almost as familiar as his own, congregated to his left – likely on James's bed.

'—been sleeping very well,' Sirius said. 'I say let him alone.'

'Let him alone?' James repeated. 'Who are you and what have you done with Sirius Black?'

'He does look awfully tired these days,' said Peter. 'At supper I thought he was going to fall asleep over his plate.'

'He's been up a lot at night,' murmured Sirius. 'Bad dreams again.'

'What sort of dreams?' asked James.

'Don't know.' Sirius sounded suddenly grim and rather weary. 'Even if I did I couldn't tell you.'

'Of course you could!' James said, his voice rising to almost its normal volume before Peter hushed him. 'We're his friends too, you prat,' he whispered. 'If there's something you know that you haven't told us, you'd better make a clean breast of it right now.'

'I don't know anything,' Sirius said miserably. 'I just… this is how it always starts, isn't it? He looks tired and peaky, and then suddenly he's gone for three days and he comes back looking like he's been used as a target for a homicidal Bludger.'

Remus felt his heart hammering in his chest and he held his breath, fearful lest the others should hear it. That was absurd, of course, and presently Peter spoke.

'P'raps he does go home,' he said. 'P'raps…'

'Haven't you been listening?' Sirius said, rather shortly. 'Those were all lies, every last one of them. He doesn't go home, and his mum isn't ill, and his dad doesn't hurt him—'

'If anything, his dad's the one who's ill,' James put in. 'Mum said he was in no fit state to be Apparating that night we had dinner at your place.'

'He doesn't leave the school,' Sirius went on as if his friend had not spoken. 'Or if he does he doesn't go far: otherwise he would never have come back just to take the train at the end of term. He's said it's not a bully – and let's face it, even some Slytherin was giving him the bruises, where does he disappear to? None of the professors are foul enough to lock up a student for three days – not now Alfstin's gone, anyhow.'

'Come to think of it, though,' said James; 'he hasn't disappeared at all this year. Maybe it _was _Alfstin.'

'Then why is he still having nightmares?' Sirius asked. 'And we're only three weeks into the term. It's early days yet.'

'And he's losing his appetite again,' Peter pointed out. 'He hardly even touched his pudding tonight; only seemed interested in the chops and the asparagus.'

'D'you make an intimate study of all our dietary habits?' James asked sardonically. 'I'm not sure how that makes me feel, Pettigrew.'

'I know how it makes _me_ feel,' said Sirius. 'Bored. What's Remus's pudding got to do with anything?'

'I don't know,' said Peter; 'but it's true. Any day now he'll stop eating much of anything, and he'll nibble at all the dishes made with beef but he won't finish even one of them. It always happens right before he goes away. Then when he comes back he just picks at his food for a day or two, and then suddenly he's eating everything in sight.'

James whistled softly. 'If you paid half as much attention to his whereabouts as you do to his plate, we'd know exactly where he goes.'

'It's not Peter's fault,' Sirius said generously. 'He's a slippery little blighter. One minute he's there and the next he's gone – and he never leaves at the same time twice. And that's even assuming we could pin down the day.'

'There has to be a pattern, hasn't there?' James asked. 'When did he disappear?'

Remus bit down on the corner of his pillow. He could not let them know that he was listening, for in the mood they were in the questions would swiftly be turned upon him. Yet his panic made it difficult to remain silent. They did not know, not yet, but they were close. They knew about the lies, and they knew about the wounds, and now because of Peter they knew about the meat…

'February twenty-ninth,' said Sirius. 'Missed the Leap Day celebrations.'

'You mean the Leap Day detentions,' James corrected.

'Two days before the end of term,' Peter offered. 'He disappeared two days before the end of term.'

'Right. June twenty-sixth. When else?' asked James. 'Anybody remember?'

'He missed the Slytherin-Gryffindor match in November,' said Sirius.

'December,' James corrected. 'That was the fourth of December, and he came back on the Sunday, so he must've left… I don't know. Thursday? Friday?'

'So early in December, end of February, last week in June,' Sirius summarized. 'I don't see a pattern.'

'There were other times, too,' Peter pointed out.

'Of course there were other times,' said James. 'Seems like he's gone practically every month, but without dates it's not much use to us, is it?'

His whole body was shaking now, and Remus desperately hoped the motion was not visible from outside the bed. They were so close. They had it all laid out in front of them, and any hope that they might once more reach the wrong conclusion abandoned him. A hot tear of despair trickled down the side of his nose. It was over. In a moment they would guess, and Friday's impending disappearance would confirm it and then…

'Never the same days of the week, either,' Sirius said. 'That never did make sense to me: why wouldn't he go away on weekends? Why would he disappear on a Tuesday?'

'When was the Tuesday?' James asked shrewdly. 'Which month?'

November, Remus thought miserably. And February. Wednesday in March, but that was in the midst of the Easter break when the others were gone.

'Leap Day, remember?' Sirius said.

'Right. So no new date, then.' James sighed. 'Well, I can't see anything else for it. We wait and see what happens. If he disappears again we start keeping track.'

'McGonagall keeps an attendance register,' Sirius put in. 'So does Slughorn. We could nick 'em.'

'Theft,' James said. 'That's your answer for everything, isn't it? At the rate you're going you'll be up before the Wizengamot at twenty.'

'I'm shooting for nineteen, actually,' Sirius quipped.

'Well, let's not start breaking into teachers' offices yet, all right?' said James. 'We'll see. If it _was_ Alfstin then it's over anyway. If he takes off again, then we can reconsider.'

'And in the meantime?' Sirius asked.

'In the meantime, bed,' said James. 'It's gone half twelve, and we've Astronomy tomorrow night. Now I'm in training I need to be more conscientious about getting my rest.'

'Oh, well, excuse my ignorance!' Sirius snorted. 'Some of us weren't able to make trials, much less the team.'

'Aw, Sirius, you're _jealous_!' James cooed. 'I'm touched, truly I am.'

'You truly are,' Sirius said sombrely. There was a hollow tapping sound as he rapped at his forehead. Peter giggled, pausing mid-laugh to yawn. 'Bed it is, then.'

The noises of the evening toilette filled the dormitory, but they held no interest for Remus. His mind was filled with the dreadful things he had heard, and the repercussions of his friends' council. They would be watching him more closely than ever before, and he knew he could not escape their scrutiny. He could do his best to refute Peter's observations about his appetite, and he could try harder to hide his dreams. He could even, he supposed, go to Professor McGonagall and beg her to have last year's attendance registers destroyed. But he could not escape the need to vanish on Friday. He could not be present in the dormitory that night, nor could he guarantee that he would be free of obvious hurts when at last he returned from the hospital wing.

Burying his face in his pillow and biting into it to muffle his sobs, he wept until he had no strength left. Then he lay awake in the cavernous darkness of the bed, rendered utterly incapable by terror. He wondered if this was what it felt like to reach the very end of a foredoomed campaign of war. He was pressed against a wall and his enemies were encroaching upon him, and there was nowhere left to run.

_~discidium~_

Remus got out of bed when the others were only just beginning to stir. He hurried to the water closet, where he washed his face and combed the salt from his hair and soaked his eyes with a cold flannel until he no longer looked like a cowardly wretch who had spent the better part of the night blubbing. He dressed as quickly as he could, and by the time Sirius and James were abroad he was sitting on his trunk, bent impassively over _The Standard Book of Spells_. The others went about their morning routine as usual, and they descended to breakfast together.

Remembering Peter's observations, Remus forced himself to choke down a helping of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast and marmalade. They tasted of soot and sat uneasily in his stomach, but at least he would not lay himself open to accusations of being overly enamoured of meat. He regretted his decision that morning in Potions, where the foul odours and the usual difficulties about breathing only aggravated his nausea. At lunch he forced his way through a chicken sandwich and half a glass of pumpkin juice. It was a grievous tactical error. In the midst of Herbology he had to flee from the greenhouse in order to be copiously sick in the hedge.

He was still on his hands and knees, retching impotently, when a plump, grubby hand settled on his arm. It was Professor Sprout, kindly face furrowed in concern. She waited until he was through, then Vanished the mess and offered him a glass of water.

'There, now, my lad,' she said. 'Touch of the Collywobbles?'

Remus nodded, his cheeks burning with shame. He took a sip of the water, swishing it around his mouth in an attempt to wash away the sour taste of vomit.

'Go ahead and spit,' said Sprout amiably. 'Go on.'

Remus did so, but the moment of relief did not last long. His mouth was clean but he felt vile and uncouth. He shrank in upon himself, unable to meet the teacher's eyes.

'Would you like to go up to see the matron?' she asked. 'I could have someone escort you.'

Remus shook his head. Madam Pomfrey would only fuss and fret, and insist he remain in her care overnight. Bad enough that he would have to disappear tomorrow. He could not do so now.

'Remus?'

His humiliation intensified. A moment later, Sirius was kneeling next to him, James and Peter hanging back a few paces. The grey eyes glinted in his peripheral vision. Sirius was bent low in an attempt to catch his eye.

'Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?' he asked.

Remus shook his head. 'I just… maybe the chicken had gone off?'

'I had the chicken,' Sirius said, puzzled. 'I feel fine.'

'Come now, chaps,' said Professor Sprout, getting to her feet and patting the front of her robes. 'Either it's off to the hospital wing or back to work. I'm afraid either way _I've_ got to get back to work!'

She bustled off back to the greenhouse, and James took her place. He glanced pointedly at Sirius before gripping Remus by the shoulder. 'Hospital wing?' he asked.

'No,' said Remus. 'No, I… let's please just go back?'

The others helped him to his feet and he shrugged off their hands as he shuffled back to their workbench and resumed pruning his potted bitterwort plant. The others settled around him, troublingly silent.

'I ate too much at lunch, that's all,' Remus mumbled.

'Of course,' James said stoutly.

'Told you,' Peter whispered. The other two shot him an irritated look and Remus bent his head over his work, all too aware that he had not been meant to hear that.

_~discidium~_

Remus was clumsy and imprecise in Charms that afternoon, though Professor Flitwick was too kind to mention it in front of the rest of the class. Having learned his lesson, he scarcely touched anything at supper, and afterwards went to lie down in the dormitory while the others followed James out to Quidditch practice.

Astronomy that night was a torment. Professor Arachne distributed ruby-tinted lenses to obscure the light of the moon, swollen almost to fullness. Everyone trained their telescopes upon it, seeking out the craters and mountains and fissures they had been studying on the maps. For most it was a welcome change from the meticulous work of stargazing, and there was a great deal of eager questioning and happy observations. While his classmates expounded on the beauty and brightness of the hostile white orb, Remus had to struggle to keep his teeth from grinding and his aching knees from abandoning their dogged efforts to support his weight.

By the time he was at last allowed to retreat indoors it was all that he could do to drag himself back to the dormitory and into bed. There, though exhausted, he did not sleep. Instead he lay staring at the ghost of the moonlight on the bed hangings, haunted by the certainty that the minute the others noticed he was gone they would realize that tonight's moon had not been full – not quite.

He tried to pay attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts the following morning, but between his exhaustion and his terror and the pain in every sinew he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Once or twice he felt Professor Meyrigg's eyes upon him, puzzled or concerned – or suspicious?

When the lesson ended he loitered behind the others, who were bustling off to History of Magic. As soon as they rounded a corner up ahead, he turned and struggled to hurry in the opposite direction. The walk to the Gryffindor Tower was almost more than he could manage, and he was obliged to sit for a few minutes in the common room before mounting the stairs to the dormitory.

He realized the extent of his weakness when his customary push was not sufficient to close the door. It stopped a foot from the post, and he had to double back to push it to. Out of habit he glanced around the room, assuring himself that it was empty even though he knew the others were now listening to Professor Binns droning on about some goblin war or another. He wondered if they realized yet that he was gone. Whether they had or no, they would be occupied for the next three-quarters of an hour at least: plenty of time for him to get down to the hospital wing unobserved.

Alone, he did not have to trouble with climbing behind the bed curtains to change. He got out his shabby old play robes and his cloak, and stripped off his school things and his vest and his underpants. He shivered reflexively, standing naked but for shoes and socks. He hugged his arms to his chest, and his fingertips brushed the webbed scars on his ribs. There was a muted noise of discomfort and dismay that he supposed must have come from deep in his throat. Remus hurriedly pulled the ragged transformation garments over his bare skin. The sleeves were too short and the hem fell only to the tops of his socks. Hastily he wrapped his cloak around him, wary eyes once more darting around the deserted dormitory. He emptied his satchel and packed it with a set of school robes and his nightshirt and an assortment of undergarments. Impulsively he rammed his Defence textbook in atop them.

Then he hurried from the dormitory, once again failing to close the door properly. A small sound of frustration echoed behind his tonsils, too much like a whimper for his liking. He made certain the door latched this time, and tackled the stairs. He was dizzy by the time he reached the common room, but he did not have time to rest. As soon as the period was over the others would be looking for him, and he had to be safe in his little room by then.

As he moved through the portrait hole a shiver ran up his spine as though a ghost had brushed against him. He stumbled into the corridor, looking around for any sign of Nearly Headless Nick, but he saw nothing. He pressed his wrist to his forehead and sighed. He was feverish, and likely imagining things.

His footsteps seemed to echo more loudly than usual in the empty corridors as he hurried down to the hospital wing. This time he took no chances with his flagging strength. He resolutely dragged the door closed behind him as he entered and leaned heavily against it.

Madam Pomfrey came around the corner, pinning her cap to her hair. Her hands froze in midair when she saw who had arrived.

'Remus!' she said. 'You're early, love.' A moment later he was engulfed in a gentle hug. 'Welcome back! I've missed you dreadfully over the summer. How did everything go at home?'

Remus could not answer her immediately; too overcome was he by her words and by the gracious sincerity with which she uttered them. He was put in mind of his mother's assertion that she, she alone in the world, _wanted_ a werewolf if that werewolf was him. Of course Madam Pomfrey was only being kind, but after weeks of the terror of rejection even a courteous attempt at acceptance was a blessing.

'Everything went well, Madam, truly,' he said when he found his voice. 'I hurt my leg in July, but otherwise it was all very usual.'

The matron nodded, regarding him thoughtfully. She brushed the hair from his eyes and smiled. 'I had hoped you might stop in to see me before this,' she said pleasantly. 'I've been wondering after you and the occasional glimpse at mealtimes is a poor substitute for a proper visit.'

Remus stared up at her. He had never imagined that he might be welcome in the hospital wing as a visitor. 'I'm sorry, ma'am,' he said softly. 'I didn't think…'

'Never you mind, dear,' she told him cheerily. 'I expect you've had a good deal on your mind besides tea with an old lady! Settling into the routine again, seeing your friends – how do you like Brynna?'

'Brynna?' Remus echoed.

'Oh, where is my head?' Madam Pomfrey laughed. 'She's Professor Meyrigg to you, isn't she, Remus? How time flies by. Do you know, she was sitting her OWLs when I first came to work at Hogwarts? Seems such an age ago now. Is she a good teacher, then?'

She started towards the little room and Remus followed. 'Yes, Madam, I think she is, Madam,' he said. 'She's been trying very hard to get us talking. She brought a gnome for us to look at, and every time it ran into one of us we got to answer a question.'

'That's a very good idea,' Madam Pomfrey said approvingly. 'What question did you answer, then?'

Remus stopped on the threshold of the room, hanging his head. 'I didn't,' he mumbled. 'The gnome… it wouldn't come anywhere near me. I think perhaps it could tell.'

'My goodness!' said the matron. 'That would make it a fair sight cleverer than any gnome I've ever come across. Like as not it just got sick of trying to run before it could head in your direction. Onto that bed now, dear, and let me see about your fever.'

Remus submitted meekly to the bustling ministrations, taking comfort in Madam Pomfrey's calm efficiency. Only when she had finished and was tucking him in to catch a little sleep before it was time to go down to the Willow did he dare to give voice to his cares.

'M-Madam?' he said, forcing her to pause as she turned away from the bed. She looked down at him, the picture of patience and compassion. 'My friends… they're going to find out.'

The matron sighed softly, a gentle smile touching her lips. 'Oh, Remus, we've talked about this…' she began.

'No! No, they will!' he cried. And the story of the overheard speculations came tumbling out in a panicked tirade. By the time he was finished he was sitting up in bed, bent forward over his lap and quivering with pent up desperation and fear. 'They know about everything!' he moaned. 'About the dates and the bruises and even the meat…'

At that pronouncement Madam Pomfrey's kindly expression faltered for a moment. She had never heard the bit about the meat before today, and despite her efforts to take it in her stride Remus could tell the idea repulsed her a little. He wished now that he had not mentioned it.

The matron composed herself beautifully. 'Now, Remus,' she said serenely, reaching to pat his hand; 'they might know all of that but they've no idea what it means. And even if they did, who's to say they would tell anyone? Headmaster Dumbledore can be very persuasive when he wishes to be, and if the truth did come out to your friends I'm sure he would intervene. There's nothing to worry about. You would never be forced to leave Hogwarts, and you could still get your education…'

'But I'll be alone,' Remus whispered, hanging his head and hugging his knees to his chest. 'I'll be alone again.'

Madam Pomfrey reached out to trace a soothing circle on his back. 'Oh, Remus, you'll never be alone,' she said tenderly. 'I'll be here, and your parents and Minerv—Professor McGonagall. You don't need to be alone.'

He tried to smile at her, gratefully, but it was no use. What she was saying was perhaps true, but it would never be the same as having friends – real friends his own age to laugh with and play with and make mischief with. Sirius and James and Peter… when they were gone, what would be left for him?

_~discidium~_

With the days still long, they were able to wait until the school was at supper before heading out onto the grounds. Nevertheless Remus glanced nervously back at the castle, plagued as he had been a year ago by the feeling that each of the hundreds of windows housed a pair of hostile, watchful eyes. He could feel them fixed upon him, staring and wondering and ultimately passing judgement.

Even after they were safely out of sight in the dank passage beneath the Whomping Willow, Remus found himself skittish and ill at ease. He heard the tree awakening, flailing its limbs belatedly against the intruders. He fancied he heard a squawk of alarm somewhere above, but of course that was nothing more than his fevered imagination. He stumbled after Madam Pomfrey and struggled to haul himself out of the trap door and onto the floor of the old house. The matron hugged him and said her customary goodbyes, and then she was gone.

Remus looked around the dingy room, limbs trembling in anticipatory dread. All was as it had been at the end of the previous term. The furniture was disarrayed, somewhat the worse for wear. There was a dark stain on the carpet where his blood had soaked in after the transformation in December when Madam Pomfrey had neglected to clean up or even gather his robes before rushing him back to the castle. There were stains on the walls where the wolf had marked its territory. The whole room was a testimony to savagery and suffering. Hidden away from prying eyes, it represented the full horror of his secret. Looking at it now, Remus felt his blood run cold.

The sun was setting beyond the boarded-up windows. Remus forced himself to remove his robes, folding them carefully and tucking them, along with his shoes, in the sideboard where the wolf could not reach them. Naked and trembling, he climbed into his usual chair and curled into a ball, waiting.

It seemed to last an eternity, the waiting. Though he tried to empty his mind, to calm himself, to prepare as best he could, his mind was crowded with the terrors of the last few days. He could hear Sirius laughing: _or werewolves! Or even Boggarts or minor demons…_'. He felt the scorn in James's voice as he intimated that werewolves did not – _could _not – have wands. He thought of the spider, so swiftly and efficiently cut down by Hagrid and his dog like the Dark creature it was. And over and over he heard the litany of damning evidence, recited by his friends while they thought he slept, stacking up inexorably against him. The timing, the lies, the bruises, the food… all of it leading to only one inevitable conclusion.

He was crying again, his bony shoulders shaking with silent sobs. His pulse raced and his temples throbbed, and his limbs were quaking so violently that he fell from the chair, landing hard upon the floorboards. By the time he realized that the tremors were the first portent of the change, it was too late even to attempt to compose himself.

_~discidium~_

Out of terror and pain the rage was born. The wolf knew rage as no other creature could: the rage of suffering, the rage of captivity, the rage of a lust that could never be satisfied. Up sprang the beast, lean legs propelling it off of the floor. Forepaws clawed the seat of a battered old armchair as if it were a boulder or a weathered stump far out in the wilderness. The snout – like and yet unlike that of a natural wolf – tilted heavenward, opening in an instinctive howl that shook the empty bookshelves and made the old house creak. Then the gleaming eyes with their aberrantly constricted pupils caught sight of the roof above and the rage surged anew.

The wolf longed to roam free in the night, worshiping the moon that was at once its liberator and its oppressor. The wolf yearned for the power to wander, to hunt, to kill. Yet these walls, this roof, this unnatural prison prevented it. Shrieking its wrath to the sky it could sense even through this abomination of wood and stone, the wolf hurled itself against the wall. It fell backward, sprawling, but it leapt up again. With a snarl of defiance it tried again and again to penetrate the barrier that kept it from its prey.

There were humans nearby. Nearer than a mile. Their scent lingered, even in this room. Some of that scent, of course, belonged to the Weak One, the Mewling One, the little hated thing that fought against the wolf and tried to keep it caged in the small bare body without fur or claws or fangs, without mighty legs with which to chase down its quarry or steely jaws with which to devour it. The Weak One, though its smell was ever-present, could not be reached by the wolf – could not be claimed as prey. Another had made that claim long ago. But there was a second scent, a female scent that lingered behind. She, if she could be found, might slake the thirst for blood. Or any of the others, their spoor carried on the air from the open night beyond these walls. If it could reach them the wolf knew it could feast.

Again, desperate and wild with aggression, the wolf launched itself against the wall. This time there was a cracking sound and the beast let out a howl of victory that morphed into a wailing ululation of torment as the pain shot from its shattered scapula. The wolf crumpled to the ground, crazed with agony. With the pain resurged the hatred and the insatiable wrath. And no anguish could ever dull the yearning for blood. That was itself a torment ten times more awful than any mortification of the body.

Yet the wolf was weakened now. There was no hope of escape tonight. No hope of soft, succulent man-flesh to shred beneath its fangs. The wolf could not rationalize the fury that it felt, nor could it give voice to its loathing of the Weak One, the Wretched One who went so meekly to this hated place when the wolf was trapped and powerless. But the anger and the frantic terror of a cornered beast melded somehow with the yearning for blood and solidified itself into the timeless ritual of violence.

The wolf turned its fangs upon itself, goring through fur and skin and muscle. It slavered greedily, lapping at the blood. The claws of the three unbroken limbs joined in the effort, raking at flank and muzzle and neck. The triumphant howls and the keening wails of torment issued together from the beast's throat, breaking forth from the room and filling the house and spilling out into the night.

In the village of Hogsmeade the people shuttered their windows and retreated to their beds, murmuring of angry spirits and violent ghosts. They could not know that they were the objects of the yowling creature's malice – they and the Weak One, cowering in a tiny corner of the mind of the wolf, oblivious to everything but the pain.


	49. When the Game's Been Fought

_Note: Visit my profile page to read about the inaugural Reviewer Appreciation One-Shot project and to register your vote in the plot bunny poll!_

_Chapter title from 'Day is Done', Nick Drake._

**Chapter Forty-Nine: When The Game's Been Fought**

In later years, the first memory Remus had of the aftermath of that transformation was the dim realization, as he floated in a nebulous world of insensitive suffering, that Madam Pomfrey was not speaking as she worked. He was vaguely aware of her presence and the bursts of healing magic that tugged at his body. He knew it was her, because the charms took hold at once in the firm and efficient way that his father's could not. Yet the low, consoling murmurs were absent.

In a muzzy, detached way he wondered if he was somehow to blame. Had he done something to anger her? Had she at last realized that he was nothing but a burden, an unpleasant responsibility? Had she stopped thinking of him as a boy, in need of reassurance and a sense of dignity in the wake of the trauma of the change and the invasive treatments that inevitably followed? Did she see now only the animal he became, lying naked and bloodied on the floor of the dingy sitting room of the safe house?

The speculations exhausted him, and when a searing bolt of agony lanced into his lung and threatened to stop his heart he did not resist the temptation to slip away into the alluring embrace of unconsciousness.

Remarkably it was that same pain that roused him an indeterminate span of time later. He felt a tortured shriek rising in his throat, but it issued forth as nothing more than a dry and cracking sigh. A hand touched his cheek and somewhere far away someone spoke, but he could not understand human speech. He accepted the cold void that surged up to claim him.

'Hold him still,' a low voice instructed when he woke for the third time. 'One hand on his hip and the other on his ribs – don't touch that shoulder.'

'I don't know, Poppy…'

'You can't do any more harm than has already been done. Hold him still.'

Amid the plethora of distant plagues the hands that touched him now were scarcely discernable. Yet Remus noted dispassionately that they trembled, and he wondered whom Madam Pomfrey – for Poppy was her name, was it not? Yes, Poppy… – had recruited to handle the werewolf for her.

A third hand, this one firm and capable, closed on his ankle in a brief, reassuring squeeze. 'There now, Remus,' the matron's voice whispered. 'It will soon be over.'

Was he dying, then? He supposed he ought to be frightened, but the blinding, white-hot anguish that followed left room for nothing but oblivion.

_~discidium~_

Pain.

Pain such as he had never known. Pain such as he could scarcely imagine. Such pervasive, all-consuming pain that he found himself incapable of motion, incapable of thought, incapable even of breath.

Something warm and bitter touched his lips. A fingertip stroked his throat, delicately. In spite of the torment that forbade any motion, he swallowed the potion. A moment later he nearly lost himself to the darkness again as someone moved his arm, tucking it up against his ribs. But then there were gentle fingers upon his brow and the warmth of a person, a caring person nearby… and the potion took hold and he felt his lungs draw in a frugal measure of air. It slipped through his nose and issued forth from his lips in a tiny puff of relief. The pain was fading now from excruciating paroxysms of agony to a dull, basal suffering that no longer had its own fiendish rhythm but instead throbbed considerately along to the beating of his heart.

He tried to open his eyes, but his lashes were cemented together and his lids would not part. Someone seemed to recognize his effort, for a warm, damp flannel was touched first to his left eye and then to his right, wiping away the sharp encrustations of dried blood. His eyelids fluttered and lifted slowly, letting in the dim light of the covered lamp.

There was a shadowy shape bent over him, and he realized that it was not his mother. Cold despair left him with the frantic desire to lose himself in the pain once again. Was he in St Mungo's?

But no, he remembered as the previous awakenings came back to him. He had transformed at school. Slowly the shape grew clearer, until at last he recognized the comforting shape of Madam Pomfrey. He struggled to bring her into focus, and he was appalled by what he saw. Her cap was askew on hair coming loose of its once-tidy knot. Her ordinarily pristine, starched apron was rumpled and smeared with gore. The comely and gentle face was lined with worry and weariness, and there were shadows under the kind eyes. Her lips made an attempt at a consoling smile, but they did not quite succeed in that aim.

Remus wanted to speak to her, but the mere effort of tipping his tongue against his teeth proved beyond his strength. He blinked lethargically, twice, hoping she would understand. Her cool hand settled on his fever-ravaged brow.

'Hush, dear. Save your strength,' she said. 'You must be half mad with thirst.'

A cotton bud wetted with something sweet and tasting vaguely of lemons brushed against his lips. Remus let his jaw loosen a little as it slipped across his tongue and ran gently along his palate and the inside of his cheeks. The terrible yearning for water that always came in the wake of a transformation was eased a little, and when a moment later Madam Pomfrey tilted his head and let him drink from a cup of cool water he found he was able to drink without too much desperation. He made an effort to sit up, but an iridescent bolt of anguish shot through his spine and his ribs and the organs in his chest.

'Don't try to move,' the matron said mournfully, taking his hand so that he could grip her fingers. 'You've broken your left shoulder blade and I can't mend it yet.'

Remus tried to settle back against the mattress, but it was almost impossible to let himself relax. Broken a shoulder blade? How was that even possible? They were in the middle of his back, tucked snugly against his ribs and protected by layers of scrawny muscle…

Of course.

The answer frightened and shamed him. A wolf's shoulder blades were far nearer the forequarters. It must have tried to escape.

'Are you up for another potion, dear?' Madam Pomfrey asked, lifting a cup filled with familiar carmine liquid. Remus knew his head was swimming. He could feel the chill in his fingers and the toes of his left foot. He wondered how much blood he had lost, and how disfiguring the new scars were.

He could not answer the matron's query, but he opened his mouth obediently, swallowing the Blood-Replenishing Potion and sparing a moment of gratitude that the costly brew was being provided by the school. If he had been at home, his parents likely would have had to take him to the hospital simply because they could not afford his medications – to say nothing of coping with whatever injuries had necessitated them.

'I want you to sleep, dear,' Madam Pomfrey said softly, petting his hair and managing a tiny, sad smile; 'and try not to fret. We'll get you through this. I'll mend your scapula the moment you're strong enough to bear it, and I think… I hope… I'm almost certain that you won't lose the normal use of your leg.'

She sounded as though she was trying very hard to offer up the positives in his situation, but her words sent a thrill of terror through Remus's abdomen. Lose the normal use of his leg? What had the wolf done? What had _he_ done?

Madam Pomfrey's wand danced lightly over his head, and he felt himself slipping away into unconsciousness. For a moment he tried to fight it, but his body craved precisely what the magic was offering and he did not succeed for long.

_~discidium~_

When he awoke again he was alone, his tongue swollen and his throat burning with thirst. The room was dark, the lamp nothing but a dim bluish glow that drained the colour from the room but did at least illuminated the silhouettes of the articles on the side table. There was a bottle, which by the shape Remus recognized as the Blood-Replenishing Potion. Next to it stood the little bell with which he was to summon the matron if he needed help. And there was a tumbler of water, silvery and enticing in the gloom.

Remus tried to reach for it before remembering that he could not move his left arm. He paid a dear ransom in agony, and subsisted for a while into shallow pants of suffering, clutching his fist against his breastbone and vying against the temptation to cry out. He was lying on his right side, his left leg drawn forward so that it placed firm and steady pressure on his right thigh. If he shifted the top leg ever so slightly Remus could feel the downy mass of bandages curled around his femur and his hip and into his groin. Madam Pomfrey's words about the _normal use of his leg _echoed in his ringing ears and he bit back a whimper of fear. Life as a werewolf was wretched enough. He was not certain he could bear life as a _crippled_ werewolf.

His thirst pressed upon his fragile consciousness. The water, not fourteen inches from his head, was a temptation more dreadful than anything else he could imagine. If Merlin himself had appeared beside his bed at that moment, with the tumbler in one hand and a cure for lycanthropy in the other, Remus would not have trusted himself to make the wise choice.

He shifted his right arm ever so slightly, trying not to jar his torso. His shoulder was pinned in place by the weight of his body, but he could bend his elbow. Slowly, awkwardly, and not without pain he moved his arm, negotiating the space between himself and the alluring vessel of relief beside him. When he reached the place where he thought the glass ought to be he felt a shiver of despair. It was just out of reach.

Biting the tip of his tongue against the burning in his back, Remus managed to rotate his right shoulder ever so slightly. His fingertips brushed the cool side of the glass, and all caution was forgotten as he extended his arm just a little farther in an attempt to grab hold of it.

The convulsion of torment that shook his body as the broken scapula was aggravated sent a spasm down the length of his arm. He swallowed his cry of misery, but he could not control his hand. It jerked to the left and there was a deafening noise of shattered glass as the potion-bottle flew off the table and exploded upon the smooth stone floor.

Remus yelped, a hoarse feral sound deep in his ravaged throat. He had less than half a minute to attempt to make sense of the horrible repercussions of his clumsiness, for the door to the room was whisked hastily open and Madam Pomfrey appeared. She flicked her wand at the lamp, brightening the room just enough that she could see what had happened. Her eyes fixed at once on her patient, but all that Remus was aware of was the bitter, tinny scent of the wasted medicine.

Remorse and dismay accomplished what worry had not, and he found something that sounded vaguely like his voice. 'S-sorry…' he croaked, his tonsils and his larynx constricting painfully with the herculean effort of shaping speech. ''M sorry. I d-didn't m-m-m-m…'

His tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth now, and he rather thought he could taste blood somewhere deep in his throat. His eyes stung, taken with the instinct to weep, but his body it seemed was too dehydrated for tears. He had ruined the potion, the dreadfully expensive potion. He was a wretched, ungrateful little creature, unworthy of the matron's kindness, fit for nothing but suffering.

Madam Pomfrey strode towards the bed as if entirely unaware of the mess of broken glass and fluid on the floor. She picked up the cup from the table and she put one hand under Remus's cheek, raising him up to drink. Despite his torment of guilt he lapped greedily at the water, forcing it down so quickly that his stomach gurgled in protest. The matron withdrew the glass then, brushing the hair from his eyes and feeling for his pulse.

'There, Remus, hush,' she murmured soothingly. 'Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right?'

He tipped his head in a ghost of a nod, and the matron murmured a spell that whisked away the scent of the wasted potion. 'You lie still for a moment now,' she said. 'I'll go and fetch you your next dose, and something for the pain as well.'

'Nn… don'…' Remus swallowed harshly and made the excruciating effort to shape his words. 'D-deserve it.'

The faintest frown furrowed the matron's brow. 'Remus, that is by far the most foolish thing I have ever heard you say,' she scolded. 'I understand that you are weak and tired and you don't feel well, but to intimate that one of my patients doesn't deserve the very best of care…' She shook her head and caressed his jaw briefly. 'I'll be right back, dear.'

She returned with a little tray of dose cups, and Remus dutifully swallowed everything she offered him. The urge to sleep came almost at once, and he did not resist it.

_~discidium~_

When Remus awoke the following morning, his right hip was aching. He wanted to roll onto his back to ease the pressure, but of course he could not. His broken shoulder blade precluded such action, and in any case he discovered there was a large, plump bolster braced against his spine to prevent him from turning while he slept. The potions were beginning to wear off: the web of fiery pain in his back and the dull ache inside his hip-joint made rational thought difficult. He was thirsty again, but this time not intolerably so. He fixed longing eyes on the glass beside the bed, but did not dare to reach for it.

He had learned his lesson. Madam Pomfrey would come soon enough to check on him. Then he could have water, and hopefully something to ease his other discomforts. He wondered if he was strong enough today to endure the trauma of setting the bone – and again he wondered what he had done to his leg. From the pulsing in his temples and the distant, chilly nausea he knew that he had lost a great deal of blood, and he wondered how long it would be before he could return to lessons. Today was Sunday – at least he hoped it was Sunday. It hardly seemed possible that he would be well enough in the morning. He would begin to fall behind, for if he could not even sit up he was not strong enough to study, and his friends would wonder where he had gone.

In a catastrophic wave of horror the memory of the days leading up to the full moon came crashing upon him. Remus felt the blood draining from his face and recoiling from his limbs as his heart began to hammer with such force that each beat aggravated the broken bone against his ribs. Every excruciating detail of the conversation he had overheard seemed to clamber for space in his head. Sirius, talking about the nightmares and then discrediting in rapid succession each and every one of his lies. James, dallying only briefly on the theory that the disappearances could be attributed to their former Defence professor. Peter, with his damning observations about neglected pudding and waning appetites and beef. And the cobbling together of dates – only a handful of dates, to be sure, but enough if once they suspected the correlation to the lunar cycle to confirm the awful truth.

He wondered if they were even now poring over calendars and tables in search of the answer. Sirius had suggested stealing McGonagall's class registers from last year and Remus, in his addled and anxious state, had neglected to ask the Head of House to have them destroyed. Even without them four months' evidence was surely enough, when stacked against everything else.

His breath was coming in short, shallow wheezes now, and Remus knew his whole body was trembling. The nightmare he had dreaded since the moment he had received his Hogwarts letter was descending upon him. Perhaps they would not work it out this month after all, but if they did not there would be awkward questions, questions he could not answer. He knew that Sirius was growing weary of the deception, impatient with the dissembling. If Remus tried to brush him off with a story again he would be angry and hurt. He might even reject Remus then and there, without waiting for the truth. Perhaps, Remus thought, that would make it easier. Surely it would not hurt so badly to be reviled as a werewolf by someone who was no longer his friend.

James was not so frustrated with the stories. Puzzled, yes, but he was neither so damaged nor so impulsive as Sirius. He would likely try to let their friendship weather the equivocation, but the boy who loathed Dark wizards and the Dark Arts and everything that smacked remotely of evil would never tolerate a werewolf. Remus could imagine him, disdainful and aloof, lips curled in disgust, holding the Dark creature at wandpoint while he threatened to write to his father, to have Mr Potter appeal to the Ministry to have the threat removed from the school.

And Peter. Peter would be frightened, too frightened perhaps for disgust though the ultimate result would be the same. He would shuffle and stammer and shoot furtive looks in Remus's direction. He would not speak to him, nor sit by him at meals, nor work with him in lessons… even supposing that once James was done Remus was even allowed to attend lessons any longer. Dumbledore would intercede for him, but once the truth was known the tide of popular opinion would weigh irrevocably against him. The Board of Governors, the parents, the Ministry of Magic – all would cry out for his expulsion. Remus did not know whether even Dumbledore could protect him from that.

And there was always the other danger: the danger of some fanatic or vigilante trying to remove the werewolf by force. Remus had heard of such things happening. At the sanatorium in France where he had spent most of his seventh summer, there had been a werewolf under the care of the Healers who had been blinded by an angry mob seeking to excise the threat from their midst. Remus screwed his eyes tightly closed against the memory of the milky, vacant orbs in the young man's face. The darkness only terrified him further, and he raised his lids hurriedly, staring at the glow of the lamp until his eyes began to smart.

Any wish to return to his lessons abandoned him. He would stay here as long as he was allowed. At least here he was spared the rapid questions, the probing stares, the ill-concealed glances the others shot between themselves. What they had known or suspected on Wednesday he knew – but what had changed over the last two days?

The door to his room opened and he gasped in alarm, fearing for a moment that it was the others come to expose him. Instead he was greeted by the soothing figure of Madam Pomfrey, dressed in clean robes and a fresh apron with her cap pinned meticulously in place. She smiled earnestly as she wished him good morning and helped him drink a little. She noted his vitals and felt for his fever, which was still smouldering dully beneath his waxy skin. She carefully drew back the blankets and checked the dressings on his leg.

'Less seeping today,' she said pleasantly. 'I'm afraid it was rather badly torn, right into the ligaments. It's a miracle the main artery was missed, dear, or you might have bled to death before ever I reached you. Does it hurt very badly, Remus?'

He shook his head ever so slightly, unwilling to risk a broader motion that might aggravate his shoulder blade. The matron gave him a long, searching look before proceeding to check his other bandages. It seemed as if none of his lesser wounds had been touched yet: there were deep scratches on his chest and belly, his forearms were crusted with scabs, and a whole patch of skin was missing from his left calf. It must have taken an enormous quantity of magic to put his leg right; it was unlike Madam to leave so much until the second day.

'Your shoulder first, I think,' she said, moving the bolster out of the way and flinging back the covers completely. 'We'll need to get you onto your front for this, Remus. Let's just get your arm down by your side.'

Moving his left arm from its carefully elevated position was a study in torment, but somehow Remus managed to keep silent. Madam Pomfrey helped him, pressing his wrist against his hip. She straightened his crooked leg and swiftly rolled him onto his belly. She did so gently and very capably, but the pain was nevertheless nearly enough to send him back into the insensible void. Her palm settled on the small of his back, a soothing presence as he struggled to compose himself. Then he felt her left hand in his.

'Squeeze as hard as you need to, and scream as loud as you like,' she said firmly. 'There's no one to hear.'

Remus promised himself that he would not scream, but all that was forgotten as the spell penetrated down into his trapezius and the broken bone shifted and grated and locked into place with an audible snapping sound. His strangled holler of torment was muffled by the pillow, but he knew the matron had heard him – and if there was anyone else in this wing of the castle they had likely heard too.

There was the marrow-deep warmth of the spell that knit the fractured bone together, and the pain eased a little, leaving only the burning in the disturbed muscles and a faint throbbing deep in the osteoblasts. Remus let out a choking gasp of gratitude as Madam Pomfrey's hand pressed gently over the newly-healed bone and no fresh anguish arose.

'There,' she said, bending low over the crown of his head. 'It's over now.'

It was, but his gratitude was short-lived. Remus was seized by a burning humiliation as he realized that the sheet beneath him was soaked with hot fluid. He smelled the sharp tang of ammonia, and he wished abruptly that he _had_ bled to death on the floor of the old house after all.

'M-Madam…' he croaked, striving not to let tears add to his shame. 'I t-think…'

Mercifully, she understood without him saying it. As she washed him and replaced the bed-linens and changed his dressings she had nothing but soft and gentle words for him, as if cleaning up after a twelve-year-old boy as if he were an infant was the most natural thing in the world.

When at last Remus was propped up under fresh bedclothes, his own nightshirt covering him in place of the hospital wing smock, he was feeling almost human again. When Madam Pomfrey brought him a little mug of dilute drinking chocolate his wounded pride was beginning to settle.

'You w-won't tell anyone?' he whispered, resting the lip of the mug against his chin to steady it in his feeble hands.

'Of course not,' Madam Pomfrey promised. 'Believe me, Remus: I've seen seventh year Quidditch stars lose control in far messier ways and under far less duress. There's no room for shame in the hospital wing.'

All the same, he felt it. But Remus tried to forget as he sipped the chocolate, watching the matron's kind face out of the corner of his eye.

'There's someone who would like to see you when you're feeling up to it,' said Madam Pomfrey at length.

Remus nearly choked on his drink. 'Sirius?' he yelped. 'James? Oh, Madam, I…'

The matron shook her head hastily. 'Professor McGonagall, Remus. She helped me when I brought you in, and she'd like to be certain that you're on the mend. I've told her you're very tired and you need your rest, but whenever you're ready she'd like to stop in to offer her regards.'

Remus felt his whole body relaxing against the pillows. 'That's very kind of her,' he murmured. He had to try to remember, as his father had said, that there were people he could turn to. Even if he lost his friends, even if he lost his place at Hogwarts and his last hope of a normal future, at least he had a handful of adults who did not hate him. 'P'raps tomorrow?'

'Perhaps,' Madam Pomfrey said. She patted his knee. 'Now, what about another round of potions and some more sleep? You're still white as a bleached muslin partlet. When you wake I think you'll be strong enough for me to close some of those other wounds.'

_~discidium~_

'Don't give me that! I know he's in here somewhere!'

The violent voice became defiant and indignant as the nightmare faded into reality. Remus bit his lip with such force that he raised a bead of blood, desperate to discover that he was still in the clutches of the dream. But the voice went on, vexed and most insistent.

'Where are you hiding him? _Why_ are you hiding him?'

'Mr Black, I'm sure I have no idea what you mean,' Madam Pomfrey said pertly. 'As you can see I have no patients at all at the moment, though I shouldn't wonder if this afternoon's rounds of Quidditch practice remedy that deficiency long before supper.'

Gratitude for the matron's brisk and businesslike refuting of Sirius's claim suffused Remus's chest. He did not deserve such a loyal guardian, but he had her nonetheless. Yet of course, the intruder was not so easily dissuaded.

'Cobblers!' Sirius snorted. 'He's here; I know he's here, and I want to see him.'

'Young man, in all my days I have never heard such an absurd allegation,' said the matron. 'The very idea that I would attempt to hide a patient is beyond incredible.'

'You are, though,' Sirius said brazenly. 'You've got to be. I suggest you fess up now and save us all a lot of trouble.'

A gnawing terror was mounting. Sirius was not guessing: he knew. He never would have made such audacious threats if he did not. How did he know? _What else_ did he know?

'I think you will find that I do not take well to threats,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Now kindly remove yourself from my hospital wing before I send for Professor McGonagall.'

Something truly remarkable happened then. Sirius made a noncommittal noise that Remus knew from long association was accompanied by a lazy shrug. 'All right, then,' he said blithely. 'I suppose you'd know better than I who you've got in custody at the moment. Good day, then, Matey.'

'Mat_ron_, please, Mr Black, not Matey,' said Madam Pomfrey mildly. 'Run along now. I'm sure you must have better things to do on a September afternoon than pester a busy woman.'

'What're you busy with, if you haven't any patients?' Sirius asked insolently. Then he chuckled, likely reacting to the matron's expression. 'I'm going. I'm going!'

The main doors opened and then closed, and Remus exhaled spastically. He had not realized how the tension in his shoulders and neck had been mounting through that encounter, but it released all at once and he sank into the pillow. After a number of minutes the door to his room opened and Madam Pomfrey came in, closing it carefully behind him.

'You had a visitor,' she said.

'I don't know how he knew I was here, Madam,' Remus said hastily. 'I didn't tell him! I didn't…'

The witch sighed softly and shook her head. 'I'm sure it was just a wild guess,' she said. 'Why is he looking for you? I thought you said you had told your friends you went home to see your mother.'

'I did,' Remus said unhappily. 'But they know it isn't the truth because I disappeared two days before the end of term and then turned up on the train to go back to London.'

'Ah.' Madam Pomfrey's lips curled in a tiny, mournful smile. 'I knew we should have kept you here a few days longer.'

'I know,' whispered the child. 'You were right.'

'Well, it can't be helped now,' said the matron. 'I've managed to put him off for the time being anyhow, and it's time for another look at that leg.'

She drew back the covers and offered Remus her arm for support as he hiked up his nightshirt. The matron covered as much of his lap as she could with a corner of the sheet, and then unwrapped the bandages. There was a heavy pad of wadding over the wound, and she lifted it carefully, peeling the blood-soaked linen away. Remus swallowed painfully as the extent of the damage was revealed.

The centre of the wound was still open, a dark crater on his inner thigh. Spreading out from it was a fresh relief of scars that spread down his leg for almost a hand-span, and curled around to the front, and into the crease of his hip-joint and up onto his lower pelvis. The scars were red and inflamed, though he could see at once how carefully they had been cultured. He knew these would not pucker or warp as the one just above them had. Despite the hideous spectacle he was thankful for that.

'You've fixed it beautifully, Madam,' he murmured. 'Why aren't you a proper Healer at the hospital?'

He realized that his words were remarkably rude, and his eyes darted anxiously to his caretaker's face. She was smiling at him.

'Because I'm happier here with all my children to care for,' she said earnestly. Then she winked. 'And if I worked at St Mungo's I couldn't take tea with my patients or arbitrarily toss out unwanted visitors.'

Remus let out a tiny puff of laughter that tightened into a shallow inhalation of discomfort as a fresh pad was placed over the wound. 'What shall I tell them, ma'am?' he asked softly.

Madam Pomfrey kept her eyes on her work. 'Remus, I'm afraid I don't know,' she said. 'I don't suppose they would be willing to accept that it's none of their business?'

'I tried that,' he confessed. 'It didn't work for long.'

'Well, whatever you come up with I shall be happy to corroborate it,' the matron promised. She tucked in the edge of the bandage and pressed gently against the wound before helping him to cover himself again. 'Just be sure to tell me so that we can keep our stories straight.'

'Thank you,' Remus said hollowly. Despite her kind words he knew that she still had no conception of the position he was in. To her James and Sirius were foolish boys, easily off-put and quickly distracted. Harmless. She did not understand their persistence and their easy brilliance. She had not spent night after night living horrific imagined scenarios in which they wreaked their cold and creative revenge upon the Dark creature who had dared to invade their dormitory. And she could not understand the anguish of knowing what it was to see the crumbling of the only friendships one had ever had.

'Are you ready to eat something?' the matron asked. 'I could fetch some broth, or some porridge if you like. Or another mug of chocolate?'

Remus shook his head. His stomach was a Gordian knot of misery and he knew he would not be able to keep anything down. 'I'm not hungry,' he mumbled.

'Very well,' said Madam softly. 'But you need to rebuild your strength. If you can't eat by tonight we'll have to see about trying some different potions.'

'Yes, ma'am,' whispered Remus. 'I'd… I'd like to sleep now, I think.'

This need she understood. She settled him under the covers and felt his forehead tenderly. 'Still a little on the warm side,' she said. 'I'll fetch you something for that, at least.'

Even when he was left alone, dosed and dopey from his medicines, Remus did not sleep. He lay staring at the wall, dull throbbing in his wounded leg and the ache of dread in his heart.

_~discidium~_

There were heels clicking on the floor of the hospital wing, just beyond Remus's door. A patrician voice, rather distracted and urgent, rang out.

'Madam, you've got to come! Lucius has fallen off his broom and we all think he's broken his leg, and he's refusing to leave practice!'

It was Narcissa Black. Remus realized as she went on and on about the injured Seeker that despite her attempt to deport herself with dignity she was rather frantic. He heard Madam Pomfrey muttering maledictions against dangerous sports and stubborn sixth-years as she gathered her bag and hustled away after the young Prefect.

The silence that followed their departure was at once comforting and strangle oppressive. Remus bent his left knee in an inefficient attempt to curl in on himself. The bandages on his forearms were beginning to itch, and he wished that he had been deemed strong enough to tolerate the healing of his minor hurts. Sometimes he felt they were the most inconvenient of all. Then he remembered the torture of the broken scapula and repented that ungrateful thought.

The hospital wing door creaked as if it was being opened with excruciating slowness, and a moment later the most horrifying sound Remus had ever heard filtered through from the other room.

'All right, she's gone.'

His heart rate doubled in the span of an instant. It was James.

'Indeed she is,' said Sirius smugly. 'And it was a nice bit of spellwork, if I do say so myself.'

'You realize you probably could have killed him?' James said conversationally and without even a hint of remorse.

'No one has died yet from a fall of fifteen feet,' Sirius argued. 'I chose my moment perfectly. Now, you assured me you knew where she's got him.'

Remus struggled to push himself into a sitting position. They were coming for him. They had lured Madam Pomfrey away, and now there was no one to protect him. His wand was on the other side of the room, poking up out of his satchel. He could no more reach it than he could sink through the stone wall and vanish. If he cried out no one would hear him. It was exactly like any one of his nightmares, save that in the terrors of his mind he had never been so weak, so wounded, so utterly helpless at the moment of the confrontation.

'Through there,' James said, and Remus did not need the power to see through walls to know that he was pointing at the door to the little room. 'You were right. The moment you'd gone she went to check on him.'

'What did they say?' asked Sirius.

'You expect me to listen at keyholes?' James said disdainfully. 'What do you take me for? I took the chance to slip out unnoticed, like a good little spy.'

'This isn't a joke, James,' Peter's voice interjected, timid but firm. 'We… I don't think it's a good idea. We should go for a teacher. He could be…'

'How many times, Pettigrew?' Sirius snapped, exasperation thick in his voice. 'We've decided this. We're doing it together, and we're not going for a teacher. It's none of their business. We're the ones who have been living with him for a year. We're the ones he's been telling tales to.'

'That's right,' said James. His voice was heavy and grave, as if he were bracing himself for a grim duty. 'It's been agreed. Just as we discussed.' There was a marginal pause before he repeated, with delicate emphasis; '_Just _as we discussed.'

They were coming. Remus felt himself choking with panic. They were coming, and he was helpless, lying here like an animal with nowhere to run. For a single, frantic instant he prayed it was one of his night terrors, but he knew better than to believe it. This was it. Even when he had let himself be swept along in the airy bliss of belonging he had known, deep inside, that this moment would come. Now it was here…

Now it was here, and a curious calm was descending out of the panic. His fear still lay coiled in his chest and misery had made his legs go cold, but his mind seemed suddenly clear and rational. He could do nothing to prevent the terror or the wretched unhappiness. He could not choose his feelings, but he could, he realized, choose his actions. He could lie in the corner like a dog, craven and whimpering as his world was torn down around him. Or he could stand and face his troubles with courage and dignity like a human.

Like a wizard, not a wolf.

The others were whispering beyond the door, doubtless repeating to Peter whatever it was they had 'discussed'. Remus flung the bedclothes off of his legs. The sheet stuck, damp with perspiration. He peeled it away. Carefully he swung his legs over the side of the bed, tugging on his right knee to help his injured hip along. He sat there for a moment, drawing several deep and bracing breaths before he dared to attempt to stand.

His toes touched the floor, and then the balls of his feet. He put down his left heel and put his weight upon it. Gripping the edge of the bedside table he hoisted himself onto his trembling leg, keeping as much of the pressure off of his right as he possibly could. For a moment he was afraid his limbs would not bear him up, but though they quivered they held.

'Go on,' James was saying.

'W-why me?' asked Sirius.

Remus took three tiny, hopping steps that bore him to the chair that Madam Pomfrey used when she kept her bedside vigils. He clung to it, setting his jaw against the pain in his hip and the faintness that made his chest feel cold and set his head reeling. He hobbled to the wall, leaning heavily against it as he limped to the far corner of the room. He bent his left leg, letting his right fall as a dead weight as he crouched.

His fingertips only just managed to close upon the end of his wand and he drew it out, yanking it near to him so that he could catch it against his chest before it fell to the floor. He adjusted his hold, the familiar smoothness in his left hand lending him a measure of resolve he had not possessed before. He knew he was too weak to manage even the simplest magic now, but with his wand in his hand – even his off hand – he felt less savage. A wizard, he told himself again. Not a wolf.

'Because this whole thing was your idea,' James hissed.

'It's n-not too late,' said Peter. 'We could go and fetch Professor McGonagall. Or Professor Meyrigg. She's the D-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. She'd know what to do.'

'Damn it, Peter, we don't need Meyrigg!' Sirius growled. 'I'll do it.' He inhaled a deep, steadying breath. 'Just… just give me half a moment.'

The door was only two steps away. Remus tottered as he was obliged to let go of the wall in order to reach for the handle, but he did not fall. He leaned heavily against the post, trying to rally his strength.

'We'll do it together,' James said softly. 'You and I, on the count of three…'

'Count of five,' Sirius said. 'Let's give it at least a count of five.'

This was his last chance to act upon his own terms. Remus forced his injured leg under him, propping himself up as he opened the door. With the resolve of one plunging into a dark and icy ocean in preference to immolation on a burning ship, he took three unsteady steps into the hospital wing. His right hand closed on the railing that edged the raised platform before his little door.

The others were standing not eight feet away. Six eyes widened, and three jaws grew slack with horror as they saw him. Remus knew he must look a fright; his hair dishevelled from the bed, his face paper-white and strained with pain and exertion, the shadows dark as bruises beneath his eyes. He could not say how gaunt he was, but if he had lost as much blood as Madam Pomfrey's frequent doses of Replenishing Potion seemed to imply he fancied he must look rather like a corpse in his over-loose nightshirt.

Peter made a tiny noise of terror and pressed himself against James. James was rather white about the lips, and his eyes were very hard. Sirius was staring as if he had forgotten the very nature of language, grey irises as dark as slate and left hand clutching convulsively at his robes.

'Remus…' James choked out.

'Good afternoon.' His voice was hoarse and raspy, and the pronouncement so utterly ridiculous that Remus felt an airy surge of hysteria snaking through him. He swallowed it, determined to deport himself with what little dignity he had left. All the rest of his life he would relive this dreadful moment, and he did not want to remember himself grovelling and snivelling and begging for mercy like a beast. He tightened his hold on his wand and tried to ease his grip on the bannister.

'You found me,' he said. 'How?'

'I followed you.' Sirius seemed scarcely able to choke out the words. He had not yet blinked since Remus had emerged from the isolation room. 'I knew… I mean, we guessed you'd be slipping away again and I was ready.'

For the first time Remus noticed the trail of silvery cloth peeking from his friend's – his _former _friend's pocket. 'The Invisibility Cloak,' he whispered as the puzzle fell together. Doors that would not close, echoing footsteps, the haunting sense of being watched. 'You followed me on Friday…'

Sirius nodded slowly. He was now looking at Remus as if he were a monster who might spring at any moment for his throat. Remus closed his mind to that thought. He was armed and they were not. There was some comfort in that, even if he did not trust himself to use his wand.

'We had to do something,' James said feebly, his hand wafting in an impotent gesture. 'We… if someone was hurting you, if someone was hiding you we had to help. We couldn't just let it go on…'

'No one hurts me.' The words came out cavernous and with a peculiar alien quality, as if they originated in a throat that was not his own. 'No one else.'

'We know,' James whispered.

Remus felt his knees quivering and he locked them resolutely, despite the twinge of agony it sent into his pelvis. They knew. They knew everything now.

'Y-you were our friend,' Peter stammered.

It was the tense that was nearly his undoing. _Were_. He had expected it. All along he had known that his happiness was fleeting and this moment would come. That did not ease the misery of this moment. Remus closed his eyes, drawing in bitter air through his nostrils. He had tried. He had tried so hard to fit in, to be a normal boy just for a little while. He had had his brief span of time in the sun, and now it was time to retreat back into the shadows.

'You mustn't tell,' he said, once again dazed by the calm in his rasping voice. 'Please. If that meant anything to you – if our friendship meant anything to you – you mustn't tell. I'll go away. I'll find somewhere else to sleep. But I have to stay at school. I must get my OWLs. Please.' His words were quiet now, steady. So much steadier than they had been on the day he uttered them to Madam Pomfrey. 'At least my OWLs.'

'OWLs?' Sirius croaked. 'At a time like this, all you can think about are your sodding _OWLs_?'

Remus could not look at him. He fixed his eyes upon a stray lock of James's dark hair, standing out at a sharp angle from his head. It looked rather like a horn, he thought absurdly.

'I need them,' he said. A strange, chilled detachment was descending upon him. He could no longer feel his feet, or his fingers as they gripped his wand, or the palm of his hand against the railing. Nor could he feel his fear any longer, or the desolate chasm that he knew was opening in his soul. 'I can make do with loneliness, but I need an education.'

'Make do…' Sirius shook his head, uncomprehending. 'Remus, what do you think we're here for?'

'You've worked it out,' Remus said, very softly. 'I always knew you might. You know that I'm a…'

'_Werewolf_.'

He was not certain which one of them had said it, his tone so leaden and cold. Not Peter, surely, for the word was uttered with too much gravity, and not a hint of a stammer. Sirius, then, or James?

'Werewolf…' whispered Sirius tremulously. So the first one had come from James. Remus could not help himself. He dared a glance at the hard hazel eyes behind their round spectacles. Why did James not have his wand in hand? If he found pleasure in hexing Slytherins, how much more satisfaction would there be in cutting down a part-human, too weak and exsanguinated to fight him off?

Remus felt his wrist tremble. His grip failed him and his wand fell from his hand. It rolled along the floor, coming to a stop just short of one of James Potter's costly shoes. Remus stared at it, drawn back into a nightmare – his very first nightmare that had sprung from this fear. He could see himself cringing on the floor of the Entrance Hall, barefoot and bloodied, his robes torn, clutching at James's hem and begging for aid that could never come.

James bent and picked up the slender stave. He held across both palms, transfixed as if he had never seen such a thing before. His fingers closed over it, forming two fists.

At last terror broke through the wall of detachment, and Remus felt his resolve ebbing away as he looked at his wand in the other boy's grasp. Cypress wood, unicorn hair core, ten and one-quarter inches. Smooth and resilient and unspeakably beautiful. It had chosen him. It had accepted him.

'Don't,' he breathed, his chest constricting painfully. He took a shaky, shuffling step forward, reaching out with a trembling hand. 'D-don't break it. Please, don't break my wand.'

James's grip tightened so that his knuckles went white. He looked up at Remus, eyes wide with some powerful but unreadable emotion. 'Break it?' he parroted helplessly. 'Why would you think I would…'

'You prat!' Sirius said, turning on his best friend. 'You told him werewolves couldn't have wands. Give me that!'

He snatched the stave away from James and closed the distance between the other boys and Remus in three swift, sure strides. He took Remus's hand and forcibly curled his fingers around the handle of the wand. 'There you are,' he said, his voice remarkably gentle. 'No one is going to break your wand. And no one is going to tell anyone,' he added, glaring pointedly over his shoulder at Peter and James. 'We – Remus? Remus, are you all right?'

The sudden alarm in his voice brought Remus's bleary eyes to his face. Sirius was not looking at him. His gaze was cast downward, and the last shreds of colour were draining from his aristocratic features.

'R-Remus, are you all right?' he said again.

Remus looked down, following Sirius's eyes. What he saw he observed distantly, with the dispassionate interest of an observer far removed from the events he witnessed. There was blood on his nightshirt. There was blood trickling down his leg, and blood pooling on the floor next to his foot. The bony toes stood starkly white against the crimson, and as he watched the raised blue veins on the top of his foot seemed to shrivel and vanish. He swayed, his right hand reaching instinctively for his brow. In so doing, he lost his bracing hold upon the bannister.

He had a memory of faltering, and a memory of falling, but he did not know how or where he landed.


	50. Sirius Affirms

_Note: First let me say THANK YOU! I am completely overawed by the response to the last chapter. Wow! I'm still working through the PMs and the review replies, so I beg for your patience. But I earnestly want to show my gratitude for all of your wonderful feedback, so I'm not going to wait to post the new chapter. To those still awaiting my responses: thank you for your patience and do please enjoy the update in the meantime!_

**Chapter Fifty: Sirius Affirms**

Remus was scarcely aware that he had regained consciousness when he realized that Madam Pomfrey was in the process of propping him up in the crook of her arm. She tilted a dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion against his lips. He swallowed obediently and nearly wept in gratitude when a cup of water followed without hesitation. He sucked avariciously at the wondrous fluid and then let his head loll against the matron's shoulder, exhausted from the exertion.

'There,' Madam Pomfrey said softly, balancing the empty tumbler on her lap and smoothing Remus's hair back from his clammy brow. 'Have you any pain?'

Despite the water he had to moisten his lips and swallow resolutely before he was able to answer her. 'Only a little, Madam,' he whispered.

She made a small, knowing sound and offered him a dose of the potion that eased his pain. Remus took it, waiting patiently for the gentle tide of relief to lap out into his limbs. The ache in his back lost its cruel edge and the throbbing in his fingers abated. Only a dull burning in his wounded right leg remained, muted only a little by the medicine.

'My leg…' Remus murmured, fear rising within him. 'Have I… is it…'

'It's very nearly closed now, and I've managed to mend the tears,' Madam Pomfrey said, soft reassurance in her voice. 'It will heal, but that's only a matter of luck. What were you thinking, getting out of bed in such a state?'

'The others…' said Remus. A shiver ran up his spine as the memories inundated him. 'They worked it out. I knew they would. And I wanted… I only wanted a little dignity. I didn't want them to catch me cowering in the corner like a – like a wolf.' He closed his eyes, trying not to feel the way the matron's protective hold on him tightened. Trying not to think of the three who had been his friends, staring at him with horror on their faces. Trying his utmost not to hear the fear in Peter's voice or to see the coldness in James Potter's eyes. And Sirius…

Sirius.

'M-Madam?' Remus said tremulously, almost afraid of uttering the words aloud. 'Sirius. He gave me back my wand. He came to me and he _touched _me…' He stared down at his left hand, working the fingers as if he could still feel the warm pressure of his housemate's hands curling around them as Sirius pressed the wand into his palm. 'He wasn't too disgusted to touch me,' he murmured wonderingly. His eyes darted up to the matron's face. He scarcely dared to hope, but he had to ask. 'D-do you suppose that maybe, maybe that means he might still talk to me?' he whispered. 'That maybe he m-might still be my friend, even just in secret?'

'I don't think he intends it to be much of a secret,' Madam Pomfrey said as she leaned him forward and plumped up the pillows so that he could sit up in the bed. 'He stayed with you while young Mr Potter ran to fetch me, and he even tried to stop the bleeding. He refused to leave when the others did, and it was all that I could do to chase him off to bed.'

She was easing him off of her arm and smoothing the bedclothes, but Remus was oblivious to all of this. He was overcome by the idea that Sirius had thought him worth staying with, worth watching over. Sirius had tried to stop the bleeding, and even James had thought him worth at least the effort of going for the matron. He knew he did not dare to read too deeply into the latter's actions. Like as not James had simply been trying to save himself from getting into trouble. But Sirius…

'He wanted to stay?' Remus whispered.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. 'Very much so, but I can't have inquisitive young boys under foot when I'm busy trying to save limbs. I shouldn't wonder if he stops in to see you tomorrow.'

'To see me…' Remus echoed. 'But Madam, that's not possible. He knows.'

'Why should that make any difference?' asked the matron with a sad and gentle smile. 'He's been your friend for over a year now. Don't you think he can see you for who you really are?'

Remus did not know how to answer her. He looked down at his hands and his still-bandaged wrists. He had never dared to hope that any of his friendships might survive the revelation, and both James with his cold eyes and Peter with his terrified protestation that Remus _had been_ their friend confirmed his fears. Yet Sirius had brought his wand back to him, had moved towards him and touched him…

But Sirius had also wanted to wait for a count of five before opening the door.

'Remus?' Madam Pomfrey was studying his expression thoughtfully. He looked up at her, knowing that he owed her so much more than his undivided attention. 'I know you've had a dreadful day, dear, but you must eat something. What would you prefer: chicken broth or beef tea?'

'Beef tea, thank you, Madam,' he murmured, though in truth he did not care and he very much doubted that he would be able to stomach anything at all.

'Very well. I'll just pop down to the kitchens and see it's fixed properly,' said the matron.

With a flick of her wand she refilled the glass, placing it within easy reach. She offered Remus a kind smile and slipped from the room. Remus heard her moving away, and the door to the hospital wing closed softly on the other side of the wall. Remus allowed himself the luxury of a tiny sigh, hugging his arm to his abdomen and trying to keep himself from believing what he desperately wished to.

When the door opened again, he assumed it was Madam Pomfrey returning with his supper. Not until three long fingers touched the back of his hand did he trouble to look up.

There stood Sirius, the Invisibility Cloak draped over one arm. His eyes were bright and his expression was grave. 'Remus?' he said softly.

The smaller boy stiffened. Was this a dream or some wild flight of fancy? But no; the fingers on his arm were real. The dull thrum in his wounded leg was real. The ache of longing in his chest was real. 'Why are you here?' he asked, unable to lend the words any measure of confidence or strength.

'I wanted to be sure you're all right,' Sirius said. 'I was worried. I've never seen that much blood before.'

Remus would have flushed crimson, except that he doubted such suffusion was possible in his present state. Instead he hung his head. 'You tried to stop it,' he mumbled. 'D-did you see my…' He screwed his eyes tightly against the searing mortification. 'Did you see the scars?'

'I saw them before anyhow,' said Sirius in a low and unsteady voice. 'When I followed you.'

Of course. Remus had undressed in the middle of the dormitory. He had heard the noise, too: misery and revulsion that he had thought had issued from his own throat. Sirius had seen them. Had seen everything.

'Are… how… d-did you do all that yourself?' The words were almost inaudible. Remus let his eyes flick upward for a brief moment, only to realize that Sirius was no longer looking at his face, but down at the counterpane beneath which his mangled leg lay.

'Nearly all,' Remus whispered. 'The wolf… it needs to feed on something, and since I have to be locked away so that I don't bite anyone—'

Sirius made a pained sound deep within his throat. 'Is that what's under the Whomping Willow?' he moaned. 'A cage? Th-they put you in a cage?'

'No.' Remus could scarcely believe the other boy's distress. What kind of wizard child could muster so much pity for a werewolf? 'No, there's a tunnel and it leads to a house. An old house. There are chairs, and a bed. It isn't so bad, Sirius. Truly.'

Sirius looked at him now, grey eyes pale and swimming with some powerful emotion. 'A house?' he repeated. 'That's… it's better than I'd… I mean, at home you use the cellar, don't you? That's why there are those grooves in the door?'

Remus felt his throat go dry. 'You know about that?' he asked. He had torn into the door in July when the wolf, seeking diversion at the top of the stairs as it could while at school, had tried to escape.

'James and I… we nicked your dad's wand one night while we were visiting,' Sirius confessed. 'Would've got further than the door, too, but somebody upstairs got up to use the loo and we figured it was too risky. I'm sorry. We never should have been snooping. We didn't think… we never guessed that you… that…'

'That I'm a werewolf,' Remus said leadenly. Even though Sirius already knew there was a certain horror to saying the words aloud. Remus felt like a man signing his own death warrant.

Sirius let out a tortured puff of air. 'Why didn't you just tell me?' he murmured miserably, imploring eyes locking with Remus's gaze. 'Why didn't you think you could tell me the truth?'

'How could I?' Remus asked softly. 'I knew you'd never want to be friends with a – with a beast, a Dark creature. I'd never had friends before. I was so happy, and I couldn't bear to give that up. I'm sorry I lied to you; truly I am. You deserve so much better than that. You deserve a better friend than I could ever be.'

This time the sound that slipped from Sirius's lips was frighteningly like a sob. 'But we _are_ friends,' he protested. 'Friends trust each other.'

Remus felt his lips moving, but no sound came out. As he had done earlier with Peter's declaration he hung upon the tense of the verb. 'Are?' he whispered. 'W-we _are_? Still?'

'Of course we are!' Sirius cried, fingers closing on the other boy's bandaged forearm. 'Remus, we've pranked McGonagall together. We escaped a sodding Acromantula together. I've met your mum, and God help you but you've met mine. You've seen me _blubbing_! Of course we're friends!'

'I thought… I assumed… James and Peter…' Coherent speech was all but impossible. All that he could think of was that Sirius was here, in the hospital wing, clutching at him as if he were afraid Remus might melt away, and declaring with all the vehemence of his fiery soul that they were still friends.

'Peter,' Sirius sighed. 'I could kill him. Don't know what's wrong with him.' His expression grew penitent. 'Remus, you know that James wasn't going to break your wand, don't you? He didn't mean what he said that night in the Forest. He wasn't thinking. He didn't know then; you can't blame him for that.'

'I can't blame him for anything,' Remus said. 'Nor Peter. I'm… it's only what I expected. If you still want to be my friend that's enough. We don't even need to tell anyone. You wouldn't have to speak to me in lessons or sit with me at meals or anything. If… if I could see you once in a while that would be enough.'

'Don't talk daft,' snorted Sirius. 'D'you really think this changes anything? Sod it. Of course you do, or you just would have come clean in the first place. Remus, what do I have to do to prove to you that I don't care?'

His eyes were so earnest, his handsome young face so tormented, that Remus felt the last of his terror slinking shamefacedly away. Sirius was here, and he was sincere, and in spite of everything he was still loyal.

'Can you ever forgive me?' Remus asked quietly.

'_Forgive _you?' Sirius stared at him, incredulous. 'What's there to forgive?'

'I lied.' The confession hung heavy in the air between them. Of course Sirius knew that he had lied; it was Sirius who had uncovered all the falsehoods, one after another. But never before had Remus thought, or dared to believe, that he could be forgiven. 'I told so many lies.'

'Because you didn't think I'd stand by you,' Sirius said. He looked absolutely wretched with remorse. 'That's my fault as much as anything. All the things I've said… all the things that all of us have said. That night in the Forest wasn't the first time, was it? That we fell to talking about Dark creatures and said something that hurt you?'

Remus shook his head. He could not very well deny that. 'I know you didn't mean to hurt me,' he said. 'But that's how people think about werewolves, isn't it?'

'Oh, lord, and my _family_!' Sirius moaned. 'When they were talking about exterminations…' There was anguish in his eyes when he looked at Remus this time. 'I never would have let you near that house if I'd known,' he vowed. 'You have to believe me. I'm not like them, Remus. I promise I'm not.'

The realization dawned that Sirius was just as desperate for reassurance at this moment as Remus was. He managed a tiny smile and reached to grip the taller boy's hand. 'I know,' he said earnestly. 'You're nothing like any of them. Except maybe Andromeda?'

Sirius let out a rather forced laugh. 'Yeah, well, don't go telling my mother that, mate,' he said. He blinked thrice and offered a wavering smile. 'Remus? You do believe me, don't you? It doesn't matter.'

'I…' Remus shook his head helplessly. 'But _why_ doesn't it matter? I'm a monster. I'm an animal…'

'You're not,' Sirius said stoutly. 'You're clever and you're funny and you're _brilliant_ at chess – which I still say we can turn to our advantage – and you tried to take detention for me, even if it was really Andrews, and you came to my _house_ just so Mum would let me go away for a week, and you… you're Remus…' he finished impotently. 'You're Remus.'

He did not trust himself to speak. In all his fevered imaginings he had never pictured this. Sirius, firm and defiant and adamant, brows knit not in revulsion but in desperate affirmation, promising that nothing had changed – that they could go on being friends. It was impossible. It was unthinkable. And yet it was happening.

Sirius smirked. 'Besides,' he added impishly. 'D'you have _any_ idea what it would do to my mother if she knew one of my best friends is a werewolf?'

'You'll not tell her?' Remus cried. He could only imagine Walburga Black decrying him to the Ministry, calling for Professor Dumbledore's resignation for admitting a Dark creature to Hogwarts as a pupil, rallying the Werewolf Capture Unit to hunt him down and kill him.

'Of course not,' Sirius said, looking rather remorseful. 'Of course I'd never tell her. Your secret is safe with me, Remus. And with James. And Peter, too: I'll see to that.'

'Peter…' Remus said. 'He's frightened. He's afraid of me now. He used to trust me. He was my friend.'

'He's still your friend,' Sirius declared. 'He just needs to be shaken to his senses. We'll work on him, I promise. You wait: first time he needs help with a Charms paper he'll be back and begging your forgiveness.'

'And James…'

'James needs to talk about it,' Sirius said. 'I think he'd rather wait 'til you're back in the dormitory, but he just needs to talk. He's got questions. We've all got questions.'

'I suppose I owe you answers,' admitted Remus uncomfortably. After a year of endless lies, he wondered if he was even capable of telling the truth. And, though he wished it were otherwise, he was afraid of what the others might ask.

'That can wait,' Sirius said. He reached out to grip his friend's thin shoulder. 'For now you need to get your strength back. What were you thinking, getting out of bed while you were in such a state?'

Remus could not help chuckling a little. Sirius gave him a puzzled look. 'Madam Pomfrey said the same thing just now,' he explained.

'Aw, no!' Sirius groaned. 'You mean I'm starting to talk like a witch?'

'Only a little,' Remus said gravely. 'So long as you don't start calling me "dear" and telling me what a brave boy I am I think we'll get by.'

The smile that spread across Sirius's face was perhaps the most wondrous thing Remus had ever seen. It was earnest and happy and amused – the Sirius Black grin that he had seen a thousand times before. It was, indeed, as if nothing had changed.

'I shall restrain myself to remarks on what a perfect prat you've been, trying to hide this all along,' Sirius said solemnly. 'D'you know how much work I've put in trying to solve the mystery of Remus Lupin?'

'How did you work it out in the end?' asked Remus. 'I mean, you followed me under the Cloak, but…' Had it been the scars, he wondered? The realization that he wavered whenever talk of part-humans arose? The bruises, the claw-marks on the door at home, something he or Madam Pomfrey had said within earshot of the hidden tracker?

'The moon, of course,' Sirius said. 'I was out there for hours, waiting for you to come out from under that tree. And the moon came up. Then – promise you won't tell?'

'I promise,' Remus whispered.

'I checked my Astronomy book,' Sirius confessed, looking rather embarrassed. 'Checked the dates we could remember. Every single one was a... well, you know.'

'You actually _read_ one of your textbooks?' Remus ribbed. 'Dear me. Now I wish I hadn't promised not to tell. That would be good for a laugh or two, wouldn't it?'

Sirius offered a toothy smile. 'You keep my little secret, and I'll keep yours,' he offered, holding out his hand. 'Agreed?'

'Agreed,' Remus said, shaking his friend's hand – his _friend's_ hand! – enthusiastically. Never had he imagined that one day he would joke about the wolf, however obliquely. It was a wondrously liberating feeling. The shadow of the transformation retreated a little further into the dusty recesses of his soul, and he held his head a little higher.

'Well, that's settled, then.' Sirius pulled over the chair and sat down next to the bed. He looked around the little room. 'So what do you do in here for three days at a stretch?' he asked.

'I sleep a lot,' said Remus. 'And I read. Sometimes I try some of the spells from Charms. Madam doesn't like me to work on Transfiguration: she says it's too much of a strain. 'I've a picture puzzle, and there's always…' He stopped. He had been about to say that there were always the month's excuses to rehearse, but he realized abruptly that he would not have to do that anymore. Not for the benefit of Sirius Black, anyhow. 'Sometimes I practice chess,' he finished, because he had to say something.

'Well,' said Sirius; 'now you'll have someone to beat. I can come and visit, can't I? After lessons tomorrow?'

'I think it's today now,' Remus said. 'It's awfully late.'

Sirius tugged back his sleeve and looked at his watch. 'You're right,' he said. He wrinkled his nose. 'Good job James decided to stay behind after all. He'd only be griping about his training regimen and his need for his Quaffle-catching sleep.'

The mention of James put Remus ill at ease. 'Sirius,' he dared; 'what did James say? What does he think?'

Sirius pursed his lips briefly before answering. 'He's thinking a lot, actually,' he said. 'And I know he wants to talk. But he's a good person, Remus. He's not about to abandon you. He's going to do his best to understand. He went to fetch the matron for you, and all he could talk about tonight was how awfully sick you looked. He's worried about you.'

Not as worried as Sirius had been, Remus thought. Not worried enough to sneak down to the hospital wing to check on him. That idea brought with it a snarl of guilt. If James was even sparing his welfare a second thought it was more than Remus had any right to expect. If James was willing to let him return to the dormitory, it was nothing short of a miracle. If James somehow found a way to tolerate the werewolf in the next bed, Remus would never ask for anything more.

'I'll likely be here a few more days,' he said, because the silence was growing oppressive and he was afraid that Sirius could read his thoughts upon his haggard face. 'Madam Pomfrey's trying hard to heal my leg, and I'm sure she won't let me out of bed again until it's quite mended. Would you, could you take my homework for me?'

'Don't we always?' Sirius asked. 'And I'll bring it by every afternoon, so you needn't fall behind. I know how you hate to fall behind, Lupin the perfect student.'

The fond, teasing tone was the barb that at last pierced the dyke of dignity. It was true. It was really true. Nothing had changed: Sirius hadn't changed. The way that Sirius looked at him had not changed. It didn't matter that he was a werewolf, a beast, a savage animal. He was also a wizard, and he had a friend who knew the truth and had not cast him away. Hot tears rolled down Remus's cheeks, and his shoulders began to quiver.

'Hey…' Sirius breathed, sounding suddenly rather frantic as he scrambled to his feet. 'Hey… are you all right? Are you hurt? Should I go and get Pomfrey? Remus? Remus, please stop it. Tell me what's wrong!'

'N-nothing!' Remus choked out. 'Nothing, nothing at all. You don't… you don't… you still w-want me…'

There was a moment's hesitation during which Sirius scanned the little room as if to be certain they were alone. Then a moment later he was climbing onto the bed, wrapping his arms around the skinny, shaking frame and drawing the other boy to him in an awkward but earnest embrace.

'Of course I do,' he said. 'Of course I want you. We all do. Even Peter, though he doesn't know it yet. You're our friend, Remus. You're my friend. I told you. I _told _you that whatever it was it wouldn't make me think any less of you. Please, please believe that.'

And Remus did. As he leaned against the strong shoulder, burying his face against Sirius's robes, he realized that he did believe him. The nightmare was over, and the reality was more wonderful than anything he could have dared to imagine.

They sat like that for a long time, until the tears faded and Remus found himself reciprocating the hug. Until Sirius was obliged to shift his position and Remus had to raise his left knee to ease the ache at the base of his spine. Neither of them realized they were being observed until at last Madam Pomfrey closed the door and moved to set a covered tray on the bedside table.

'Visiting hours are over, Mr Black,' she said mildly as Sirius snaked out of the embrace and sat upon his hands, looking rather mortified to have been caught in such an undignified posture. 'But if you promise not to disturb my other patients you may stay while Remus has his supper.'

Sirius tossed his head airily. 'What other patients?' he asked. 'Where is dear Lucius, anyhow?'

Madam Pomfrey smiled wryly. 'It seems Mr Malfoy has found a nurse of his own; one who appeals more to his vanity than I ever could. Far be it from me to gossip, but I rather fancy your cousin has found a calling.'

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'Narcissa?' he said incredulously. 'Lucius Malfoy and _Narcissa_?' He grimaced at Remus. 'I ought to write Aunt Druella,' he declared. 'She'd die of happiness, maybe, but at least she'd be dead.'

Remus giggled, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his hospital smock – his bloodstained nightshirt was likely being laundered as they spoke. 'That's wicked,' he said.

'Nefariously wicked,' Sirius agreed. He hopped off of the bed and picked up the tray. 'Shall we see what we've got for your midnight snack?'

Madam Pomfrey left the room, and while Remus took his beef tea and his dry toast Sirius prattled happily about anything and nothing. Not another word was said about werewolves, or about the other boys, or about the future awaiting Remus once he was well enough to be out of bed. Remus did not mind in the least. He was still in awe that, despite everything that had happened over the last few days, his friend was still his friend and nothing had changed.

_~discidium~_

Sirius popped in briefly the following morning on his way to breakfast. Remus, still drowsy and only half awake, took little from that meeting but the warm, comforting realization that the previous evening's events had indeed occurred. Madam Pomfrey brought him his medicines and a hearty breakfast that he managed to make decent headway with. Then she closed most of the smaller wounds, leaving only a few minor scratches that would either heal on their own or be seen to the following day. His leg looked worse than it had when he had last seen it, but she reassured him that it was mending, and she helped him through a few simple stretches to keep the tendons from freezing up from disuse. After that she brought him _Rudiments of Magical Pest Control_ and he started on the chapter on Doxies, which were after pixies on Professor Meyrigg's syllabus.

A little before noon, Professor McGonagall came by to pay her respects. She sat with him for a while, filling him in Friday's missed Transfiguration lesson. She had also brought him a little tin of Ginger Newts; a kind gesture and very much appreciated. When she was gone Remus had his lunch, nibbling one of the biscuits for afters. Then he curled on his side and slept awhile.

A syncopated rapping at the door woke him sometime after four o'clock. Without waiting for permission, Sirius Black strode into the room, depositing his book bag on the floor and sidling over to the chair by the bed.

'How's my favourite werewolf?' he asked.

Remus cringed involuntarily at the hated word, but Sirius was grinning and there was no rancour in his voice. 'I've brought notes,' he said. 'Sodding pixies and History of Magic and all. Did every one of them myself.'

His chest was puffed out proudly, but Remus could not help thinking that before the truth had come out all three of his dormitory-mates had shared the responsibility of taking notes for him. Now Peter obviously would refuse – academically a small loss, but from a social stand devastating. Again Remus wondered about James.

'Seems Meyrigg was away all weekend again,' Sirius went on. 'I was rather too busy to notice, of course, but it seems we're not the only ones who've cottoned on to her absences. Gossip has it that she's a spy for the Ministry and she spends her weekends in Normandy. What do you think? Do the Welsh make good spies?'

'Oughtn't we to leave her be?' asked Remus softly. 'Sometimes prying does more harm than good.'

Sirius snorted. 'When has prying _ever_ done us any harm?' he asked. 'We've learned all sorts of interesting things by snooping around and listening in. If we'd pried a little harder I'll just bet we could have worked out what Drommie was up to months ago.'

Remus looked away. He hadn't been talking about Drommie watch, but about the strain and the agony the others had put him through with their endless speculations and their inquisitions and all the questions he had been unable to answer. Part of him wished that he could explain to Sirius what their curiosity had cost him, but he held his tongue. He had no right to chide his friend, his fiercely loyal friend who was willing to lay aside the awful truth and to stand by a werewolf. He owed Sirius his gratitude and his devotion.

'I think we might have,' he agreed meekly.

'Did I tell you?' Sirius asked. 'I had a letter at breakfast.' He produced a rumpled piece of parchment from within his robes. 'She and Tonks have bought a house down in the Home Counties – she won't say where. They're quite happy, and Tonks has a job and Drommie's learning how to cook.' He chuckled ruefully. 'Imagine _Drommie_ with an apron and a big wooden spoon. They'll be wanting babies next.'

His smile wavered for a moment. 'She sounds happy,' he said. 'She says I'm not to write her back. Too risky I s'pose. There's not much any of the grown-ups can do, but I wouldn't put it past Bella to scratch her eyes out. Wonder what that'll do to her marriage prospects.'

Remus wasn't quite certain how to respond, so he said the first positive thing that sprung to mind. 'I'm sure she must be very happy,' he promised. 'He seems like a good sort, and she's sensible. They'll get along well.'

'Yeah.' Sirius tucked the letter away, a wistful look flitting across his face. He shrugged and donned his customary lazy smile. 'Gryffindor Quidditch practice this afternoon,' he said. 'Reckon it'll go more smoothly than Slytherin's did.'

'James must be very excited,' Remus said quietly. He wondered if the other boy would ever boast to him of his flying exploits again. 'Sirius…'

He thought better of it the moment he spoke. James didn't want to see him now; he had told Sirius that he wanted to wait until Remus was out of the hospital wing. Remus had no choice but to accept that, and there was no sense in putting Sirius in the middle. There was a part of him that understood that if it ever came to a choice between Remus and James, Sirius would not choose the werewolf.

Yet for now he was accepted, and Sirius was willing to sit with him instead of wandering out into the sunshine to watch the Gryffindor team at practice. That was a precious privilege and Remus was not going to waste it. Sirius had indeed brought him his homework, and he had also smuggled in his deck of Exploding Snap cards. They passed a very happy hour playing together with the side table pulled between them. By the time Sirius had to leave to go down to supper Remus was in better spirits than he had been in weeks.

_~discidium~_

The transformation had been the most brutal Remus had ever endured, and so it was only fitting that his stay in the hospital wing was also the longest. Yet remarkably it was far more bearable than any of the others had been. Gone was the paralytic dread that had haunted him after every full moon at Hogwarts; the dread born of anticipating the questions that would greet him when he returned to his daily routine. Whatever awaited him with James and Peter he knew, at least, that he did not have to be utterly alone. There was Sirius, and Sirius was doing all that he could to make certain Remus knew it.

He stopped in each morning before breakfast. Every afternoon he came by to give Remus his homework and to play games – Snap or chess or even just memory games – for an hour or so. He popped by after supper just to say goodnight and to interrogate Madam Pomfrey about the state of Remus's health. Of course the matron divulged little that Remus could not easily have said himself, but it was touching that Sirius was taking such an active interest in his recovery.

He was also rather irritating the matron, who was unused to having her quiet infirmary invaded thrice a day by a bundle of energy and wit. Sirius insisted upon teasing her good-naturedly, and he had developed a rather irritating habit of trying to read the time on the watch pinned to her apron. Remus rather wanted to point out why this was not in the best of taste, but he knew that Sirius would be startled and mortified by the revelation and he did not dare to shame his friend. As thankful as he was for Sirius's loyalty he could not help but think that their camaraderie was once again fragile, as it had been in the early days. A single misstep might be enough to convince Sirius that he was better off without the werewolf after all.

On Thursday morning Remus was at last deemed fit enough to return to his dormitory, though Madam Pomfrey was less than pleased when Remus asked if he might not go to lessons that day. She seemed rather inclined to keep him until evening, but Remus won her round with a reasoned argument and numerous promises not to strain his leg. So it was that he made his way down to the dungeons for Potions after breakfast.

Professor Slughorn was at his desk, clipping articles from back issues of _The Daily Prophet_. He did not look up as the class began to file in. Remus went to the cupboard that housed his cauldron and hesitated, flexing his fingers and wondering if he had the strength to lift it. Before he could try, a lean and muscular arm clad in expensive black wool reached across and picked it up with indolent ease.

Remus watched silently as James carried it to the usual counter and then fetched his own, setting up next to him. He gathered his box of ingredients and hurried to the other boy's side. Not until after Slughorn had issued the day's instructions did Remus dare to speak.

'Y-you still want to work beside me?' he whispered.

James looked at him, his face impassive. 'You've been my partner for a year now,' he said. 'Why would that change?'

Remus waited breathlessly for the same pledge that Sirius had made: that they were friends, that the fact that he was a werewolf did nothing to change that. Yet the words did not come. James set about conjuring up his fire and triturating his feldspar crystals.

Trying not to let his disappointment show, Remus reached for his mortar. As he did he realized that someone was looking at him. It was Sirius, two counters over, absentmindedly reaching to move Peter's hand from the camphor to the liquorice root. He caught Remus's eyes and grinned reassuringly. Then he winked and nodded at James as if to say _go on: ask him_.

'James?' Remus murmured, wishing his voice did not tremble so badly. 'Do you… are you… am I…'

'Hush,' said the other boy, adjusting his spectacles and bending to squint at his textbook. 'Do you really want to do this here?'

Remus looked around the room at the dozens of second years bowed over their work. There were the Andrews twins, working under Slughorn's fawning eyes. And Betta MacFusty and Charlotte White, consulting one another about measuring spoons. And there was Rosier with a nasty-looking Slytherin girl, and pale-faced Vivian trying not to catch the teacher's notice. Zara Carr was examining the liquorice with fastidious distaste, obviously wondering whether it would stain her perfectly sculpted fingernails. At the table beside her Lily Evans was murmuring quietly to Severus Snape, whose ordinarily sour expression was softened somewhat into what seemed like genuine interest. And all of them were blessedly ignorant of the fact that there, in their very midst, stood a werewolf.

No, Remus thought. He did not want to do this here. He could wait. He would have to wait. In a few hours they would be back in the privacy of their dormitory, and then he could face whatever truth was hiding behind James Potter's inscrutable expression and clouded hazel eyes.


	51. James Deliberates

**Chapter Fifty-One: James Deliberates**

After Potions, as usual, Remus found it difficult to keep pace with the rest of the egressing class. He fell behind, inhaling the chilly dungeon air with mute desperation. Only a moment or two passed before he felt a hand on his arm. It was Sirius.

'Are you all right?' he whispered, shielding his friend from a jostling knot of Slytherin girls. 'Is it your leg?'

Remus shook his head, groping instinctively for a lie before he realized that he was free to tell the truth. 'I have trouble breathing in there,' Remus said. 'It's… there's monkshood in one of the store-cupboards. I can smell it.'

Sirius regarded him blankly. 'Monkshood?'

Remus felt his face growing hot. 'Wolfsbane,' he whispered.

The other boy's eyes widened in horrified comprehension. 'That isn't right,' he protested. 'He'll have to move it. I'll go right now and—'

'Don't!' Remus cried, seizing Sirius by the arm as he tried to bolt back towards the classroom. 'You mustn't.'

'But if it's making you sick he's got to get rid of it!' argued Sirius.

Remus looked desperately up and down the corridor, terrified that they would be heard; but the rest of the class was gone. 'It doesn't make me sick, exactly,' he hissed. 'It's only… my chest gets sort of tight and my nose stings a little. You can't go in there and make a fuss, Sirius. You can't.'

'Why not?' Sirius demanded. 'Slughorn can't just go around bullying people – is that why you're always so distracted in there?'

'It's part of it,' Remus admitted. 'But also I don't much care for potions-brewing. Mother says we've all got something we don't naturally take to; I suppose for me it's Potions.' Again he scanned the hallway to reassure himself that they were alone. 'And he's not bullying me, Sirius. He doesn't know. Most of the teachers don't.'

'All the same…' Sirius glowered unhappily. 'He could move the stuff to a storage room or something. He could keep it in his office. He could get sodding _rid_ of it.'

'But he'd want to know why,' Remus explained. 'And it would make him suspicious. He keeps a register, you know. It wouldn't be hard for him to figure out when I'm absent and why, if once he got suspicious.'

'You're giving that great fat ponce more credit than he deserves,' Sirius said. 'He's far too thick to work it out.'

'That's what Madam Pomfrey said about you and James,' Remus told him. 'Only not quite so rudely, of course.'

He was afraid that he had gone too far, and that Sirius would cut him down for his insolence: the werewolf who dared to criticise his only friend. Instead he smirked. 'Yeah, well, adults tend to underestimate me. I think it's because I'm so pretty.'

Remus let out a tiny snorting laugh. 'That must be it,' he agreed sombrely.

'C'mon,' Sirius said. 'Let's get upstairs. I could just about eat a Hippogriff, and you need to start putting some meat back on those bones. Don't think I didn't hear Madam Pomfrey banging on about your ribs.'

Remus hugged himself, acutely embarrassed. Just as he had never imagined Sirius tarrying at his side after the truth came out, so he had never imagined his friend making such comments. The genuine concern in the other boy's voice was unmistakable, but Remus was ashamed to have his friend so aware of the toll the transformation took upon him. He wondered what Sirius was thinking now when he looked at the sunken eyes and the shrunken frame and the place on his left wrist where a slender red scar was just visible beyond the cuff of his robe.

Yet he followed Sirius up to the Great Hall, where they discovered that James and Peter were sitting a little further up the table than was their wont, flanked by third-years with the Andrews twins on the opposite bench. Sirius led the way to their accustomed place as if nothing was amiss, but to Remus it felt like the end of his old life. This was what the world was from now on: James and Peter quietly ignoring him, and Sirius stalwart by his side because his fierce loyalty and his generous spirit would not let him abandon a friend, not even a werewolf.

Remus ate mechanically. The food held little appeal, but he could feel appraising grey eyes upon him, watching to be sure that he was eating. The concern meant a great deal to him, for he took it as evidence that Sirius truly cared. He was not trying to prove a point to the others about how open-minded he, a Black, could be. He was worried about Remus's health.

In Herbology, when Peter took James by the hand and tugged him to a table at the very front of the greenhouse, Sirius nudged Remus towards their usual place. They worked next to a displaced Lily Evans and Elsie Appleby, the latter of whom had a quiet distaste for the subject. They were working with Abyssinian shrivelfigs, and Remus pruned quietly for a while, now and then stealing glances at the two who, only a week before, had been his friends.

'You mustn't mind James,' Sirius said softly, wiping the blades of his shears and considering his next cut. 'He just needs time. After lessons. We'll talk it through after lessons.'

'I'll understand,' Remus murmured, trying to convince himself. 'I'll understand if he can't… if he doesn't…'

'He does,' Sirius declared stoutly. 'He will. He just… like I said, he wants to talk.'

Looking again at the other two boys, who had their backs turned to him, Remus was not at all certain that Sirius was right. Nevertheless he fell silent, for he was uncomfortably aware that Lily Evans had paused in her work and was listening uneasily to every word they said.

_~discidium~_

In Charms at last Sirius left his side. At first Remus was struck with a bolt of terror, certain that his one remaining companion had had a change of heart. He whirled about in his chair, searching wildly for the tall figure among the crowd. He was perched on a desk in the back corner of the room, and as James made his way in he snagged him by the arm and induced him to sit at the next table. Sirius felt Remus's eyes upon him, for he turned in that direction and with an earnest smile and a comforting gesture of camaraderie reassured Remus that he had not been forsaken after all. Remus nodded in understanding. Sirius wanted to talk to James.

And talk they did, all through the lesson. Once or twice Professor Flitwick's eyes darted in their direction as if he quite wanted to demand that they pay attention to his lecture, but he said nothing. Engrossed though they were, Sirius and James were exceedingly quiet, conversing in low whispers and dropping their 's' sounds to avoid the sharp hissing of the consonant. Clearly the teacher reasoned that it was preferable to have them absorbed in a conversation that disturbed no one than dreaming up some kind of creative revenge against him for censuring them.

When the lesson ended, Sirius came to collect Remus. James was waiting for them, face impassive. He said nothing as the other two joined him, but led the way to Gryffindor Tower in silence. He held open the door to the dormitory, watching like a regimental commander as the others filed past him. Peter retreated at once to sit on the foot of his bed, back pressed against the wall. Sirius took only a few steps beyond the threshold. Remus moved to stand near his trunk, hiding his hands in the folds of his robes so that James would not see how they trembled.

James closed the door with deliberate precision and stood for a moment with his back to the room. Then he turned, set his bag on the floor by his bed and walked back into the centre of the dormitory. He looked at Remus gravely.

'Sit,' he commanded.

Remus obeyed so quickly that his tailbone made a rapping noise as it struck against his trunk. His hands flew into his lap and he knew that he was sitting very straight. His heart was hammering within him as he looked at the other boy. James looked the same as he always did: tousled dark hair, glasses slightly askew, pricey robes donned with careless élan. Yet his eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, were so cold and hard, and his voice was dispassionate and forceful.

'Take it down a notch, Potter,' Sirius said, moving to perch on Remus's footboard so that his elbow brushed against the other boy's sleeve. Remus did not know if the contact was intentional, but he leaned instinctively into it. Sirius's presence made him feel less awfully alone. 'You're not the Chief Warlock and this isn't a competency hearing.'

James shot him an arch look. 'I thought we agreed I could say my piece in my own way,' he remarked coolly. Then he looked at Remus. 'I have questions,' he said.

Somehow Remus managed to nod. He told himself that he owed his dormitory-mates an explanation, at least. He had lost his right to privacy when he had uttered his first lie.

'First of all…' James did not move, but his whole posture seemed to change. Suddenly Remus felt very much as if he was on trial, and James was indeed presiding over the court that would decide his fate. 'Does Dumbledore know?'

'Yes,' Remus said quickly, wishing his voice was not so hoarse. 'Yes, he knows. He's the one who let me come to school. He made all of the arrangements. He said it didn't matter, so long as we took the proper precautions, and that I had a right to an education the same as anyone else, and that I might—'

He stopped himself, realizing that he was rambling. James appeared to consider his words carefully before he spoke. 'Who else knows?' he asked.

'Madam Pomfrey,' Remus whispered, determined not to fly off into another bout of histrionics. 'And Professor McGonagall.'

'No one else?'

He shook his head. 'Only… only the three of you,' he said.

James paced a little, and Remus glanced at Sirius. Despite his casual posture the taller boy looked ill at ease. His arms were crossed over his chest and the knuckles of his right hand, gripping the crook of the opposite elbow, were white. Remus wondered whether Sirius knew what James was going to say, or if he was just as anxious as Remus about how their classmate would conduct this interview.

'How long?' asked James.

Remus blinked, unsure what was being asked of him.

'How long,' James repeated ponderously; 'have you been a werewolf?'

At the sound of that word, Peter made a muffled noise of terror and clapped his hands over his mouth. Remus tried not to look at him, but the frightened boy lingered in his periphery, a stark reminder of how things had changed.

'Eight years,' Remus said softly. 'I was four when I was bitten.'

Sirius tensed almost imperceptibly. James appeared sublimely unimpressed.

'Four,' he said. 'I suppose that makes sense.'

Remus did not dare to ask why it made sense. He swallowed painfully, wishing he might have a glass of water. James paced for a minute or two, hands clasped behind his back. For Remus those minutes seemed to drag on into eternity.

'Where did it happen?' asked James.

'In our back garden…' Remus had never before given voice to these things. He had heard his parents tell the story time and again, to healers and researchers throughout Europe. But to say it himself was a strange and terrible experience.

'In Falmouth?' Sirius said incredulously. 'At that little house in the crowded neighbourhood? Were you the only one attacked?'

'I d-don't know,' Remus whispered. 'I think so. I m-mean, if I hadn't been more people would know, wouldn't they?'

He was desperate for the assurance that he had, indeed, been the only one. The thought of sharing that night of misery with innocent people was beyond comprehension.

'What happened to the werewolf that bit you?' James asked. 'Was it put down?'

Remus stiffened at these words, and Sirius glared at James. 'How insensitive can you get, git?' he asked.

'I'm only asking,' James said frostily. 'Werewolves who don't take the trouble to secure themselves properly at the full moon ought to be executed. Everyone knows that.'

Remus knew that he was shaking violently now, and he pressed his knees together in a vain attempt to stop it. James felt that werewolves should be executed. He wondered if that meant that he, too, was deserving of death. True, he had never failed to secure himself, but he was no different from the unfortunate wretch that had attacked him. When the moon rose he had no control over his faculties, or his body, or even his soul.

'Bollocks,' Sirius said disdainfully. 'England's done away with the death penalty.'

'I suppose you think they ought to get a slap on the wrist and a few years in Azkaban?' James asked.

'I think you ought to shut your gob and think about what you're saying,' Sirius retorted. 'How'd you like it if I said that Chasers who dropped the Quaffle ought to be sentenced to death?'

James wrinkled his nose. 'That's ridiculous, and there's no comparison.'

'You're right,' said Sirius fiercely. 'You chose to become a Chaser. Remus didn't ask to be a werewolf. Let's show a little sensitivity, please.'

'Sensitivity?' James snorted. 'Coming from you that's perfectly laughable. I've never met such an insensitive person as you. Except perhaps your hag of a mother.'

Sirius stood up, hands curling into fists. Remus clutched at his arm frantically. 'Please,' he implored, unable to mask the desperation in his voice. 'Please, don't fight. I'm not… I'm not worth it.'

'Of course you're worth it!' Sirius roared, turning on him. 'Damn it, Remus, d'you really think you've any less right to a little consideration than…'

His tirade petered out, a look of comprehension spreading across his face. 'You do,' he said softly, with a curious desolation in his tone. 'You really do.'

James grimaced ever so slightly, and there was a shadow of remorse in his voice as he spoke. 'I only meant that whatever monster did this to you ought to be punished,' he said. 'What kind of an evil, slavering, soulless—'

'Y-you mustn't say things like that,' Remus whimpered, cringing against the list of ugly pejoratives that might so easily be turned upon him. 'You don't understand. He couldn't help it. When you… when a _werewolf_ is transformed it has no control. It can't choose what to do. All it wants… all it wants is… is…'

He could not say it. Bad enough that they knew, bad enough that they would now see him as nothing more than a monster. He could not condemn himself out of his own mouth.

Peter was quivering on the bed now. Sirius had a hand on Remus's shoulder, gripping it hard enough to set an ache in the joint. Remus didn't care. It was a touch, a voluntary touch born of a desire to comfort him – to let him know that he was not alone. He clung to it, and it gave him the courage to look at James.

The mask of indifference was cracking. The other boy's mouth was wavering out of its hard judicial line. The hazel eyes were filled with horror and dismay. When James spoke again, it was with a hollow tone as if he were reciting by rote from a predetermined list of questions.

'How do they make sure you won't hurt anyone?' he asked.

'They don't,' Sirius said bitterly. 'They only make sure he doesn't hurt anyone _else_.'

'There's a house,' said Remus hastily, before James had time to let the implication of those words sink in. 'It's… the only way in or out is through the tunnel under the Whomping Willow. I stay there when I'm at school. And at home…'

'You're locked in the cellar,' James said. 'We worked that bit out already.'

Remus would have looked up to try to gauge the other boy's expression at these words, but a tremor in Sirius's hand changed his direction of focus. 'It isn't… it's not so bad,' he promised. 'We put out blankets on the floor and my parents are there the minute it's over. There's no trouble about getting me to bed like there is at school. No need to go outside…'

The comforting vise on his shoulder abandoned him as Sirius balled his hand into a fist and bit down upon it. He shot an angry, pointed look at James.

'What about afterward?' he said. 'Doesn't Madam Pomfrey mind it, having to look after a werewolf?' There was no undue emphasis placed on the final syllables, but all the same Remus curled more tightly in on himself.

'If she does she's never said,' he murmured. 'S-she's very kind. She's not like most Healers. She says it doesn't matter to her.'

'Most Healers…' A look of comprehension dawned on James's face. 'Your leg,' he said. 'Your leg wasn't healed properly, was it? You just… you didn't want to go to the hospital!'

Remus nodded miserably. This confession was as painful as any he had yet been forced to utter. He was ashamed, ashamed to have the others know how he was treated. And fearful; for if once they knew they might see the justice in it, and they might understand that it was permissible to act thusly with a werewolf. James already had his knowledge of what ought to happen to the poor souls guilty of the unspeakable act of passing on the curse. The rest would surely follow.

'What do they do to you?'

The words were scarcely more than whispered. Now the hazel eyes were filled with pain and horror. Remus swallowed convulsively.

'It isn't that,' he said. 'They do look after me. They mend my wounds, but they don't… they won't… I always know they'd rather leave me to die.'

James reached out to clutch the door handle, swaying unsteadily. Sirius made a growling noise deep within his throat. On the bed in the corner Peter was listening with horrified entrancement.

'Have you ever bitten anyone?' James whispered.

'No!' Remus cried. Panic that sprung from the knowledge that he so easily might sent him rocketing to his feet. 'No! I'm always locked away! I would never, ever let myself transform where I wasn't safe! I couldn't, I wouldn't – James, you have to believe me; I'd never want that! I couldn't bear it! I couldn't _bear_ it!'

There were tears in his eyes now, and he was gesticulating wildly. His heart was pounding violently in his ribs, and he could feel his pulse in the newly-healed blood vessels in and around his injured hip. His shoulders were shaking and his voice was quavering and his vision filled with black spots.

Then someone was gripping him, strong hands on both shoulders refusing to let him fall. Sirius, Remus thought with a flood of abject gratitude. Dear, faithful, courageous Sirius, who neither hated him nor feared him nor wished him dead. He blinked several times in rapid succession, longing to fix his gaze on the vehement face of his only friend. When at last he was able to make out the features of the person holding him he nearly lost his footing. It was not Sirius.

It was James.

'I believe you,' he said, his voice strained. 'I do. I believe you'd never want to hurt anyone.'

A tear spilled over onto Remus's cheek. 'Thank you,' he moaned wretchedly. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank…_'_

'Remus!' It was Sirius now, behind his right ear. 'Remus, calm down. You need to calm down or you'll hurt yourself.' He took hold of the smaller boy's elbows. 'Come on and sit. James, let go of him so that he can sit down.'

Remus let himself be guided to his bed, and he sank down against the mattress. Sirius was still holding him, one arm reaching behind his back to hold his left elbow. 'That's it,' Sirius said. 'Just calm down.'

'Look, I didn't mean…' James was looking at Sirius, hands outstretched helplessly.

'I tried to tell you,' Sirius said sourly. 'Go and make yourself useful for once, Potter. Fetch us a glass of water, would you?'

James moved off and Sirius tugged Remus a little nearer. 'He'll come around,' he murmured reassuringly. 'He's coming around already. You have to understand that he doesn't mean half of what he's saying. He's only in shock. You've rather startled all of us these last few days.'

Remus listened to the platitudes, but he did not dare to believe them. True, his panic had made James back down a little from his stance of condemnation, but the fact remained that he was a werewolf. Werewolves were Dark creatures: hated, cursed and evil. James Potter, proud scion of an ancient family of good wizards, rejected evil at every opportunity. It was a foregone conclusion.

James returned with the water, offering it to Sirius instead of Remus and sitting back while the werewolf drank. Remus was grateful for the cool, purifying fluid, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his throat or to ameliorate his misery. When the tumbler was empty he let his hands fall to his lap, cradling the heavy mass of the cup as if the smoothness of the glass was the only sensation he was capable of feeling.

James perched on the edge of his own bed, leaning forward to study Remus's countenance. After a moment's silence he resumed the interrogation as if the interruption had never occurred.

'Your parents,' he said. 'Why did they keep you?'

'I don't know,' Remus confessed. 'Perhaps because they love me?'

That was not right, he realized as he thought of the other little boy, the one whose parents had let him go off with a stranger. Surely he, too, had been loved before the bite. Before, but not after.

'My mother's a Muggle,' he added. 'She didn't understand.'

'Your mother's a saint,' Sirius said stoutly. 'And I'll bet you anything she _did_ understand and she didn't care. Just like we don't.'

Sirius meant well, of course, but all the same Remus stiffened at those words. He held his breath, waiting for James to tell his best friend that he should bloody well speak for himself.

Instead he said, 'Why did you keep all this a secret? Didn't you ever think maybe we had a right to know what we were sharing a dormitory with?'

Sirius cast him a withering glare. 'I think it was quite enough to know _who_ we were sharing a dormitory with,' he said. 'And I also would've expected James Potter, the great philanthropist, to be a little more open-minded.'

James flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. 'This isn't the sort of decision you just rush into,' he argued. 'There isn't a right choice and a wrong choice here. It wants thinking about.' He stood up and crossed to the door. 'I need to think about it.'

'Well, you can think about it somewhere else,' Sirius said sourly. 'This is Remus's room just as much as it is yours, and until you're ready to stop acting like a perfect prat you can just keep well away.'

'No,' Remus protested, shrugging off Sirius's hands and getting shakily to his feet. 'No, I'll go. You need to think. I understand that; I do. Just please… please promise you won't tell anyone what I am? Whatever you decide, please let me stay at Hogwarts.'

'That decision hardly rests with me, does it?' James asked.

'It does if you tell your parents,' whispered Remus. 'If the Governors find out, the Ministry, the other students. I don't think the Headmaster has permission for me to be here. If anyone…'

'No one is going to find out,' Sirius pledged. 'No one is going to tell their parents. _Right?'_

'Right,' James said. 'Not now, at least.' He looked at Remus. 'Are you going, or shall I?'

'I'll go,' Remus said again. His hand shook as he opened the door. He closed it, standing motionless as he tried to work up the courage to walk away.

From behind the door he heard Sirius's voice, angry and indignant. '_A few questions_, you said! Not the sodding Nuremburg trials!'

'The sodding what?' asked James.

'It's a sort of a Muggle thing that happened a few years back; Uncle Alphard's always saying how – you know what, Potter? That's got nothing to do with anything! What the _hell_ were you thinking?'

Remus fled, unable to listen any longer. He knew that once Sirius calmed down and came back to his senses he would not want to defy James. He would understand that the friendship of a popular, wealthy, pure-blooded boy was worth a hundred werewolves.

_~discidium~_

He wandered the castle for a long time before finally settling in the Owlery. It was peaceful there, with the crisp autumn air wafting through the great arched windows. The birds rested on their perches all around him, some meandering above, many talking in their own sibilant language of trills and hoots. Remus wondered if owls ever agonized over their nature. If they ever felt alone or frightened. If they ever felt the voiceless longing for acceptance.

He spotted Hermes, preening proudly on his perch, and decided that they did not.

How long he sat there Remus did not know, but the sky outside grew dark and the stars came out. The air grew cold and he shivered in his cotton robes, wishing he had had the foresight to bring his cloak or even a blanket. He could not go back to the dormitory: he had promised to stay away. Perhaps Sirius would come for him. Then again, perhaps not.

When he heard the latch lifting, Remus stiffened. He wanted to climb to his feet, but the new scars were aching and he was very tired. He remained where he was, huddled against the wall, as the door opened and a bespectacled face peered into the room. Its gaze fixed upon him, obscured somewhat by the glare of the candlelight on the round lenses.

'There you are,' James said, coming into the Owlery and closing the door. 'You're not an easy person to find. Half the portraits claim they didn't see you, and the other half describe you as 'unextraordinary'.'

'Where's Sirius?' Remus asked tremulously, now wishing fervently that he had struggled to his feet while he had the chance. He could not do so steadily, he knew, and he was loathe to advertise his weakness – his _otherness_ – to James again.

'Nicking you some supper,' James said. He crossed the room and sat down next to Remus, leaning against the wall and lolling his head over his right shoulder. 'I said I'd find you – little did I know I was embarking on the quest for the Holy Grail. There must be an easier way to track people in this castle, don't you think?'

'I suppose,' Remus said, meek and noncommittal. He was trying to read James's expression, but with the door closed upon the well-lit corridor the Owlery was very dark.

'Look, I'm sorry if I sounded, well, insensitive before,' James said with the awkward air of one unused to apologizing for anything. 'I just… it's a lot to take in. You sort of sprung it on us, don't you think?'

In fact, they had pushed and pried until they had worked it out for themselves, but Remus did not think it prudent to point this out. 'I suppose so,' he said softly.

'I mean, a bloke lives with you for over a year and suddenly you find out he's been a werewolf all his life?' James went on. 'Sort of puts a fellow into a quandary.'

Remus held his breath, scarcely daring to hope that James might actually mean that. If the question of the werewolf in the next bed posed a dilemma that was certainly preferable to the immediate rejection he had always expected.

'You've been a good mate,' James went on, staring up at the shadowy shapes of the owls and speaking as if to himself. 'You're always game for a bit of mischief. You're there when I need somebody to listen. Your place is good fun to visit. You helped get us out of the Forest after I led us off the path and never said a word of blame. But you're…'

Remus prayed James would not say it. He could not bear to speak the word aloud himself, not again.

'You're in a bit of a fix,' James said at last. He nodded once, satisfied with the turn of phrase. 'A bit of a fix,' he repeated. 'That's it.'

'I'm sorry,' Remus whispered. 'I know I should have confessed. I told such awful lies. I let you think terrible things. I was afraid.'

'I know,' James said. 'I know that now. Sirius made sure I knew. He's convinced this changes nothing, you know. He's right chuffed to know the truth at last. He thinks I'm a berk for even thinking twice about it.'

'You're not a berk,' murmured Remus timidly. 'I… I'm grateful you paused to think twice. Most people don't.'

James made a strange sighing noise. 'I suppose they don't,' he said. 'Must be hard for you, eh? I mean, as soon as people find out they drop you like a hot potato, don't they?'

Somehow the words emerged. 'Most often, yes.'

'That's why you didn't say anything, of course,' James reasoned. 'You thought we'd say all sorts of awful things and then – what? Hurt you or something?'

Remus felt himself nodding against his will. He did not want to admit to that. It was far too telling.

'Must've been hell,' James said thoughtfully. 'All those times we started pressing for information. When you were feeling weak and sick and scared, and we just kept pushing. Some friends we are, hmm?'

'You were very good friends,' Remus promised. 'I've never had friends at all before, and I never hoped to have anyone like you and Sirius and Peter. I just wanted to hold onto that for as long as I could.'

'It isn't gone, you know,' said James.

Remus felt his throat constrict, and somewhere in his viscera something thrummed in disbelief. He did not mean to speak, but the words came anyhow. 'It isn't?'

James shook his head, reaching up a hand to ruffle his hair. 'Sirius is right,' he said. 'I can't just walk out on you: that'd only prove all those stupid fears right. You're still my friend, even if you are a werewolf. I mean, it doesn't change anything, does it? Apart from the fact that now I'll _know_ where you go every month, instead of speculating like an idiot. The theories we dreamed up… did you know for a while there I was convinced you were using Polyjuice Potion or something and had to sneak off to replenish your stock of little boy hairs?'

Remus felt a timorous giggle in the back of his throat. 'That's absurd,' he said.

'I know,' James told him gravely. 'I mean, you're only just scraping by with second year brewing. You couldn't make Polyjuice.'

It was just the sort of good-natured insult that James loved to indulge in. Remus felt tears pricking in his eyes again and he blinked them back. He had broken down in front of Sirius and found comfort. If he did the same with James, he would only make the other boy uncomfortable. He might even drive him away again. Surreptitiously he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then hugged his knees against the chill of the night air. Cognizant of the gesture, James scooted closer to him, pressing shoulder to shoulder and lending some of his body's warmth.

'We ought to get back to the dormitory,' he said. 'Sirius will be storming off to find us any minute now, and you know how he gets when he's set his mind on something.'

'Yes, I do,' Remus said. 'Did you know he was following me? On Friday, I mean.'

'I knew he meant to,' James said. 'He asked me for the Cloak, after all.' He paused pensively. 'Actually, I'm impressed that he troubled to ask. Between you and me I think Sirius Black has a bit of a sticky-fingered streak. I'm just as glad you took off Friday, you know. I wouldn't have wanted him carrying it round for weeks on end, just waiting for the day you started lagging behind.'

Remus wasn't sure what to say, but he realized with a rush of relief that his uncertainty was nothing more than the customary awkwardness he felt when James rambled on so casually, as if making conversation were the easiest thing in the world. It was a remnant of the way things had been before, and it was profoundly comforting.

'I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself,' James mused. 'That's what Sirius says anyhow. Seems to think it's my fault you were scared to fess up.' He sighed and chafed his hand against his chin. 'I s'pose I proved his point. I didn't mean it, you know. The bit about werewolves and executions. Or I did, but I didn't mean you.'

James didn't see the incongruity in those words, and Remus did not dare to point it out. What was true for one werewolf was necessarily true for all of them. James could not judge Remus by one standard and the others by another. Yet conditional tolerance was better than outright rejection, and Remus did not dare to argue.

'I'm really trying to understand,' James said when silence lapsed between them. 'It's a lot to take in, you know.'

'I know,' said Remus.

There was another protracted pause. 'I didn't finish,' James said at last. 'Asking my questions, I mean.'

'Go on,' Remus murmured, though in truth he wanted anything but further interrogation.

'How do you hurt yourself? Why do you hurt yourself?'

It was a question that would have been impossible to answer under any circumstances. At the moment it was very nearly unbearable. Yet somehow Remus found within him the fortitude to answer. 'The wolf is hungry and it's angry,' he said. 'It needs to hurt something, and there's nothing else.'

'God…' James breathed.

'I don't mind,' Remus said hastily. 'It isn't so terrible. I'd rather that than hurt somebody else. I couldn't bear it if I hurt somebody else, James. You have to believe that.'

'I do.' James's voice was heavy. 'But you could, couldn't you? That's why you have to be shut away.'

'I could.'

It nearly broke him to say it, but it was true and there was something wondrous about being able to speak the truth. Remus felt something in his chest give way. Accepted or merely tolerated or even rejected – at least he did not have to hide any longer. Though to the rest of the school he had to maintain the pretence of normalcy, he could at last be himself in the safety of his own dormitory. That, surely, was worth something.

He felt long, cool fingers curling around his hand. They squeezed reassuringly. 'You won't,' James said. 'Dumbledore's made a safe place, hasn't he?'

Remus nodded. A safe place, where he could rage and howl and bleed harmlessly. He thought again of the unfortunate werewolf, the one who had bitten him, and he felt a nauseating knot of pity in his stomach. That werewolf had been denied the luxury of a safe place to transform, and because of that had suffered the most dreadful fate Remus could fathom. What he had said was true: he would never be able to bear it if he hurt someone, if he inflicted his curse upon another. He would rather gore his own throat than suffer that to happen.

'We really ought to go,' James said. There was a note of unease in his voice now as he climbed to his feet and offered Remus his hand. 'Sirius will think I'm tormenting you or something.'

Remus let himself be helped off the floor. He smoothed his robes and ran a hand through his hair and hoped that he did not look too dishevelled or pathetic. James opened the door, turning on the threshold to study Remus in the rectangle of candlelight.

'You really scared me, you know,' he said. 'When you started bleeding like that. I thought… I was scared the shock had killed you, or something.' Remus gawked, unable to speak. James grinned and cuffed him amiably on the arm. 'You pull something like that again, you prat, and I'll kill you myself!'

It was a clumsy attempt at humour, but Remus appreciated it nonetheless. James could not offer the same unconditional acceptance that Sirius had, but at least he was willing to try; to go on as if there could still be a future for their friendship. He fell into step beside James, who slowed his pace so that Remus did not have to strain his healing limb. Wizard and werewolf, they walked together back to the Gryiffindor Tower.

Sirius was waiting with a vast array of comestibles. Peter, having already helped himself, was sitting defensively on his bed with a plate piled high before him. He did not meet Remus's eyes as the other two entered.

'Have you apologized?' Sirius demanded brazenly, holding the platter of pasties out of James's reach.

'Yes,' said James. He turned to Remus. 'Haven't I?'

'Yes,' said Remus. He would have agreed regardless, but he did seem to recall something like an apology among James's words.

'Good.' Sirius yielded up the food and flopped lazily down on the nearest bed. 'And you?' he said, looking at Remus. 'Are you satisfied that we're not going to abandon you?'

Remus turned his gaze from Sirius, watching him earnestly, to James, sitting happily on the edge of his trunk and nibbling at a pasty. He glanced at Peter, but hastily looked away. One friend and one acquaintance willing to make an attempt at friendship was more than he could have hoped for. He would not be ungrateful simply because Peter wanted nothing to do with him.

'Yes,' he said.

'Good.' Sirius smirked. 'Have a sandwich.'

_~discidium~_

Late that night, after James and Peter had retired to their beds, Remus and Sirius sat together amid the remains of the late-night meal. Sirius gnawed on the last bit of treacle tart, studying Remus in the glow of the one remaining lamp.

'Are you all right?' he asked softly. 'You understand that James just needed a chance to think things through, don't you?'

'You talked him 'round for me,' Remus said. 'Thank you.'

'He didn't need talking 'round,' Sirius said in staunch defence of his friend. 'He just needed to talk. You know James: he _loves_ to talk. I wouldn't be surprised if he's destined for a career on the wireless.' He winked. 'He's got the face for it and all.'

'Sirius,' Remus murmured; 'I'm sorry. I know I should have trusted you. I know I should have told you. I was… I was afraid.'

'Sure, I know that,' said Sirius. 'I understand. I just wish it could have been different, you know? I wish we could have trusted each other all along.'

The terrible thought flickered through Remus's mind that because of his deception their friendship would never be what it might have been. He supressed it fervently. What he had was enough. It was more than enough. It was paradise. He must never be ungrateful.

'I'll always trust you now,' he promised. 'I'll tell you anything. Anything you want to know.'

Sirius regarded him sombrely. At last he spoke, his voice low and quiet. 'Are you ever afraid?' he asked. 'When it's time to… for… when it's time…' He grimaced. 'How do you say it? When it's time to turn into the wolf?'

'To transform,' Remus supplied. He was shocked at how easily the words came out, with only a tiny flicker of shame and no terror at all. 'When it's time to transform. Every time. I'm afraid every time.'

'But you seem so calm about it,' said Sirius. 'How d'you manage?'

Remus shrugged his shoulders. 'It's always been this way,' he said. 'I don't remember a time – _before_.'

He looked for pity, or consternation, or even disgust. Instead he saw only sorrow and a grim understanding. 'Neither do I,' Sirius confessed.

He did not need to say more to make himself understood, and Remus knew there was nothing he wanted to hear. He got onto his knees and crawled closer to Sirius, sitting down next to him and taking his hand. He squeezed it reassuringly, as James had done for him, and he felt Sirius lean in against him. They sat like that for a long while before it was time to climb into bed, drinking in one another's acceptance and understanding.

That night, Remus dreamed. It was not a nightmare of discovery and rejection. He dreamed instead of the other werewolf, the one who had bitten him, huddled alone in a dark room without friends or family. Without anything at all but loneliness and bitter regret. He awoke briefly in the dark before dawn, his face wet with pitying tears. But he fell asleep again to the gentle breathing of his friends.


	52. Pixies and Promises

**Chapter Fifty-Two: Pixies and Promises **

The following morning at breakfast, James took his customary seat across from Sirius. Peter hesitated, clearly reluctant. Evidently the prospect of eating alone, however, was more distasteful than the notion of sitting across from a werewolf, for he settled in his usual place in the end. He fixed his eyes on his plate and he recoiled whenever he and Remus reached for the same serving dish. Remus might have picked at his meal and avoided this spectacle, but for the first time since his transformation his appetite had returned, and he was ravenously hungry. He ate two helpings of porridge, three pieces of toast, a soft boiled egg and two sausages before the edge of his hunger was even dulled a little. Then he helped himself to a black currant scone and some blueberry preserves.

Peter, by contrast, was piling his plate high but eating little. He kept shooting furtive glances at Sirius and James, as if trying to gauge their thoughts on his behaviour. Now and again he tried to look at Remus, but he did not seem able to make himself do it.

Remus wondered, watching as the plump little boy spread marmalade on his fried egg instead of his toast, what Peter was thinking. His fear was obvious, and understandable. Yet what lay beneath it? Hatred, perhaps? Revulsion? Was he trying to hatch some clever plan to rid himself of the werewolf so that he and his human friends could get back to the business of having fun?

Although he knew he ought to be grateful for the miracle of acceptance Sirius had granted him and the gift of a second chance he had from James, Remus could not help wishing that there might be a way to salvage something from his friendship with Peter. Even a casually amicable acquaintanceship would have made him so happy. If Peter merely consented to help himself from the same tureen of porridge that Remus did it would be enough to soothe his misery.

He had no right to be miserable, he told himself fiercely. He had Sirius, as thoughtful and as loyal as ever, and he had James, who was trying in his own way to reconcile himself to the truth. To long for Peter's quiet trust as well was nothing short of rapacious. Instead of dwelling on what he had lost he ought to be grateful that he still had anything at all.

The post was coming in, and James looked up at last from his single-minded assault upon his breakfast. 'Look who's missing again,' he said, nodding toward the staff table where the Headmaster's chair stood empty. 'Three days in a row now. Reckon he's in London?'

'Must be a fine life, swanning off to the big city whenever he feels like it,' Sirius said snidely. 'Bet there's no one to scold him if he wants to take in a picture or ride the bus.'

'You don't really think that Dumbledore goes down to London to _ride a bus_, do you?' James asked scornfully. 'It's bound to be important business for the Wizengamot or something. He's Supreme Mugwump, too, isn't he? Maybe there's some sort of international summit going on.'

'Actually,' Remus said softly as an owl deposited his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ beside his plate; 'I think he's in Leicester.'

'How do you know that?' James asked, looking impressed.

Remus held out the newspaper, letting it unroll so that James could see the photograph on the front page. Professor Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic stood together in front of a block of Council flats – the Muggle sort with doors that opened on barren balconies instead of corridors; balconies with concrete barriers in place of bannisters. It was a dreary building, and it looked rather like an open prison. Conferring with Andrews and Dumbledore were a stately witch of middle years and a grim-faced wizard with a puckered scar disfiguring his jaw. All four looked very grave and haunted.

The headline read: _Political Militants Suspected in Leicester Killings_.

James whistled softly and Sirius snatched the paper from him. 'Look at your own!' he said. Then his brow furrowed into a frown as he read. 'Jumping Jarveys… says here that seventeen Muggles were done in Tuesday night. The Killing Curse. _Seventeen_ Muggles! And now some nutter's trying to take credit on behalf of a group called the Death Eaters.'

James blanched. 'I've heard of them,' he said. 'They're involved with some mad zealot preaching blood purity out of Croydon. Well, they say _inspired by_, which just sounds to me like they don't want to give the Ministry any excuse to send Hit Wizards after their ringleader.'

'Croydon…' Sirius said. 'You mean that Lord Whatshisname? The one who thinks that people like my family ought to be in charge? _Really_ in charge, I mean, not just mucking about in everything because they've got money and connections.'

'The one who thinks Muggle-borns are next to Squibs,' said James. He wrinkled his nose. 'I'd lay heavy odds he was a Slytherin.'

'Definitely,' Sirius said. 'You should hear my father talk about him: quite the champion of truth, he says.' He glowered at the table. 'Seventeen Muggles,' he said. 'Why would anybody do something like that?'

'To make a statement?' James spat bitterly. 'To prove a point? Because they _enjoyed_ it?' He stared down at the page again, reading. 'Seems the Office of Misinformation is putting it about that there was some sort of gas leak and they all suffocated. Seventeen people… evil bastards.'

'There used to be a contingent about petitioning to make Muggle-hunting legal,' Sirius murmured, a hot flush of rage and shame on his cheeks. 'I guess I thought we'd moved past that sort of thing.'

At that moment the Potter family owl circled down with a large parcel for James. He scarcely looked at it, still fixated upon the grim news in the _Prophet_. Remus, however, was startled out of his appalled grief when a rather mangy-looking Post owl of the sort generally considered too old to be trusted with long-distance delivery very nearly landed in his lap. It struck the edge of the table instead and fell over dazed, its scrawny chest feathers heaving.

Sirius, also momentarily distracted and looking very glad of it, looked shrewdly at the bird. 'So much for putting the old ones out to grass while they still have a little dignity,' he said dryly. 'Is it for you, or could the bird not make it any farther?'

'It's for me,' Remus said, recognizing his mother's handwriting on the unusually heavy envelope. He detached it from the owl's talons and made to tuck it deep within his robes when he stopped abruptly. He did not need to hide it, he realized. Even if his mother wrote something less than prudent, and even if the others chanced to see it would not matter. They knew the truth now.

The owl had righted itself and was now perusing the nearby dishes in search of something worth eating. Remus could not bear to shoo the poor old thing away. He opened his letter instead.

There was only one sheet inside: a piece of his mother's wedding stationary with _Mrs R. Lupin_ printed across the top. At any other time Remus would have considered this a gesture of generosity. Now, he wondered whether his parents were unwilling to waste money on ordinary paper, forcing Mother to use her precious personal stationary for everyday correspondence. Remus glanced at the unsteady owl again and then at the date at the top of the page. It had been written one week ago, on the evening of the full moon as was the custom. Yet it had only been posted today.

He glanced at his friends, who were still poring over the newspaper and lamenting together. Although he knew it was selfish to fret about his parents, both alive and safe in Cornwall, while such terrible things were transpiring elsewhere in the world, Remus could not help himself. He ought to have received this letter in the hospital wing. Though with all that had transpired over the past week he had not missed it until this moment he now felt compelled to read.

The first few lines were unremarkable: his mother offered her usual salutations and her earnest and thinly-veiled wishes for a swift recovery. It was precisely the sort of letter that he cherished but had dreaded that his friends might see – in the days before they knew the truth. He drank in his mother's words of love and her pleasant account of autumn days spent bringing in the rest of the garden and preparing the house for the winter gales. When he came at last to her elegant signature at the very bottom of the page he felt a little pang of loss.

He began to fold the letter again before he realized that there was a brief postscript on the back of the page. It read:

_Dear heart, I'm sorry the letter is late. I pray that Madam Pomfrey has been taking care of you and that you have not been too beset with worries. Your father has had three days' work on the quays this week, so we were able to post it this morning. With love, Mother_.

Remus swallowed hard, trying his best to fulfil his promise to his sire not to worry. He could not help it. If they had not even had money to send a letter, then how were they paying the notes from the bank? What were they eating, while he gorged himself on rich food off of golden plates? A feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him. Falmouth was so far away, and there was nothing he could do.

'Everything all right at home?' Sirius asked, folding the paper and tucking it next to Remus's napkin. 'How's your mum?'

'She says she's fine,' Remus said. 'She's bringing in the vegetable patch.' He wondered if they were _living _off the vegetable patch. It wasn't very large and there weren't even any potatoes planted in it.

'When I grow up I'm going to have a garden,' Sirius said firmly. 'A great big garden with trees and a path and a big, open sky. Don't know if I'd trouble with a vegetable patch, though. 'Cept maybe parsnips.'

James's troubled expression was lost in a sudden quiet laugh. 'You know that he talked about those parsnips all week at my place?' he told Remus. 'Nearly sent Melly into a nervous state, for it seems she can't fix them like your mother can.'

'Well, she can't,' Sirius said with lazy scorn. 'You can't expect a house elf to do things nearly as well as a person.'

'That's Melly you're talking about, and you'd best watch your mouth,' James warned. Despite the teasing note to his voice there was a grim light in his eyes. 'It's your business what you say about your own servants, but don't you go criticising mine.'

'Sorry, Potter,' Sirius said blithely. 'I didn't realize you set such store in your house elf. You sure you wouldn't rather be friends with Regulus instead of me?'

Remus gawked a little at the casual way in which Sirius suggested an end to his friendship with James. It was only a joke, of course, and James was grimacing good-naturedly, but all the same: to have such confidence that the offer would not be taken must be a wondrous thing.

discidium~

Nevertheless as he walked into Defence Against the Dark Arts that morning with Sirius at his right and James at his left, Remus felt the morning's unhappy revelations being shunted aside. There had been a time, scant days ago, when he had known the terror of the realization that a moment like this would never come again. Yet here he was, on the one hand wanted and on the other certainly tolerated, and although he knew this too was selfish he could not help but be glad.

Professor Meyrigg was already at her desk when the class began to arrive. She had the somewhat strained look she always wore towards the end of the week, as though her spirits and her robust good health began to flag as Saturday drew near. The covered cage was on her desk again and Sirius ogled it, rolling his eyes at James and mouthing _pixies_.

Instead of taking his usual place in front of Remus, Peter settled in the second row to the left, so that James sat as a safeguard between him and the werewolf. Remus tried not to notice. He looked around the room for some sort of distraction, and he realized that the teacher had her eye upon him.

When the lesson began the class settled happily into their places. After several days' absence Remus found himself watching his housemates with a fresh perspective. From the cautious, quiet group they had been at the beginning of the month they were now a happy, eager throng. Professor Meyrigg had only to hint at a question to have half a dozen hands in the air, vying for the chance to answer. When she called a pupil by name – and she always used their given names – the student in question would sit up a little straighter and speak in a clear and audible voice. The influence of Aurelius Alfstin was facing, replaced by a willingness to learn and, indeed, to make mistakes. Even the classroom itself seemed brighter than it had last year, though the chandelier was no more laden nor the windows any larger.

After half an hour's review, Professor Meyrigg rounded her desk and at last put her hand on the square of cloth covering the cage. 'Now, I've got another specimen for us to look at,' she said; 'but this time I would like a volunteer.'

Twenty hands shot into the air. The teacher smiled and surveyed the class. Her eyes rested briefly on the largest concentration of lowered arms in the room: Sirius and James sitting with lazy disinterest, clearly of the opinion that pixies were beneath their talent; and Remus and Peter, both too timid to put themselves forward.

'I'm pleased to see that we have so many interested parties,' Professor Meyrigg said. 'I hate to have to pick. Is there anyone in the class who lives in Devon? Hands nice and high, please.'

All the eager arms were reluctantly lowered. Meyrigg frowned ever so slightly, but there was an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eye. 'No one?' she said. 'Well, that's a shame. It's a wild Dartmoor blue, and I would have liked a native of the area… perhaps a near neighbour? Anyone from Cornwall?'

Remus prayed that someone else would raise a hand. It hardly seemed possible that in a group of more than three dozen students he could be the only one from the westernmost county in Britain. But ten seconds passed, and then twenty. Sirius prodded him gently in the spine.

'Go on,' he whispered. 'Put her out of her misery.'

Professor Meyrigg was still waiting for her volunteer. 'There must be someone,' she said.

'I'm from Sommerset,' Darius Jones offered. 'I'll do it.'

'Thank you, Darius,' said Meyrigg graciously. 'I shall certainly consider you next time, but today I've got my heart set on a helper from Cornwall.'

Remus fixed his eyes upon his desk. He was not prepared to stand up in front of the class. He could not bear to have attention drawn to himself, and especially not in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Meyrigg was a pleasant enough lady, and Remus knew he had nothing to fear from her, but the niggling notion that he himself was but a hair's breadth away from being the subject of a Defence lesson left him anxious to remain silent and unseen.

'It's a little known fact,' Meyrigg said, still smiling coyly; 'that students' home addresses are noted in their school records. Remus Lupin. You live in Cornwall, do you not?'

He cringed at the sound of his name, unconsciously slouching lower in his seat. 'Yes, Professor,' he whispered miserably.

'That's all right, then,' she said. 'Come up to the front of the class, please.'

'Please, Professor,' Remus begged. 'I'd rather not.'

'Nonsense. You haven't taken a question yet this term. I've heard from Professors McGonagall and Flitwick that you're a talented young man, and I'd like your assistance. Come up here and bring your wand.'

The knowledge that two of his teachers had spoken well of him around the staff room lent Remus a small measure of courage. Somehow he managed to stand and to trudge up to the dais at the front of the room. He stood hesitantly off to one side, a wary eye on Meyrigg.

'Now,' she said, whisking the cloth off of the cage and revealing a small, electric blue pixie that immediately began to leap around, climbing the bars and pulling hideous faces at the pupils in the front row. 'We've talked a great deal about how to control, coerce and capture pixies. I'm going to let this one out of his cage, and I would like you to work out a way to get him back inside before he can tear apart my classroom. Would you like a minute to prepare?'

'Yes, ma'am,' murmured Remus. He kept his eyes fixed upon the toes of his shoes where they peaked out beneath the hem of his robes. He could feel the stares of his classmates fixed upon him and he wished desperately that he did not still look so wan and weary.

'While Remus plans his strategy, can anyone tell me where else in Britain we can find large colonies of pixies?' Meyrigg said.

Remus did not hear anything of the discussion that sprung up. He was too busy trying to remember everything he had learned about the creature in question. Pixies were mischievous and rather fond of wanton chaos – in this respect they were not dissimilar to Sirius and James. They were vulnerable to most hexes, but Remus did not like the idea of hexing a creature guilty of nothing but the misfortune of having been caught by a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Pixie bites were poisonous, and…

No, he thought anxiously. No, that was Doxies. He had been reading ahead in the hospital wing, when he ought to have been revising. Growing increasingly anxious, he tried frantically to remember what else there was to know about pixies. His eyes darted up toward James and Sirius, hopeful that they might offer some hint. They didn't seem to notice him; they were laughing at something Meyrigg had said. Betta MacFusty and Lily Evans were watching him, however, the former with detached interest and the latter with a tiny frown of concern.

Abruptly Professor Meyrigg was looking at him again. 'Are you ready now, Remus?' she asked.

He was anything but ready, and yet there was nothing he could do. He adjusted his hold on his wand, forcing himself to loosen his grip a little and let some of the tension bleed out of his wrist. A limber arm was necessary for proper wandwork. He nodded unsteadily, eyeing the pixie with apprehension. It was not the creature itself that he feared, for pixies were harmless and he was more than capable of coping with one little eight-inch being. What he dreaded was the prospect of shaming himself before his classmates. Once again they were all watching him, and he knew that many of them were waiting for him to fail.

'Very well,' said Meyrigg contentedly, lifting the pin that secured the door of the cage. 'Go on.'

The pixie came rocketing out with a gleeful shriek. It leaped off of the table top and beat its tiny wings furiously, diving at Charlotte White. She stifled a cry of alarm as the tiny blue hand seized hold of her silk hair ribbon and tried to yank it off of her head.

Remus knew he ought to do something, but the only spell he could think of was the Disarming Charm, which would do nothing to stop a pixie. He cast about frantically, eyes meandering wildly about the room in search of some solution. He noticed, rather absurdly, that Professor Meyrigg had a paperweight in the shape of a Golden Snitch on her desk. He was swiftly distracted as the pixie, tired of tormenting Charlotte White, tried to swoop in to snatch James's spectacles. With an indolent swat James sent the little blue thing flying, and it bounced off of Aeolus Andrews's head. Aeolus swore and Athena shrieked, and several students scrambled to their feet to get out of the way of the maverick pixie.

When it tried to snatch one of Betta MacFusty's earings Remus realized what he ought to do. He hurried to the teacher's desk and rapped the Snitch paperweight with his wand. It began to sparkle enticingly. He picked it up between finger and thumb, waggling the heavy bit of enamelled pewter. The glint caught the eyes of the pixie, who came flying swiftly from the other end of the classroom. Remus thrust the paperweight between the bars of the cage, turning it to and fro to bring out the glitter of the charm. The pixie dove through the little door with avaricious intent. Quick as a flash, Remus locked the cage and pulled back the paperweight out of the creature's reach.

The pixie wailed furiously as its prize disappeared, and then tried to find its way out of the cage again. Unable to do so it rocked against the bars, spitting and hissing and glaring with hatred at its captor. Calmly Remus reached for the piece of black flannel and he covered the cage.

Someone began to clap. Almost before Remus realized that it was Lily, the applause spread through the room. A moment later Sirius and James were on their feet, whooping and cheering as if he had just made a spectacular play on the Quidditch pitch. Meyrigg let it go on for a moment or two before she raised her hands to gesture for silence.

'That's enough now,' she said. 'You'll have half the school down here in a moment. _Sirius_. That's _enough_.'

When Sirius plonked down in his seat Meyrigg turned to Remus. 'Very well done,' she said. 'A humane solution that did not put any bystanders at risk. Creative use of materials at hand. Relying on your brain instead of your wand. An excellent performance, Remus. Five points to Gryffindor.'

Remus was flushed with pleasure and pride, both in his accomplishment and in the teacher's words of praise. He returned to his seat, where James cuffed his arm and Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder.

'Knew you could do it,' he said, winking roguishly and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender when Meyrigg shot him a brief reproving look. The lesson continued uneventfully after that, but Remus could not help but think that Professor Meyrigg had won over the last of the silent pupils bequeathed by her predecessor. He knew he would not be so reticent again.

_~discidium~_

A curious thing happened in History of Magic that afternoon. After Sirius and James had made their escape the moment Professor Binns fell silent, Remus was gathering his books when someone cleared their throat very softly behind him. He turned, startled to see Lily Evans standing by his chair.

'I think you did really well in class today,' she said. 'I know you didn't like it when Professor Meyrigg called you up, but I think you did really well.'

'Thank you,' Remus said quietly. He was not certain that he was comfortable with being approached by someone he scarcely knew – especially not someone he had alienated on his very first day at Hogwarts. But Lily's smile was earnest and her emerald eyes were kind. 'You clapped for me,' he ventured.

Lily's cheeks grew rather pink. 'Well, you deserved it,' she said. 'I never would have thought of baiting the cage. I think I might have tried a Freezing Charm.'

Remus had not even thought of a Freezing Charm, but he was loathe to admit his stupidity. 'It seemed to like shiny things,' he said. 'First the ribbon, then James's specs…'

'Then Betta's earring,' Lily agreed. 'I'm glad you didn't give it a chance to get a hold on that; it would have hurt her. Of course, she's a good deal tougher than most of us. Did you know that her family raises _dragons_?'

The wide-eyed wonder she usually reserved for Severus Snape lit up her face, and Remus found it impossible not to smile. 'Hebredian Blacks,' he said. 'I should love to see one someday.'

'She has pictures,' Lily said. 'I could ask if she'd be willing to let you have a look. Do you know that the year she was nine she had her own hatchling to look after? Mum and Dad wouldn't even let Tunie and I have a cat!'

'Who's Tunie?' Remus asked.

Lily's smile wavered. 'My sister,' she said with a tiny sigh. 'She's… I don't think she likes it that I've gone to a different school than she did. I miss her sometimes. I mean Betta and Charlotte and Elsie are nice, but sometimes friends just aren't enough, don't you know?'

Remus didn't know. He couldn't imagine anything more wonderful than friends. And then he realized that he had cost himself the chance to know what it was to have a sister or a brother, and the warm feeling faded from his chest.

'I should go,' he said leadenly. 'James and Sirius will wonder where I've got to.'

'Listen… that James Potter…' Lily said. 'Has he been picking on you? Because I heard you and Black talking in Herbology, and it seems to me he's got you rather frightened.' She reached out to pat his arm. 'You don't let him bully you, all right? He's a mean, spoilt little brat, and I think you could do much better than him.'

A cavalcade of protestations vied for supremacy, but Remus realized he could not admit to half of the reasons that James was more of a friend than someone like him could ever deserve. 'Please don't say that,' he murmured instead. 'He's been very kind to me, and I'm not frightened of him, I promise.'

Lily did not look convinced, but she nodded. 'Well, just think about it,' she said. 'And if you'd like someone to practice Charms with sometime I wouldn't mind it.'

'Thank you,' Remus said, somewhat bewildered by the offer. 'I… I think I'd like that.'

At that moment Charlotte White poked her head back around the door, beckoning to Lily. 'I have to go,' she said. 'I'll see you at lunch?'

Remus nodded, and a moment later she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the middle of an empty classroom wondering bewilderedly if he had perhaps made another friend.

'Move along there, Robert,' said Professor Binns, glancing up briefly from the dusty old volume he was reading. 'Class is over.'

_~discidium~_

'Look who's back!' James said at breakfast the following morning, nodding toward the staff table. Professor Dumbledore was once more in his customary chair, conversing pleasantly with Professor Flitwick.

'And look who's gone,' added Sirius, pointing at the empty place beyond Arachne where Professor Meyrigg usually sat. 'I'm telling you, we need to start staking out the second-floor corridor on Friday nights and find out where she goes.'

'Out of the school; that much is obvious,' said James. 'We could just lie in wait outside. Less mucking about with doors and less risk of being trod on.'

'Fair point,' Sirius said. 'Next week?'

'Fine by me,' said James. 'Remus? Next week convenient for you?'

'Yes,' Remus said, his chest constricting a little as he tried to discern the subtext in the other boy's words. Was that a hint of sarcasm? Next weekend was the new moon: obviously he had no other commitments. 'Y-yes, next week is convenient. But…'

'But what?' Sirius asked shrewdly. 'D'you want to take a while to rest? Running around at night must be hard on you; all those times and you never said…'

Remus flushed, dipping his head low over his plate. 'It's fine,' he said. 'I just – I wondered if maybe…' The suggestion that they let the teacher have her secrets died upon his tongue. He had pledged to do anything to be worthy of their friendship if only it would not be snatched away from him. He had to abide by that promise. 'Could you pass me the raspberry jam?' he asked.

To his amazement, Peter reached out and offered the jam-pot. Remus looked at him, daring for a moment to hope. The look of consternation on the round face across from him dashed that dream. Peter had been acting instinctively. He had forgotten for an instant who it was – _what _it was – sitting across from him.

'James Potter?' a brisk voice said. 'Sirius Black? And you two must be Lupin and Pettigrew?'

One of the new Gryffindor Prefects had come up beside James, his badge gleaming. He was tall and rangy, with ruddy brown hair and that particular air of robust good health that always made Remus ashamed of his own peaky pallor.

'You know us,' Sirius said happily. From most second years this statement might have been an indication of a desire to ingratiate oneself with someone in a position of influence. In the case of Sirius Black, it was obviously evidence that he suspected his reputation as a troublemaker had preceded him.

'Everyone knows _you_,' said the Prefect. 'Dorcas Meadowes gave all of us a half-hour dissertation on _you_.' He glanced towards the head of the Gryffindor table, where his fellows sat watching with intense interest to see how he coped with the infamous Sirius Black. 'And it seems her suspicions are well placed. The four of you are wanted in the Headmaster's office at once.'

'At once?' James said indignantly. 'Why, we're not finished our breakfast.'

'Breakfast is very important,' Sirius added sagely. 'Breakfast sets the tone for the whole day.'

'Without a decent breakfast we'll be feeble and distracted,' James agreed. 'We shan't be able to do any of our homework.'

'That fourteen inches of essay for Slughorn will be absolutely out of the question,' said Sirius. 'There's nothing for it: if you want us to miss out on our breakfast _you'll_ have to explain why the assignment isn't finished.'

The young Prefect seemed unimpressed. 'Finish up quickly and get on upstairs,' he said. 'Don't make me come looking for you.'

So saying, he strode away. James watched him go, shaking his head sadly. 'Prewetts,' he said. 'No sense of fun.'

Sirius snickered. 'No wonder Bella didn't want to marry his older brother,' he said. 'She wants a man she can wrap around her little finger, not a junior lieutenant in the Light Brigade.'

'We ought to go,' Remus said softly. Dumbledore had risen from the staff table and was now leaving the Great Hall. A moment later Professor McGonagall followed. He had an awful, crawling suspicion that he knew why they were being summoned to the Headmaster's office.

'Nonsense,' Sirius said stoutly, reaching for the scones. 'I'm going to finish my breakfast. Dumbledore can wait.'

'Please,' Remus whispered. 'Please; we mustn't keep him.'

Sirius twisted on the bench, frowning pensively. 'Are you scared of Dumbledore?' he asked, a protective spark lending his eyes the quality of quicksilver.

Remus shook his head urgently. 'No,' he said. 'No, I could never be afraid of Dumbledore. It's only that I owe him such a great deal. I'll go alone if you don't want to leave now.'

He did not mean it as a threat, but that appeared to be how Sirius took it. He scrambled up off the bench and gestured at the others. 'Potter, Pettigrew, let's move it,' he said. 'You heard Poncey Prefect Prewett: Head's Office, and sharpish!'

They moved off together, Peter once again keeping James between Remus and himself. Perhaps cognizant of this, Sirius let his arm brush casually against Remus's as a reminder that he was not alone.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them by the gargoyle on the seventh floor. Her expression was unreadable as she murmured the password before they could draw near enough to hear it, and she ushered James and Sirius and Peter onto the gently rotating staircase. Remus hesitated, glancing up at her solemn face. He was surprised and immensely relieved when she offered a small, reassuring smile and placed her hand briefly on his shoulder.

At the top of the stairs Sirius did not wait for any prompting before he seized the knocker and put it to its intended use. The door swung open and the five of them filed into the office.

Headmaster Dumbledore was seated at his desk, looking very distinguished and a little imposing in the heavy chair. Yet Remus noticed that there were faint shadows beneath the bright blue eyes and faint lines of strain on the Headmaster's brow. He felt a pang of remorse that at a time like this, in the wake of a terrible tragedy to the south, he was burdening the Headmaster with the interpersonal problems of a werewolf.

With a flourish of his wand, Dumbledore conjured four large and comfy-looking armchairs before his desk, augmenting the elegant carven seat already there. 'Please join me,' he said.

Sirius and James took the chairs directly before the Headmaster and Remus slid into the one on the far right. Peter scurried across the office to take the far left seat. The real chair they left for Professor McGonagall, but she declined to take it, standing instead off to one side and watching the proceedings solemnly.

'Well, now,' Dumbledore said, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the blotter. 'I understand that there has been something of a development over the last few days.'

Remus felt his throat grow dry. The Headmaster had never said that he might not tell someone the truth, but Remus knew that the need for secrecy had been clearly implied. Would Dumbledore believe that he had not betrayed the conspiracy to let him come to Hogwarts? Would he understand that Remus had tried his very best, but that the others were so bright and tenacious and driven by curiosity that they had solved the mystery on their own?

'I suppose you could say that,' James conceded. 'Though personally I think finding out you've been sharing a room with a werewolf for over a year is a bit more than _something of a development_.'

His words were casual enough, but it still hurt to hear them. Remus hung his head and his hands closed in his lap.

'We're not bothered about it, if that's what you're wondering,' Sirius said. 'I mean, Remus is our friend, isn't he? We'd be right bastards to walk out on him over something he can't help.' He grinned a little sheepishly. 'Right berks, I mean, sir, if you'll pardon the expression.'

'I have to confess I found it quite apt,' Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling with amusement. He looked from James to Sirius and back. 'Do I take it then that you have determined to continue has you have been?'

'Look, if this is about the Slytherin plates on the first day of term…' Sirius said defensively.

'It's not,' James said, a shrewd edge to his voice. 'He wants to know if he needs to worry about us making trouble for Remus or hurting him or something, now we know he's a werewolf.'

Remus wished wretchedly that James would stop using that word.

'That's just barmy!' Sirius snorted. 'So what if Remus is a werewolf? He's also right clever and he's considerate and he's _much_ more patient than you or I, and he's got a reasonable taste for mischief, which if we just nurture it a little could really sprout into something, and—' He hesitated as once again he became aware of the presence of the two adults in the room. Interestingly he did not seem to think Dumbledore was the one in need of assurances, for he twisted in his chair to look at McGonagall. 'Not that we're a bad influence, Professor,' he said. 'I mean, well, we _are_, but he's resisted very well so far. Except for that business with Alfstin, and that wasn't his fault in the least…'

The idea that they, two normal human boys, might be a bad influence on a half-breed struck Remus as wildly amusing. He could not keep back a small, hiccoughing laugh.

'And you, Remus?' Professor Dumbledore said. 'What do you have to say about all of this?'

'They've been very kind, Professor,' he said hastily, raising his eyes to face the Headmaster earnestly. 'Ever so kind. They understand, I think.' Sirius did anyhow, and James was trying. 'B-but…' A sudden realization took him. 'But no one has asked Peter what he thinks.'

All eyes in the room pivoted on the plump little boy. Dumbledore wore a kindly smile as he said; 'Well, Peter? What do you think?'

'He's a werewolf!' Peter squeaked. 'He's… he's _dangerous_!'

Sirius glowered and pounded the squashy arm of his chair with one fist. 'Sod that, Pettigrew! He's only dangerous one night a month, and then they keep him locked up in some old house under the Whomping Willow where he can't do anything about it! The rest of the time he's just the same old Remus he's always been. You know: the one who checks all of your homework and wrote that _stupid_ song to help you in History of Magic last year. The one who kept insisting I be nicer to you, and the one who always finds something nice to say about you when you're driving the rest of us 'round the bend. It's just ungrateful to talk like that, and it makes me sick!'

'Now, now, Mr Black,' Dumbledore said serenely. 'There's no need for hurtful words. It's only natural for Peter to have some concerns. If you prefer, Peter, you and I can discuss them in private. I know we've got along nicely in the past, and I'm sure we can work through everything that's troubling you.'

Peter shot a tiny, frightened glance at Sirius and James. 'I th-think I'd like that, Headmaster,' he said. 'Thank you.'

'Very well,' said Dumbledore. 'For the moment I just ask you to listen to what I have to say to the others, for it applies to you as well. Whatever your feelings on the matter – and,' he added, looking at Sirius and James; 'I am most relieved to hear that those feelings are tempered with compassion and good sense – I must insist upon the strictest secrecy. I firmly believe that Remus has as much right as any other boy of his talent to a first-class education, but I am certain you can appreciate that such an opinion is not necessarily prevalent in today's society.'

Sirius nodded grimly and James ran his tongue along his lips, looking vaguely nauseated. Dumbledore continued.

'Remus is present at Hogwarts without the full knowledge of the Board of Governors – much less the Ministry. If it became generally known that he was in attendance here there would be… difficulties.'

Remus closed his eyes. All the fears about exposure and expulsion bubbled to the surface like sulphurous fumes rising through tar. It was one thing to dread such things in private. It was another matter entirely to realize that Dumbledore shared the same concerns.

'Therefore,' said the Headmaster; 'I must have an undertaking of confidentiality from all of you. I cannot allow you to discuss this matter with anyone else: neither friends nor enemies nor even your parents.'

'Or in my case, sir, _especially_ my parents,' Sirius quipped. 'Don't worry. We're not daft: we'll keep schtum.'

There was an amused twitch somewhere beneath the Headmaster's beard at the peculiar expression. 'Thank you, Sirius,' he said. 'I shall hold you to that promise. And James?'

'Of course I won't tell,' said James. 'But I mean… my mum and dad; they might understand. Maybe if Sirius explained it to them the way he did me…'

Dumbledore raised a querying eyebrow and James slumped in his chair, sighing heavily.

'No,' he said. 'No, you're right. I'll not tell them. I swear I won't.' His expression brightened somewhat. 'After all, it's not the first thing I've neglected to mention. They don't know about the Slytherin Prefects and their shrieking plates, either.'

That was the second time the pair of them had alluded to their inaugural prank of the year, and Remus had to admire the brazen abandon with which they boasted of their mischief despite the punishment it had earned. They were so bold and fearless. He hoped perhaps he might learn to be a little more like them – not so much so that he was able to talk to Dumbledore like an equal, of course, but enough that he could clearly express his wishes when asked… that would be wonderful.

'I take it then that I have your word on the matter?' asked Dumbledore.

'Absolutely,' James said.

Sirius raised his right hand. 'I solemnly swear Remus Lupin's secret is safe with me,' he pledged. Then he leaned over to prod Remus with an elbow. 'After all,' he said with a grin; 'what are mates for?'

The tiny, grateful smile formed of its own accord. 'Thank you,' Remus whispered.

'Indeed,' said Dumbledore. 'Now, why don't the three of you run along and enjoy your Saturday? Peter and I have some things to discuss.'

'Aren't you going to make him promise and all?' Sirius asked, annoyed.

'I cannot _make_ anyone promise,' said Dumbledore. 'It is something Peter needs to discuss and consider and decide for himself.' He smiled at the podgy little boy. 'I have no doubt he will do what is right.'

'Come along now, boys,' said Professor McGonagall. 'The matter is settled, and it's time to be going.'

Sirius and James exchanged a look, then shrugged in tandem and got to their feet. Sirius waited, hand ready lest Remus should need help in standing. Remus declined it, rising under his own power although his new scars twinged a little as his weight shifted onto his right leg. Down the stairs they went, Professor McGonagall following. They emerged in the empty corridor, and their Head of House surveyed them with a calculating expression.

'I should like very much to know how the two of you worked it out,' she said. 'We've taken every precaution to keep it a secret.'

Sirius scoffed derisively. 'D'you think we're trolls or something?' he asked. 'He lives in our dormitory: how could we not notice when he disappeared every month? We'd be perfect idiots _not_ to figure it out. You know what I think?' His eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'I think that Dumbledore _wanted _us to work it out. I think he planned it all along.'

'Don't be absurd, Black,' said Professor McGonagall, looking at him along the length of her nose. 'The Headmaster fully intended Mr Lupin's secret to remain precisely that. However—' Her expression softened. '—I am pleased to see that the two of you are approaching the situation with such open minds. Your friend deserves no less.'

She looked directly at Remus as she spoke and she smiled. He felt a warm gratitude spreading through his chest. Professor McGonagall, too, cared about him. He had known that before, but it was nevertheless wonderful to hear her saying it so plainly to the others.

'Aren't you going to make us promise you as well?' asked James, eyeing the Transfiguration teacher quizzically. 'You seem the sort to want extra assurances.'

'If I felt you would find a promise to me more binding than a promise to Professor Dumbledore I would, Mr Potter;' said McGonagall. 'But I fancy that even your word to the Headmaster will carry less weight with you than the knowledge of what will befall Mr Lupin if you do not keep quiet. After all, you have demonstrated on numerous occasions how much you value your friend, and I know you would not suffer him to lose his place at Hogwarts, and with it his future and even his personal safety, over a moment's indiscretion.'

So saying she turned and, with a last small smile at Remus, sailed down the corridor and out of sight. James watched her go, his face contorting uncomfortably.

'Why'd she have to say it like that?' he asked. 'Now I feel guilty for even thinking about talking it over with Mum and Dad.'

'So you should,' Sirius said cheerfully. He looked around the corridor and then scampered to clamber up onto a windowsill. 'Come on, lads,' he said. 'No sense standing around like lumps. Grab a seat and be comfortable.'

'Why are we hanging around here?' asked James. 'Shouldn't be go and find something fun to do?'

'We're waiting for Peter, of course,' said Sirius. 'Whether Dumbledore makes him promise or not, _I_ fully intend to!'

Remus moved to sit on the edge of a plinth near Sirius's window. He wrapped his arms around his knees. 'Thank you,' he said softly, looking from one dark head to the other. 'Thank you for standing by me in spite of… in spite of everything.'

James shrugged lazily. 'Sirius is right,' he said. 'We'd be right bastards if we didn't.'

'Sirius is always right,' said the taller boy, nodding his patrician head wisely. 'Remember that, James, and you'll live longer.'

The amicable banter meant more than all the assurances in the world. Remus could see that the others were at ease in his presence. He had been accepted, at least conditionally. That was more than enough.

At least that was what he told himself, watching the gargoyle from the corner of one eye and wondering anxiously what was transpiring above.

'Remus?' James sat down on the other side of the pillar's base, resting his head against the cool stone and studying the pale face beside him. 'I wondered. You don't have any questions for us, do you? I mean, we've been interrogating you nonstop for days. Is there anything you want to ask?'

The consideration in James's voice and the gentle generosity in the hazel eyes very nearly robbed Remus of speech. Certainly it impaired his capacity for coherent thought. He had so many questions: why did they want him, what would they do when they realized how dreadful and violent the wolf truly was, would James revile him if he ever saw the scars? But he did not dare to ask any of these questions; he dreaded the answers.

He had to ask something, however, for it was clearly expected. He sifted through the bewildering array of thoughts and emotions he had experienced in the last few days, and he remembered a remark that had struck him before, when he was too frightened and cornered to comment upon it.

'You said it made sense,' he murmured; 'my being bitten when I was four. Why did you say that?'

James looked suddenly rather sad. 'Your house,' he said. 'There are baby pictures in the upstairs hall, and there's a photo of you when you were about two in your parents' room, but the newest picture is the one on the mantel of you playing in the sand. You were about four there, weren't you?'

Remus nodded numbly.

'There are no pictures of you after you were bitten,' said James. 'I just… I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it?'

'Slytherin's serpent, Potter, you're a berk,' Sirius growled. He slid off of the windowsill and sat down on the floor beside Remus. 'I'll bet your parents just haven't got 'round to framing the others, have they? Of course they've taking pictures since then: your mum positively adores you!'

'They're in the family album,' Remus said, nodding more vehemently than his emotions would have prompted. 'Mother just doesn't like to clutter the walls. All our framed pictures are older ones. Frames are expensive, anyhow,' he added in a whisper, thinking once more of the financial burden his curse had thrust upon his parents.

'See?' Sirius said, thrusting his chin out defiantly at James. 'You and your mad theories.'

But now Remus could not help but wonder: had his parents stopped hanging pictures of him because they were too busy trying to keep him alive and healthy, as he had always supposed, or had they indeed been reluctant to post reminders of the sorry shell their son had become? It had to be the former, he told himself fervently. His parents loved him. After all, they had kept him. And now he was at Hogwarts and he had two friends who did not care that he was a werewolf and were willing to keep his secret. He would work hard and get his education, and he would become a great wizard and he would make them proud. Despite the wolf, he would make them proud.


	53. Shared Secrets

_Note: Only one more week to visit the poll and pick a blot bunny for the three-month commemorative one-shot! Only about an eighth of you have registered a vote. Go on: pick one! Make Stoplight glow._

_Lines from 'Passtime With Good Company' written by Henry VIII. No, really._

**Chapter Fifty-Three: Shared Secrets**

It was drawing on to noon and Remus's tailbone was beginning to ache quite mercilessly from the contact with the unyielding edge of the stone plinth when at last the gargoyle leapt aside and the stairs began to turn. A moment later a pair of round-toed shoes appeared, and then the skirts of a school robe and a belt about a rather portly tum, and at last Peter's arms and shoulders and head. He seemed well-composed, but rather uneasy, and there was a hint of red about his little eyes.

Sirius was on his feet in an instant, arms crossed. 'Well?' he demanded. 'Has Dumbledore made you see sense at last?'

Peter nodded vigorously. 'Yes, yes he has,' he said with an exceedingly resolute note to his voice. 'I see it all now. I promise I won't tell anybody. I promise.'

'Glad to hear it,' James said approvingly. Peter smiled briefly, delighted by the validation of his idol.

'And do you agree this changes nothing?' Sirius asked, the menacing undertone still present.

Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but Remus could have sworn that he saw Peter's eyes shift uncomfortably. 'I agree,' he said firmly.

'Well, not _nothing_, of course,' said James. 'I mean, there won't be any more lies now, will there? And no more secrets. Not between the four of us, that is: I fully intend to rack up a whole conspiracy's worth to be kept from the teachers.'

Sirius nodded appreciatively. 'Secrets from one another: forbidden. Secrets _with_ one another: certainly permissible. New group policy, agreed?'

'Agreed,' said James.

'Pettigrew?' Sirius asked.

Peter nodded.

'And Remus?'

'I promise,' Remus said softly. 'I promise not to lie to you anymore.'

Sirius bobbed is head, satisfied. 'That's all right, then,' he said. 'Well, what do you say we go and grab some grub and make up our minds what to do with the rest of the day?'

_~discidium~_

In the end the rest of the day passed uneventfully. They went outdoors for a while. The trees were beginning to turn colours, and the grounds had a pleasant autumnal glow. A group of first years, egged on by some of the second year Hufflepuffs, were trying to touch the trunk of the Whomping Willow. Each time the tree flailed at an attacker there was a flurry of falling leaves, which the children scampered to gather like some sort of trophy. Sirius and James laughed as a little boy was smacked in the backside by a swooping branch, but Remus looked away. He supposed there was no harm in the game, but he did not like the idea of people playing so near the entrance to his hiding place.

'You know,' Sirius said pensively as yet another firstie was forced to make an undignified retreat; 'if you told us how Pomfrey managed to make that thing freeze up we could make a packet on taking wagers that we couldn't do it.'

'No!' Remus gasped, absolutely horrified. 'You wouldn't! You mustn't! What if somebody saw how it was done and got into the tunnel? They would… I'd be…'

'Relax, Remus. He was only joking,' James said in a placating voice. 'You've known Sirius long enough to work out when he's not being serious.'

'I'm always Sirius,' the taller boy snorted. He winked at Remus. 'But I wasn't serious. It's not like you to fall for my teasing; you're too smart for that.'

Remus did not say that making light of the reality of his condition was something entirely alien to him. He had a creeping suspicion that such an admission would distress Sirius, who found ways to laugh about everything, however ghastly.

After supper they went up to the dormitory for a few rounds of chess, Peter abstaining on the flimsy excuse that he was tired of losing. Remus could not help but wonder if, despite his assurances to the contrary, Peter did not wish to have anything to do with him. He forced himself not to think about it.

By unspoken assent the four boys turned in early. Remus had not realized it, but the excitement of the past week had been wearing on his friends as well. They were all soon asleep.

On Sunday they had to go down to the Quidditch pitch, for James had a practice scheduled. The air was frosty and Remus sat in on the hard bench in the nearly empty Gryffindor box trying to look interested in the manoeuvres before him. Sirius was rapt with attentiveness, and when the team descended to talk strategy he left the box and went to join them. This left Remus and Peter alone in the box.

Peter's eyes widened as he grew cognizant of that fact and Remus, who had not exchanged two words with the smaller boy since the visit to Dumbledore's office, half expected him to bolt for the stairs. Peter did indeed look as though he would quite like to run, but he did not.

'I understand,' Remus said in a quiet attempt to fill the chasm between them. 'I understand why you're afraid. But Peter, I promise I would never want to hurt anyone. Sirius is right: I'm only dangerous when I'm transformed, and then I'm not even on school grounds. I would never hurt you, Peter. I could never live with myself if I did.'

Peter eyed him warily, but slid a little nearer on the bench. 'That's what Professor Dumbledore said,' he mumbled. 'B-but you're a werewolf.'

It took every ounce of self-control that Remus possessed, but he did not cringe at the way the word was spat at him. 'Yes,' he whispered, looking down at his gloves. 'I am a werewolf.'

A tiny whimpering noise sounded in the little boy's throat, as if hearing the admission was harder than saying it himself. Remus could certainly empathize with that.

'I don't understand why you're allowed to come to school,' Peter confessed. There was no rancour in the words; only bewilderment. 'I asked Professor Dumbledore and all he would say was that you were a talented young wizard, and didn't you deserve a chance at an education too? B-but you're _not_ a wizard; not a proper one. You're a half-breed. You're a Dark creature.'

Remus closed his eyes and let the hated epithets wash over him. They were spoken without loathing, and that had to count for something. He told himself that Peter was only repeating things he had heard all his life. Yet he could not refute the arguments, nor did he know how to help the other boy to see the matter from his perspective.

'Professor Dumbledore has been very good to me,' he said softly. 'No other Headmaster would have let me come to Hogwarts.'

He expected that if he had dared to raise his head he would see from Peter's expression that he believed that Dumbledore was mad for consenting to such an arrangement. The urge to argue his case further shrivelled on his tongue. Peter had consented to keep the secret. That was all that he had any right to ask.

'He says I should try to be your friend,' Peter mumbled. 'He says you need good friends around you, and that you've been a good friend to me. He says a little bit of kindness and consideration is all you would want, and if I gave you that you'd be loyal to me through thick and thin. But…'

He stopped, either unable or unwilling to finish. Remus steeled himself. Peter had been his friend, and he needed to understand that there could be no blame for this. If he was unable to continue to associate with a werewolf, he needed to know that he was free to walk away.

'I understand if you can't do it,' he said, his throat constricting and lending to his voice that hoarseness ordinarily reserved for the immediate aftermath of the transformation.

'Sirius and James won't,' Peter mumbled. 'Th-they won't be my friends anymore if I won't be friends with you. You're more important to them than me.'

In his moment of epiphany Remus forgot his misery and his shame. He looked up, his eyes finding the tormented face of Peter Pettigrew. The little boy was just like him: pathetically grateful for his friendships and terrified of losing them. And, like Remus, Peter had lost a friend this week to the revelation of the werewolf in the next bed. As he missed Peter, so Peter missed the Remus he had known: quiet, studious, sympathetic and not even remotely frightening.

'We don't need to tell them,' he said softly. 'If you can bear to be around me, to speak to me civilly where Sirius and James can hear, we can pretend we're still friends. I shan't trouble you or touch you or sit beside you in lessons, and you needn't speak to me any more than you must. I won't tell.'

Peter's eyes widened. 'Y-you'd do that?' he stammered. 'You wouldn't tell them?'

'I promise,' Remus said, though he felt sure his heart would break. Here he was, not only consenting to the end of his friendship with Peter but agreeing to collude in keeping it a secret so that the other boy would not lose his only other friends. It hurt him, and it would continue to hurt him every time the four of them were together, but it was the right thing to do.

A tiny, grateful smile took Peter's face for a moment before withering away. 'Oh,' he said. 'But Sirius says we're not to keep secrets anymore.'

'He said we couldn't keep secrets to ourselves: we had to share them,' said Remus. 'You and I are sharing this one.'

'You mean just as long as somebody knows we don't need to tell everybody?' Peter asked.

Remus nodded. 'That's the literal interpretation of the new rule,' he said solemnly.

There was a good minute and a half of silence before Peter spoke again. 'Then you promise?' he asked. 'You promise that you won't tell James or Sirius that I'm not your friend anymore?'

'I promise,' Remus whispered. He felt his shoulders slumping and his head bowing as he uttered the words.

'I suppose it's only fair,' Peter said, scooting back down to the other end of the bench and leaning forward to watch the team and their reserve players launching back into the air. 'After all, I'm keeping _your_ secret, aren't I?'

_~discidium~_

That afternoon Remus wrote a long letter to his parents. It was filled with talk of his lessons and an account of James's performance in the Quidditch team trials. He made no mention of the revelation of his secret. If he had been met with wholesale acceptance he might have dared to explain it, but he knew that Father would not understand about Peter, and he could not bear to burden him at a time when his parents were living on three days' work on the quays. Last of all he added a postscript that they needn't write him back; he understood that they were busy and he knew that they loved him regardless. He meant, but did not say, that he couldn't bear to think of them trying to scrape together a few Knuts for the post.

Remus felt so helpless. He wished that there was some way that he could be of use to his parents. Some way, perhaps, to earn a little money to send home to them. He had left his six Sickles on his side table at home so that Mother would find them and use them, but he wished that he might do more. He thought of what Sirius had said about making a packet in wagers on the Whomping Willow – but he refused to entertain that possibility for long. He knew what his parents would say to that. He could not endanger himself, or his secret, for any reason, least of all for money.

So there was nothing to do but worry and wonder. He knew that he was violating his promise to his father in doing so, but he could not help himself. He loved his parents and he was afraid for them, and worst of all he knew that their financial troubles were at least partly his fault. They had bought the little house in Falmouth outright upon their marriage, using a good portion of Father's inheritance to do so. But after he had been bitten, when the savings had been spent, the house had been mortgaged at Gringotts to pay for further journeys to the Continent: fruitless trips and brutal treatments and ineffectual therapies, all undertaken in the vain hope of a cure. If Remus had not been bitten, if he had obeyed his mother, if he were not a werewolf, then a few months without an income would have posed little concern.

And there was also the fact that, if he hadn't had to cope with a werewolf at home, Father might have gone far within the Ministry, as Professor Slughorn seemed to think he should have.

After he sent the letter Remus tarried in the Owlery for a while, watching the birds. James, Sirius and Peter had gone out to watch the firsties take on the Whomping Willow, but Remus was loathe to join them. The memory of yesterday still burned fresh, and in any case it was only fair to give Peter some time to be with the others without the oppressive obligation of being civil to him.

Remus was roused out of his rather dismal thoughts by a sharp peck at his elbow. He looked down and smiled. Hermes had landed on the bench beside him and was looking up expectantly. Remus reached with a crooked finger to scratch the back of the bird's neck.

'Hello, there,' he said, smiling at the bird. 'I'm sorry I didn't say hello the other night. I was rather distracted.'

Hermes shook his body haughtily and then butted against Remus's hand. The boy obediently changed position and adjusted the direction of his petting.

'You're lucky,' he said. 'To belong to Sirius, I mean. I'll bet he takes good care of you. Why don't you ever come up to the dormitory? Ronan does.'

Hermes made a noise that sounded remarkably like a disdainful sniff. Remus grinned. 'You must try to get on with Ronan, you know,' he said. 'Sirius and James won't stand for it if the two of you aren't the best of friends.

'Of course,' he added wistfully; 'I suppose you could always just pretend to put up with him while they're around. They would never know the difference.'

Hermes trilled softly and hopped onto Remus's thigh, his talons pricking delicately against the black cotton. He twisted his neck, looking upward with scrutinizing eyes. Remus sighed.

'Sometimes I think you understand every word I say,' he murmured. 'I wish you could tell me what I ought to do about it all.'

The door opened and Hermes snaked around, turning in Remus's lap to look at the intruder. Remus stiffened and buried his hand in the down feathers of the owl's back as Severus Snape came into the room. He moved hastily, furtively, like one constantly vigilant against assault. He closed the door as quickly as he could, taking care that it latched. There was a creased envelope in his hand; it looked as though it had been reused several times.

He did a swift scan of the ceiling and then jumped a little as he realized he was not alone. 'You!' he hissed, taking a wary step backward and reaching into his robes for his wand.

Remus resisted the urge to go for his own. 'Good afternoon, Severus,' he said politely, though he knew his hold on Hermes was tightening as if the owl might protect him. 'How are you today?'

'Where are your friends?' Snape demanded. 'Black and Potter? Are they hiding around here somewhere?' He scanned the round room as if looking for some place of concealment.

'I'm alone,' Remus said, trying to sound calm and at ease. 'I came up to send a letter.'

'So did I,' said Severus, a peculiar defensive note to his voice. He brandished the envelope. 'You see? I'm going to send it right now. The school owls are for everyone to use, you know.'

'I know,' Remus agreed mildly. He pointed to one of the near perches. 'That tawny one is a very reliable bird. I use her sometimes.'

Snape's eyes narrowed. 'Why d'you use school owls when you've got one of your own?' he demanded suspiciously.

'One of my…' Remus frowned, perplexed, until he realized that he did have a bird in his lap – a very elegant and costly bird, at that. 'Oh. He's not mine,' he said awkwardly. 'He belongs to Sirius.'

'Oh.' Severus looked torn between disdain and envy. 'Black's family is stinking rich, aren't they? I mean, everybody always talks about Potter's money, but Black has it too.'

Remus nodded. 'He's comfortably well-off,' he said. It was impolite to discuss the finances of others, and he was not at all certain he was comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking.

Snape tucked his wand into his cracked leather belt, keeping it within easy reach as he beckoned to the tawny owl. She lowered herself onto one of the rails at eye level and held out her leg to receive the letter.

'Spinner's End,' Snape said. 'Cokeworth. Number six-ninety-six. Just push it in the letterbox, and don't let anybody see you.'

The owl bowed a little to show she understood, and then sprang into flight. Severus watched her go, craning his neck and taking several steps backward to keep his eyes upon the bird until she vanished from the patch of sky beyond the windows. Not until he lost sight of her and looked down again did he realize how near his meandering had brought him to the other boy. He looked rather like he wanted to retreat to the other side of the room again, but something changed his mind. Pride, perhaps, or the fact that Remus looked especially harmless sitting on the floor with a bird in his lap. His fingers found the handle of his wand, but he did not draw it this time.

'Where's your letter then?' he asked, the combative note still evident in his voice.

'I've already sent it,' Remus said.

'Why aren't you going, then?'

It sounded more like an accusation than a question, but Remus forced himself to respond pleasantly. 'I like to sit here sometimes,' he said. 'It's very peaceful up here.'

The thin lips twitched and Remus thought he saw a tiny flush spreading across the sallow cheeks. Abruptly he realized why Severus was so displeased to see him, and why he wanted him to be gone as quickly as possible. Remus was not the only one who found this a quiet place to sit. A safe place.

'But I ought to be going,' he said, as nonchalantly as he could. He shifted his hand to the underside of the owl's belly and urged him up. 'Off you go, now, Hermes,' he prompted.

The bird looked at him indignantly, as if to demand who he thought he was to spurn such a majestic creature, but to Remus's relief he obeyed and fluttered up to one of the rails nearest the domed ceiling. He got to his feet, his right leg dragging only a little as he stood. He brushed his palms on his robe and then smiled, offering his right hand to Severus. 'It's always a pleasure to see you,' he said.

Snape eyed him as if cognizant of some kind of trap. Remus realized that perhaps he was expecting to offer himself only to be rejected as he had last Christmas, and for a moment he wished that he might apologize for that, and offer an explanation. But of course that was impossible. Remus kept his smile kind and his arm steady, and after a moment Severus reached out and gave him the smallest and most perfunctory of handshakes.

'Goodbye,' he said, rather curtly. Remus inclined his head and slipped from the room. He was careful to close the door behind him so that it latched, preserving the other boy's sanctuary.

He was met on the stairs by Evan Rosier and a burly first-year with heavy brows and a rather thick expression on his face. 'You!' Rosier snapped. 'Lupin! Were you just up there?'

As he was coming down the stairs and there was nothing else in this particular tower, Remus found the question ridiculous. However, he had no wish to antagonize a pair of Slytherins with whom he had a history of violent altercations, and so he merely nodded meekly.

'Anybody up there?' demanded the first year.

'I'll ask the questions,' Evan told him scornfully. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Remus. 'Anybody up there?'

'Yes,' Remus said mildly. He knew he would pay for his insolence, but there was a part of him – the part that relished the mischief his friends so often wrought – that found that perhaps the wish to antagonize the Slytherins _was_ there after all. 'There are hundreds of owls up there.'

Rosier glowered and the younger boy made a menacing noise in the back of his throat.

'I know,' Remus said sympathetically, still listening to the errant and foolhardy voice within. 'I was shocked as well. When I heard there was an Owlery up here I was expecting to find a room full of soap crates and loo roll.'

'I meant any _people_,' Rosier growled.

'No, no people,' said Remus, smiling. 'Only me.'

Rosier whipped out his wand, and Remus reached for his own, but the first year tugged on the bigger boy's sleeve.

'Come on,' he said. 'We've got to check the library next.'

Evan glared at him, then scowled and twitched his wand under Remus's nose. 'You're lucky I'm on business for Lestrange,' he said; 'or I'd hex you.'

Remus bit back the retort that Rosier wouldn't have dared to hex him anyhow, for fear of later reprisal. Instead he smiled courteously. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I certainly appreciate it.'

'So you should,' Rosier spat. He turned and stormed down the stairs, the first year hurrying after him. 'Cowardly little git,' Evan muttered as he went. 'Who's he think he's hiding from, anyhow? He'll only pay for it when we find 'im and he'll have to do it anyway. Stupid bloody fool…'

When the maledictions died away Remus felt his knees go weak. He lowered himself onto the steps, reaching up to clutch the bannister lest he should faint and tumble down the stairs. His foolhardy courage at once amazed and appalled him. He never would have dared to speak up to anyone like that a year ago, or even a month ago. What had possessed him?

But a month ago he had believed himself teetering on the cusp of ruin. He had not known that he was capable of dragging himself up from his post-transformation bed to face the truth he had dreaded all his life. He had not understood that there were people – brave and brilliant and wonderful people – who could see past the horrible truth and accept him regardless. He had never imagined that he could say to someone who had been his friend, calmly and with dignity, that he understood that they could not continue as they had and that he was willing to put up a charade to protect someone who could hardly bear to look at him. He had not known that he had within him the capacity to be strong, if only now and then and in little ways.

Now he had stood up to a pair of Slytherins, and he had driven them away. He wished that Sirius and James could have been there to witness it – though of course if they had the encounter would have been entirely different and his own part in it surely insignificant. He supposed he could always tell them, but he was not certain that he had it in him to boast, especially as however proud he was of himself at this moment he could not be sure that the others would see it as anything special. And, he realized, he would have to admit to meeting Severus in the Owlery.

He was reluctant to do that. He did not know why Rosier was looking for Snape – under orders from Rodolphus Lestrange, no less – but it was obvious that the other boy had not wished to be found. Remus knew that whatever protection he had bought for Severus was temporary: sooner or later he would have to descend and then his housemates would catch up with him. But at least he had given Severus a little time in peace. It would be a betrayal of that gesture to discuss the encounter with James or Sirius.

When the shock and euphoria faded a little Remus got to his feet and made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower to wait for his friends – and Peter – to return to the dormitory.

_~discidium~_

By the end of the following week a new routine had settled upon the dormitory. Sirius and James continued as they always did: Sirius bolting out of bed first among the four, burning with enthusiasm to take on the new day. James and Remus would arise shortly thereafter, the former loud and eager and the latter quiet and unassuming. As before, James would be the one to roust Peter out of bed, and there it was that the first aberration appeared. Remus did not offer his customary 'good morning' to the flaxen-haired boy, and Peter in his turn did not solicit it. If questions about the day's timetables or the necessary textbooks arose Remus would answer them quietly and unassumingly as he always had, receiving in return a tinny 'thank you'.

The four of them would descend to the Great Hall in what was rapidly becoming a regimented order: Sirius with James on his left and Remus on his right, half a step behind, with Peter flanking James. If either of the dark-haired boys noticed that their companions never deviated from their places neither remarked upon it.

They sat together at meals, of course. Remus had discovered that if he was careful not to reach for any dish at the same time that Peter did he could avoid startling the other boy. He remained largely silent at the table, but as he ordinarily had little to say he did not think this would seem suspicious. James and Sirius were more than happy to fill in any gaps in the conversation anyhow, and Remus was content just to listen.

The seating arrangement in lessons changed a little, necessitating some migration around the four boys. This their classmates did without complaint, for Sirius and James were respected and perhaps a little feared and no one wanted to annoy them. As they had long ago fallen into the habit of pairing off according to inverse level of aptitude by subject, the question of how to avoid pairing with Peter in class never arose. James took him in Transfiguration and Sirius in Potions. The two of them traded off in Charms on the basis of who was feeling most patient. As they were studying creatures instead of jinxes in Defence there was no partner work.

Indeed, the only time the situation became awkward was when Sirius and James went off on one of their escapades, leaving Remus and Peter together in the dormitory. Then the silence was nearly suffocating, and Remus had to exert every effort to avoid meeting the other boy's eyes for fear that he would start to talk and break their pact. Once or twice at such times he thought he heard a word forming in the back of Peter's throat, but each time it died before passing his lips.

On Friday evening after supper, it was time to stake out the front doors as agreed. When Remus realized abruptly that the four of them would have to crowd together under the Invisibility Cloak he tried to beg off.

'Don't be loony,' James scoffed. 'If you're not feeling up to it we can postpone it another week. Black might writhe in an agony of curiosity, but I promise it won't kill him.'

'You have no proof of that,' Sirius retorted. 'You're just making assumptions. Perhaps I shall be driven mad with ignorance and throw myself off of the Astronomy Tower. Perhaps I shall go on a murderous rampage, disembowelling portraits. Perhaps I shall stand up in the middle of class on Monday morning and demand to know where the wretched woman skives off to every weekend.'

'You wouldn't do that!' Peter gasped, horrified. 'Why, she'd know we've been following her!'

'Another fallacious assumption,' said Sirius. 'Everyone knows she hasn't been at a single meal on a Saturday or Sunday all term. Perhaps we went to her office with a question about the course material, and found she was gone. Perfectly innocent explanation.'

'Except that only a very dim imbecile would have questions about that course work,' James said. He affected a thick approximation of a Welsh accent. '_In case of an infestation of Doxies, use a reputable brand of Doxicide. In the absence of such concoctions, a carefully-placed Stunner is usually effective_. She'll be telling us how to get a whiter-than-white wash next.'

'Truly, though, Remus,' Sirius said, suddenly quite in earnest; 'if you're tired I could stand to wait until next week.'

'I'm not,' Remus said. Sirius had let up considerably on his watchfulness as his colour returned and his limp faded to the occasional twitchy shuffle, and Remus was glad. He did not want his friends thinking of him as an invalid, unable to keep pace with them. 'I just thought that it might be rather crowded, all four of us together under the Cloak.'

Peter's eyes widened as the horror of the prospect struck home. As both James and Sirius were watching Remus neither noticed, and Peter quickly schooled his features. 'It's all right,' he said stoutly. 'We'll manage. We're all friends, after all.'

Remus closed his eyes briefly, trying to convince himself that he had not heard the blatantly forced note in Peter's voice. Perhaps he had not, for Sirius grinned and clapped Peter on the shoulder.

'That's the spirit, mate,' he said. 'You come 'round slowly, but at least you make it in the end.'

Peter's grin had more than a little relief in it, and Remus once again felt guilty for thinking only of himself while the other boy was just as terrified as he had been of losing his friends. 'Of course I did,' Peter said.

'One thing, though,' James said, looking up at the latticed window that was running with water. 'We're not waiting outside. It was after midnight that time we saw her sneak off: I'm not waiting in the rain for hours on end. We'll have to make do with the Entrance Hall.'

'What?' Sirius snorted, affecting a scandalized pose. 'Stay warm and dry and _wait_? What kind of an adventure is that?'

'The kind that doesn't end with doses of Pepper-Up Potion and milk porridge,' James said wisely. 'We'll wait in the Hall.'

And so they did, huddled together behind an out-of-the-way pillar. Remus kept his back against the wall and his hands tucked into his sleeves, trying desperately to avoid touching or otherwise bothering Peter. Lights-out passed, and the ghosts began to meander about more freely, conversing with one another in their ethereal voices. A pair of Ravenclaw Prefects passed down the stairs on their way to check the lavatories for loiterers. Twice the four scouts almost lost their cover. The first time occurred when Sirius, bored with hours of silence, opened his mouth to tell a joke just as Peeves the Poltergeist came rocketing past, laughing maniacally. James clapped a hand over his friend's mouth in the nick of time.

The second incident occurred just before twelve, when Professor Flitwick came through on his way to bed. He was walking with a spring in his step and singing in his shrill little voice:

_Youth must have some dalliance  
>Of good or ill some pastance.<br>Company methinks then best  
>all thoughts and fancies to digest.<br>For i-dle-ness  
>Is chief mis-tress<br>of vi-i-ices all…_

All four of them were nearly suffocating with the effort of trying to supress their laughter by the time Flitwicks footsteps died away somewhere above.

'I've had enough of this,' Sirius said as one o'clock passed. 'She's obviously not coming, and I—'

'Hush,' Remus hissed. There were footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, a familiar voice with a Scots accent echoed in the vaulted room.

'Off again, Brynna?' asked Professor McGonagall.

Sirius and James exchanged a questioning glance and Remus nodded, mouthing _it's her_. They, of course, did not know the teacher's Christian name, but he had heard it from Madam Pomfrey. Peter, who had stiffened alarmingly at the sound of McGonagall's voice, covered his eyes with his hands as if by doing so he could be certain to escape detection.

'To be sure,' said Professor Meyrigg. There were another few steps taken on the stairs. 'I shall see you Monday morning.'

'I wonder you have the energy to Disapparate after sitting up so late,' McGonagall said amicably. 'Why do you not leave as soon as supper is through?'

'It scarcely seems right to leave without seeing to my duties,' Meyrigg said. 'The Headmaster has been kind enough to make allowances for my situation, and I should not want to neglect my course work. Nor, as I'm sure you'll appreciate, do I want to bring it with me.'

'That certainly seems fair,' said McGonagall. 'You will be careful, will you not? I should hate to hear you'd Splinched yourself.'

_Is that a threat?_ James mouthed at Sirius, who grinned.

'I'll take care, Minerva. I promise.' They were at the bottom of the stairs now; Meyrigg in her travelling cloak with the small case in her hand and McGonagall, looking rather peculiar without her hat, walking beside her. Meyrigg's expression slipped from its pleasant smile into a look of quiet anguish only heightened by her customary Friday fatigue.

'Did you hear?' she murmured, her eyes searching McGonagall's face for something. 'They found Neil.'

The older woman nodded. 'I shall be writing to his mother to express my condolences, and asking as many of his classmates and his colleagues at St Mungo's as I can reach to do the same. Poor woman: I don't know how they'll explain it to her.'

'Minerva, would you… could you tell her it was quick? That he didn't suffer?' There was such piteous imploring in Meyrigg's ordinarily bright eyes that Remus felt his stomach wrench.

'I cannot lie to her,' McGonagall whispered. She sounded rather like she was trying very hard not to cry. 'I can tell her he died a hero. I pray that is enough.'

'It will have to be,' Meyrigg said, sighing heavily. 'If I had any idea who turned them on him…'

'We have our suspicions, and it would do you no good to act upon them,' McGonagall said firmly. 'You have responsibilities elsewhere and a job to do here. Goodness knows after last year the children need someone with a little sense. I was beginning to fear for our fifth years.'

'They're back on track now,' Meyrigg said, her smile returning without its prior strength. 'I'll see you have a flock of Exceeds Expectations to boast about.' She took out a silver pocket-watch and consulted it. 'I really must be going, Minerva. It would never do to be late.'

'I suppose it would not,' McGonagall said, a queer wry note to her voice. 'Monday morning, then.'

'Monday morning,' Meyrigg said firmly. She paused with her hand on the door and turned, winking roguishly. 'I promise.'

A moment later she was gone into the rain. McGonagall stood for a while, staring at the closed door. Then she sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose just above the place where her glasses sat, and trudged wearily up the stairs.

When they were certain she was gone, James and Sirius turned so that all four boys were facing inward in a tight circle under the cloak.

'What was all that about?' asked James. 'Who's Neil?'

Remus had to moisten his lips before he trusted himself to speak. 'I'm not sure,' he said. 'But I think… I think perhaps…' He screwed his eyes tightly shut, trying not to see a drawn young face hovering over his bed in the middle of the night. Trying not to hear an angry voice decrying the slandering of patients within their earshot. Trying not to feel capable hands that did not recoil as they checked his dressings. 'There was a Healer called Neil Ferrinby,' he said. 'A Muggle-born. He disappeared last winter. It sounds as if… as if they found him at last.'

James and Peter wore twin masks of horror. Sirius was frowning, his eyes dark with anger. 'Found what's left of him, you mean,' he snarled. 'Where'd he disappear from?'

'London,' James said hollowly. 'Where else? There've been dozens of disappearances this year.'

'It's those mad murdering blood-purists,' Sirius muttered. His hands were balled into fists. 'First seventeen Muggles – _poor_ Muggles, too, so that nobody makes a fuss – and now this? I… I just…'

He gestured so expansively that he nearly knocked the glasses off of James's face. His mouth contorted horribly and he seemed to be searching for something to say, but he could find nothing. With a noise of rage and disgust he ducked out from under the Invisibility Cloak and too off at a loping run.

James stared for a moment, slack-jawed, and then turned to Remus. 'Would you go after him?' he asked. 'I know he won't talk to me when he's in this kind of a strop, but maybe you…'

Remus nodded resolutely and was about to slip out of the cover of the Cloak when James whisked it off all three of them and balled it up. 'Take it,' he said. 'No telling how long you'll be gone. Peter and I can find our way back without it.'

Peter did not look quite so certain of this, but he said nothing. Remus took the Cloak and bolted, taking off in the direction Sirius had gone. He swiftly realized that there was no hope of finding his friend this way. Sirius had too much of a lead, and was a far swifter runner anyhow. Halting to lean against a suit of armour, Remus tried to think where his friend might have gone. Not the Owlery: that was his haven, not Sirius's. Not Gryffindor Tower, of course. Somewhere hidden, somewhere unobtrusive, somewhere he would not be easily found.

Or, Remus thought abruptly, somewhere he knew only one person would look. Sirius had made enough overtures in times of trouble for Remus to know that he was his friend's chosen confidant in moments of distress. He understood: James did not. Sirius valued that understanding and if he did want someone to talk to he would have found a place where Remus would know to look for him.

It had been over a year since he'd visited that particular corner of the castle, and the way looked different in the dark, but Remus found his way at last to the broom cupboard where Sirius had taken refuge after an ugly argument with James at the beginning of the previous year. He was not at all certain that his deductions were correct, or even if Sirius wanted him to follow, but he rapped on the door anyhow.

'Remus?' A muffled voice came from within. 'Is that you?'

'It's me,' Remus said, at once apprehensive and relieved. 'May I come in?'

'Course.'

The broom cupboard was dark. Remus drew the door closed and lit his wand before settling on the floor next to Sirius. The other boy had pressed himself into a corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. He blinked in the glow of the wandlight as if he had never seen such a thing before. Then his eyes adjusted and he smiled a little, lopsidedly.

'How'd you find me?' he asked.

'Portraits?' Remus quipped. Sirius made a snort something like a laugh. 'Are you all right?'

'I should be asking you the same thing,' Sirius said. 'I mean, you knew him, didn't you? That missing Healer?'

Remus nodded. Once again the realisation that he could tell the truth struck him with a wave of wondrous relief. 'Last winter at New Year's I wounded myself badly. Too badly for my father to fix it. We had to go to St Mungo's, and Healer Ferrinby looked after me. He helped discharge me when the other Healer wouldn't let me leave. He disappeared later in January.'

Sirius sighed. 'A Muggle-born who's kind to werewolves,' he said. 'I'm with Meyrigg on that one: I wonder who shopped him.'

'Shopped him to whom?' asked Remus.

'To those nutters. The Death Eaters.' Sirius buried his head in his hands. 'Remus, can you keep a secret?'

'I thought we weren't meant to have any secrets anymore,' Remus said.

'That's why I want to tell someone,' Sirius said miserably. 'We agreed secrets had to be shared, didn't we? Not that we had to share them with _everybody_.'

Remus thought back to his own remarks on that very ambiguity. He reached out and touched Sirius's knee. 'That's right,' he said softly. 'We did. Of course I can keep a secret.'

Sirius peeked from between his fingers. 'Of course you can. I forgot who I was talking to.' Then he tucked his fists into his armpits and forced himself to look Remus in the eye. 'It's my parents,' he said. 'Well, my dad and grandfather, anyhow. They've had those sort of people 'round at the house.'

'What sort of people?' Remus asked. 'Death Eaters?'

'Well, maybe not Death Eaters,' Sirius said. 'Blood supremacists, anyway. The kind who don't just talk, but who want action. My grandfather's given gold to that…' His voice dropped very low. 'That zealot in Croydon.'

'The one James was talking about,' said Remus softly. 'The one the Death Eaters are "inspired by".'

Sirius nodded. 'His name's Lord Voldemort – tell me _that_ isn't pretentious. He says… he says that Muggles are there for wizards to conquer. And he says we oughtn't to let the Muggle-borns have any positions of power. That they shouldn't be things like Healers or Aurors or Ministry officials. I think… I mean, you met my family. They _agree_ with him.'

The shame in his voice was terrible to hear. Sirius fixed pleading eyes on Remus. 'I'm not like that,' he said wretchedly. 'I'm not like them. Please, you have to believe me. I love Muggles: I think they're really clever. I'd never, ever…'

'I know,' Remus whispered, finding Sirius's hand and squeezing it. 'You're nothing like your parents. I've always known that. And they might not even have anything to do with this. James only said he _thinks_ this Voldemort person is working with the people doing the killing. Maybe they're just off on their own, doing mad things like those Muggles in Ireland. Maybe Voldemort's just as ashamed of them as you are. And even if he isn't, he should be.'

Sirius let out a heavy puff of air. 'I knew you'd understand,' he said, his tremendous relief belying his words. 'Y-you won't tell James? If he knew my parents even thought about this sort of thing he'd be off again, and I don't know that I could take much of it just at present.'

'Of course I won't tell,' Remus said. 'But oughtn't you to take your own advice? You said I could trust James: can't you?'

'I can,' Sirius said. 'But I don't… I just don't want him thinking of me that way, all right? It would change things.'

This, too, Remus understood. James's knowledge of the werewolf had changed things, though perhaps not irreparably. He could not blame Sirius for wanting to avoid that. He was surprised when, without further ado, the taller boy got to his feet, tugging Remus after him by his grasping arm.

'Let's get back to the dormitory,' he said. He shook his head. 'Funny, but I don't much feel like speculating about Meyrigg anymore.'

Neither did Remus, but as he hurried off after Sirius he could not help but reflect that at least his friend's distress had distracted him from his own agony. Now that it was gone, hidden once more beneath the merry, lazy mask of Sirius Black, Remus was left to face the horror of what he had learned tonight. Healer Ferrinby was dead, and it had not been quick. He had been missing for nine months, and they had only found him now. And if Sirius's speculations were only half true this would not be the end of the troubles. Remus felt his stomach churning, and he knew that he would dream tonight – and that the nightmares would have nothing to do with wolves.


	54. Autumn Days

**Chapter Fifty-Four: Autumn Days**

On Monday, Professor Meyrigg was back at school looking rejuvenated and radiantly healthy. She went on to Red Caps that morning without a practical lesson on Doxies, saying that she rather thought the class was a little too talented to be wasting time with common household pests. This earned her a round of sardonic applause from James and Sirius. Rather than thanking them coolly as Professor McGonagall would have done, or docking points as Alfstin would have, Meyrigg smiled and bobbed a little curtsy, which earned her twin approving grins.

At lunch Remus waited expectantly for the speculations to begin, but Sirius really did seem to have lost interest in the teacher's weekly disappearances. As for James, he seemed to have lost interest in everything but occupants of the Hufflepuff table. He kept craning his neck at them, and shifting from side to side on the bench. When he almost tipped Peter over against Darius Jones, Sirius lost his patience.

'What in six kinds of custard are you doing, Potter?' he demanded.

'Can you see what Wendy Shaftsbury is eating?' James asked.

'How could I possibly see what Wendy Shaftsbury is eating?' Sirius asked. 'I know I'm phenomenally gifted, James, but I haven't got eyes sprouting from the back of my head.'

James rolled his eyes in annoyance. 'Would you turn around and _look_, smartknickers? You're closer than I am.'

Sirius twisted on the bench in a token attempt to look at the Hufflepuff girl. 'I'd say it's lunch,' he reported, turning back to his own meal.

'Some mate you are,' James said. 'Remus? Would you mind?'

Remus turned obediently, leaning a little so that he could catch a glimpse of the fourth year's plate. 'She's got a sandwich and a bowl of the pumpkin soup,' he said. 'And a cream cake. It looks like a perfectly ordinary lunch to me.'

'What kind of sandwich?' James asked, eying the nearest platter suspiciously.

'How's he supposed to tell that from here?' asked Sirius. 'And more importantly, why do we care?'

'You care because I care, and you're my friends,' James said primly, eyes twinkling behind his specs.

'Ah. And why, may I ask, do _you_ care?'

'You're the one who's always saying we should know our enemy,' said James. 'In this case, I want to know what my enemy is having for lunch.'

'Wendy Shaftsbury is your enemy?' Sirius said sceptically, shooting another glance at the lanky fourth year with her cloud of golden curls. 'I see what you mean, Potter. She looks downright dangerous, she does.'

'She's Hufflepuff's new Chaser,' James said with exaggerated slowness. 'She's my rival, you idiot.'

Sirius grinned wickedly. 'You're nervous,' he said, wagging an accusatory finger at James. 'You're nervous about next Saturday's match.'

'Am not,' James said, squaring his shoulders and tossing his head. 'I'm just trying to be a helpful team member and gather reconnaissance for my captain.'

'Reconnaissance about what the other team's new Chaser is eating,' Sirius clarified. 'Face it, James: you're nervous.'

An agonized expression contorted the other boy's face, upsetting his glasses so they slid to the end of his nose. While James hurriedly pushed them back into place, letting his hand linger to obscure his face, Sirius reached across the table to pat his other arm.

'Don't worry, Potter. Your secret's safe with us,' he said. 'Well, us and Jones, that is.' He glared at the other boy, who had been listening to the conversation with avid interest. '_Right, Jones_?'

'Ab-absolutely, Black,' stammered Darius, bowing over his plate and attacking his meal with fresh vigour. 'Didn't hear a thing, me.'

'Good,' Sirius said with a firm nod of approval. He grinned at James. 'See? We won't tell.'

'Thanks,' said James.

'And you and I are going to get in some practice,' said Sirius. 'It'll make you feel better.'

'But you haven't got a broomstick,' Peter pointed out. 'How are you going to help him practice?'

'I _do_ have a broomstick,' Sirius said stiffly. 'It just isn't at school at the present time. Fortunately, Hogwarts has a whole shed full of brooms, ripe for the taking. I'll use one of those. Should give you a nice sense of security, James,' he added. 'I'll be going at a snail's pace on an original Cleansweep while you're zipping about on that Shooting Star of yours.'

James smiled enormously. 'Just what I need,' he said. 'If I'm convinced I'm unstoppable nobody will stop me. Mind over Hufflepuffs.'

Sirius snorted loudly into his pumpkin soup. '_Mind over Hufflepuffs_,' he echoed in a gleeful undertone.

_~discidium~_

That afternoon when lessons were finished the four boys made their way out onto the grounds. Their first stop was the courtyard, where James and Peter busied themselves as far from the broom shed as possible, kicking piles of leaves with youthful abandon and generally making a cheerful ruckus. This had been Sirius's idea.

'Plausible deniability,' he had said. 'If anybody catches me nicking the broom you can say you had no idea what I was about, and you thought I'd borrowed it off of some Ravenclaw or something. That way there's no chance of you being put off the team or something. Besides, you can be the smokescreen; keep the eyes of the populace on you and off of me.'

Of course Sirius also needed a lookout, and it was that duty that Remus was to perform. He was only too happy to do so. It seemed fitting that he guard Sirius's back, since Sirius was only too ready to spring to his defence at any time and against anyone. It was a simple enough task anyhow. He strolled into the courtyard, checking to be sure that the coast was clear. Everyone in sight was either busy with their own affairs or else watching James and Peter in bewildered amusement. Remus let out a low whistle.

Sirius darted from the shadow of an archway, swift and sure and grinning enormously. He had his wand ready and the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket. After some deliberation it had been decided that he would not actually hide under the cloak himself: it was to be used to cover the abducted broomstick. In what Sirius described as a classic case of adult overconfidence, the shed door was locked with a simple charm that was just as simple to break. Sirius slipped inside and drew the door closed behind him. Remus leaned lazily against it, rubbing his hands as if to warm them and looking pensively up at the sky.

James and Peter now had several first and second years engaged in their game, much to the amusement of a group of sixth year girls who seemed to think the whole spectacle beyond adorable. Remus smiled to himself, thinking how indignant James would be to discover they found him cute. James caught his eye and frowned ever so slightly. Remus twitched his shoulders in a surreptitious shrug. He had no idea what was taking such a long time, but Sirius was certainly making a proper job of picking a broom.

At last the agreed-upon signal was heard: two soft, querying knocks on the inside of the door. Remus whistled again, and James nudged Peter, prompting him to redouble the noise. The other boys also playing in the fallen leaves leant to the power of the distraction, and Remus slipped his hand behind his back, rapping out the counter-sign before meandering casually away from the door. A moment later Sirius emerged, his left hand stiff and awkward and the tips of his fingers apparently missing. He nudged the door closed with his toe and then moved off to the cover of the archway. Remus made his way back towards the shed, resetting the locking charm. Then he retreated after Sirius, who was standing around the corner with the invisible broom cradled in his arms, grinning tremendously.

'Pretty sure I got the best of the lot,' he said. 'It's a Cleansweep Two and its twigs are in good shape. Ought to be able to give James a bit of a working-over, anyhow. I wonder—'

'What did you get?' James demanded, careening through the archway with Peter on his heals.

'Cleansweep Two,' Sirius said. 'The school really ought to invest in some better brooms.'

'We just need to work out a way to get yours up here,' James told him. 'Can't you have your uncle send it on or something?'

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'He's in Guyana,' he said. 'Personally I'm surprised he didn't flee to Antarctica. He's _persona non gratis _in my mother's books at the moment.'

'Travels a lot, doesn't he?' remarked James. 'Come on, let's get out there and fly! The daylight's a-wasting!'

James had offered a first year two Galleons to watch his Comet 220 and Remus's satchel while they procured the broom for Sirius. The little girl was waiting patiently on the steps of the castle, admiring the broomstick but studiously obeying the order not to touch it. James paid her and they retrieved their belongings and a Quaffle which James had transfigured from a loaf of bread nicked from the kitchens. Rather than heading towards the Quidditch pitch, where Hufflepuff was practicing, they made their way past the Whomping Willow to the broad swath of grass just south of Hagrid's hut. Remus sat down with his back to a large boulder, and Peter settled half a dozen paces away.

Sirius and James launched into the air, James brandishing the Quaffle. Remus watched for a while as they put one another through impressive aerial acrobatics. Sirius did not seem too hampered by the school broom, though he was certainly no match for James in terms of speed or agility. Nevertheless a sheen of perspiration appeared under the tousled black hair, and James had to pause twice to wipe his glasses on his sleeve.

After a while Remus lost interest in the gravity-defying feats above him, and he dug out his Charms essay. He was nearly through proofreading it and hoped to be able to write up his final copy tomorrow, well in time for Thursday's deadline. So engrossed was he in picking out his spelling mistakes and dangling participles that he did not notice James and Sirius had drawn a crowd until an overexcited Ravenclaw boy very nearly sat in his lap.

'Oh! I'm sorry…' the boy mumbled awkwardly, scrambling off to the side. Remus recognized him suddenly as the first year Sirius had driven from their compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

'It's quite all right,' he said earnestly. 'I'm Remus. How do you do?'

'I'm Davey,' the boy said, giggling a little; 'and only my grandmother says "How do you do?".'

'Your grandmother must be a very well-mannered lady, then,' said Remus. He rolled up his parchment and tucked it into his bag. 'How do you like Hogwarts?'

'It's wonderful!' sighed Davey, looking heavenwards and gasping with delight as James made an especially sharp turn. 'Oh, they're _brilliant_, aren't they? That's James Potter and Sirius Black, isn't it?'

Remus was mildly astonished. 'You've heard of them?'

'Everyone talks about them!' Davey enthused. If he remembered being snubbed by Sirius on the train he did not seem to mind it. 'They got rid of a teacher last year. And they made the Slytherin plates shriek. And they promised they'd hex that big kid who was picking on our girls.'

Remus had not heard of that particular incident, and he wondered whether it was just a rumour or whether James and Sirius were loath to admit to whatever they had pledged lest he should try to talk them out of it. 'They didn't exactly get rid of a teacher,' he said. 'It was just an unfortunate misunderstanding.'

Davey's eyes grew wide. 'Do you _know_ them?' he asked.

Remus nodded. 'I'm their friend.'

'Me, too!' Peter piped up, getting to his feet and trundling over. A couple of Hufflepuff girls scooted out of his way, obviously impressed by his position as a friend of the two flying aces. 'I'm their friend, too.'

'What's your name?' asked Davey.

'Peter Pettigrew.' Peter puffed out his chest, smiling proudly.

'Never heard of you,' said Davey, shaking his head perplexedly. 'Are you sure you're their friend?'

'Yes, he is,' Remus said firmly. 'Peter's a very good friend to Sirius and James.'

Peter shot a tiny grateful glance at Remus before remembering who he was looking at. He cast his eyes awkwardly away.

'Do you play Quidditch too, then?' asked Davey. 'Why aren't you up there with them?'

'I haven't got a broomstick,' Peter equivocated. 'And I wouldn't want to steal one like S—'

Remus cleared his throat pointedly. 'Because that would be against school rules and liable to get someone in trouble,' he said, his voice slightly louder than its wont.

The slip went unnoticed by the Ravenclaw firstie, for just at that moment Sirius fumbled the transfigured Quaffle and it fell, necessitating a sharp dive on the part of James. He caught it less than six feet from the ground and was obliged to pull up sharply to avoid a painful crash-landing. The crowd, now numbering in the high teens, burst into spontaneous applause. James did a slow circle of the makeshift pitch, waving to his admirers.

Sirius, watching from far aloft, rolled his eyes. 'Come on, Potter!' he shouted, his voice carrying hollowly on the wind. 'You can practice your victory laps at another time! Get back up here, would you?'

James obeyed, and soon the pair of them were zipping around again – much to the delight of the crowd.

_~discidium~_

The following morning, Betta MacFusty sat down next to Remus at breakfast. She leaned forward over her plate, both elbows on the table.

'See here, Potter,' she said in her rolling Scots brogue; 'what's this I hear about you and Black playing at Chasers on the lawns?'

'I wasn't _playing_ at Chaser: I am a Chaser,' James said, preening a little. 'And Black was helping me train.'

'And what use is he, may I ask?' said Betta. 'He didn't even come out to trials.'

Sirius bristled a little, but Remus put a finger on his forearm and shook his head ever so slightly.

'Besides,' said Betta; 'you need three Chasers for a proper practice.'

'Actually you need six,' James said; 'but I take your point. Am I to assume you would like to be included in our next outing?'

'That would be a fair assumption, aye,' she told him. 'Today at four o'clock? I'll give you some _real_ competition.'

'Done,' said James, holding out his hand. They shook firmly over the platter of scrambled eggs. Then Betta got to her feet and strode back to her place between Charlotte and Lily.

'Why'd you go and invite her?' Sirius asked, wrinkling his nose. 'She'll only get in the way.'

'She won't,' said James. 'She's good. She's very good. She would've made the first string too if Gabriella Walters didn't have longer arms. I heard Eldritch say as much. Besides,' he added with a ribbing grin; 'it'll do me good to work with a proper Chaser. Don't take it personally, mate, but you play like a Beater.'

'So?' said Sirius. 'I _am_ a Beater. Or would be if I had half a chance.'

'Don't feel badly,' James said. 'If it's any comfort there weren't any Beater positions for the taking this year.' He grinned wickedly. 'Except in Hufflepuff.'

'Hey, that scallywag stole away my favourite cousin,' Sirius said, eyebrows waggling. 'I'd rather he were back at school poised to Bludger you to death next weekend.'

James clicked his tongue against his teeth. 'You wound me, Sirius, you truly do,' he said. 'What's one cousin compared to a Gryffindor victory?'

'If you two keep talking like that you're going to guarantee defeat,' Remus warned.

'What is that, Irish logic?' asked James. 'If you know you're going to succeed, you will succeed. Everybody knows that.'

'Don't worry, Lupin,' Sirius said solemnly. 'If he knew he was going to succeed he wouldn't be practicing.'

'Just because I know Gryffindor is going to win,' said James; 'doesn't mean that I'm not going to do everything in my power to guarantee that she wins with the broadest margin possible. The qualification for the final is based on points, you know, not just victories.'

'And points are the purview of the Chaser,' Sirius recited, bobbing his head obligingly. He looked down the table and frowned. 'Are you _sure _we need Betta MacFusty?'

_~discidium~_

Though Sirius protested, Betta joined them that afternoon. The informal practice session once more drew a crowd – larger than before. Remus sat some distance away from the noise and the bustle, but Peter was revelling in it. He boasted of the prowess of Sirius and James, and of his friendship with them, and of the sure victory against Hufflepuff that was to come. Betta had her own contingent of admirers, chiefly first year Gryffindor girls, but of her dormitory-mates only Elsie and Charlotte had come down to watch. Athena Andrews, of course, preferred the company of her twin and had little to do with the other girls in her room, but Remus was surprised that Lily had not come. Surprised, at least, until at last the four boys returned to the castle.

In the Entrance Hall, sitting midway up the steps, were Lily and Severus. They were deep in conversation, their heads bowed toward one another. Lily was smiling and Severus did not look nearly as wan or as wary as usual. Remus would have walked by without a second glance, but Sirius froze, splaying his hands gleefully to stop Remus and James in their tracks.

'Well, well, well,' he said in a low and threatening voice. 'Snivellus.'

Snape stiffened at the sound of the spiteful name, and Remus wondered uncomfortably if that was how he looked whenever someone said _werewolf_: hunted and fearful and ashamed all at once. Certainly he never felt the white-hot anger that followed swiftly on the heals of the other emotions, clouding the dark eyes and sending Severus bolting to his feet, wand at the ready.

'What's this?' James asked, eyes widening in a derisive parody of astonishment. 'Does ickle Snivelly want to play?'

'You mind your own business, Potter!' Lily said, clambering up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her friend. 'We're not interested in brawling in the corridors like a couple of yobs. If that's what you and Black want you'll have to look somewhere else.'

'Did you hear that, James? We'll have to look somewhere else,' Sirius sneered. 'I know that Slytherins are craven little cowards, what with never owning up when they ought to and sneaking into Council flats in the middle of the night to prey on innocent Muggles, but I never would've guessed they'd let Gryffindor girls fight their battles for them. Going to change his nappy, too, Evans?'

'You leave her out of this!' Snape growled, taking one step forward along the broad stair so that Lily was no longer beside him. 'Get out of here or I'll hex you. You know I'll do it.'

'Yes, we've heard about your hexes,' James said. 'I daresay the whole school's heard you boasting. And that nasty little curse you pulled off on the littlest Smythe last week… not something they teach in Defence Against the Dark Arts, is it? Seems more the sort of thing you'd pick up from the wrong sort of wizard.' He grinned unpleasantly as he tilted his wand in his hand. 'I have to ask myself what sort of a person would go after a bookish little firstie like that for no good reason. And I have to answer… well, _you_, of course.'

Snape's sallow face turned a ghastly shade of grey. His lips grew very thin and he glanced over his shoulder at Lily, who was watching him with shock and consternation in her keen green eyes. 'I… I…' he stammered.

'Well done, Potter,' Sirius lauded. 'He's speechless. Not that nasty little Slytherins are especially capable of coherent speech at the best of times, but all the same…'

'I didn't want to,' Severus was mumbling, desperately and in haste. He had his back very nearly turned to the other boys and he was speaking to Lily. 'I didn't want to: they made me do it. It was Mulciber's idea, and Lestrange said if I didn't do it he'd… I-I didn't _hurt_ her.'

'No,' James said with cruel delight; 'only put her to shame in front of her friends and made her cry and spoiled the hallmark Smythe curls. You're lucky her sisters are so determined to deport themselves like ladies, Snape. If I were Pyrrha or Serena I'd turn you into a Flobberworm for what you did. In fact,' he mused; 'I think I might just try it anyhow.'

'I ought to warn you,' Sirius added viciously; 'that he's never yet succeeded in turning a person into an animal, and I'm not sure I'd want him to experiment on _me_…'

'Why not?' Lily snapped. 'By virtue of birth alone you're the product of some kind of hideous accident. What could Potter possibly do to make it worse?'

Sirius's jaw went slack and his wand-arm fell lifeless at his side. Lily, who could not possibly have known how near to home her blow had struck, crossed her arms defiantly.

'Not nearly as much fun when you're on the receiving end, is it?' she demanded. She took Snape by the elbow and tugged him towards her. 'Come on, Sev: let's get some supper. The sort of people they allow free range in the corridors… they _do_ rather lower the tone.'

'Hey!' James shouted as Lily stomped off up the stairs, dragging Severus behind him. 'Hey! You can't just walk off… you Slytherin coward, Snivelly! Get back here and face me! You're going to pay for what you did to that kid…'

'And another thing!' Lily cried, letting go of her friend and storming back down, halting two steps above James so that she towered over him. 'Who put you in charge of deciding who pays for what and how? Is it any of your business even if he _did_ hex one first year? It's nothing you haven't done yourself.'

'Yeah, but Evans, that was Lestrange Secundus,' protested James. 'He's a nasty bullying little git. Isn't he?' He looked questioningly at Sirius.

The taller boy nodded vigorously. 'He picks on little'uns and he bites,' he said. 'Rabastan's a nasty piece of work.'

'Was he picking on anybody when you attacked him in the courtyard?' Lily demanded. When she got no reply she stamped her foot in vindication. 'I thought not! Now you leave Sev alone, or I'll report you to Professor McGonagall!'

She hastened off again, sweeping her friend along with her.

'Who's to say McGonagall wouldn't be on _our_ side?' James called after her, but she was already gone. James turned to Sirius, glowering malevolently. 'Stinking Slytherin sneak,' he said. 'He did _too_ hex the littlest Smythe, and now he's trying to make excuses. _Oh, they MADE me do it_!' he mimicked in a nasal voice. 'As if anyone would fall for a line like that.'

Remus thought uncomfortably about his encounter with Evan Rosier the previous weekend, and the implication he had made that the castle was being searched under orders from Rodulphus Lestrange. He was reluctant to admit that he believed Severus, however, for doing so would mean taking a position against his two remaining friends. He held his tongue.

'At least when _we_ hex firsties we don't apologize for it,' Sirius said smugly. 'And we only go after the ones who deserve it, not helpless little Ravenclaw girls.'

_~discidium~_

On Wednesday the Gryffindor team had their regularly scheduled practice. Sirius and Peter went out to watch, but Remus begged off, tucking himself in a corner of the common room to copy out his Charms essay. Lily and Charlotte passed him on their way out of the portrait-hole, bundle up against the afternoon chill. Remus wanted very much to speak to Lily, and to try perhaps to apologize for the previous day's altercation in the corridor, but the words stuck in his throat. If Lily wanted anything to do with him she would speak to him. If she didn't there was no sense in pestering her.

When the others returned to Gryffindor Tower, exhilarated and chattering nonstop, Remus let himself be swept up the stairs with them. James and Sirius were working on strategies to improve their own training sessions; the general consensus was that they needed something to use in place of a Bludger but could not work out a way to stage assaults on the three practicing Chasers without needing a bat and a Beater to prevent anyone from getting hurt.

'Couldn't you use an owl?' Remus asked, measuring his essay one last time to be sure it met the eleven-inch requirement.

'Nobody's using _my_ owl as a Bludger!' Sirius said ferociously.

'No, I mean, couldn't you train one of your owls to dive at you? That's what you want, isn't it? Something to come rocketing out of nowhere so that you need to duck 'round it?' asked Remus. 'I'm sure that Hermes or Ronan could manage that, and they'd be clever enough not to hurt anyone.'

'You know, that's not a bad idea,' said James. 'I'm sure I could get Ronan to do it, and if Hermes would as well we could have two…'

'Hermes _won't_,' Sirius promised. 'He'll find it beneath his dignity: I guarantee it. Owls of his calibre don't play Quidditch.'

James laughed. 'You make that sound acceptable!' he teased. 'He's your bird, isn't he? Just make him do it.'

'Certainly not.' Sirius turned up his nose in a way that – though he would have been horrified to know it – reminded Remus of his cousin Narcissa. 'Hermes doesn't have to do anything he doesn't wish to. Not on my watch.'

'Fair enough,' James said with a shrug of his shoulders. 'Your owl, your rules. One Bludger is enough.' There was an exceedingly well-timed tapping at the window, and James opened it to admit Ronan. The slender bird perched on his master's shoulder, cooing contentedly deep within his throat.

'Fabulous!' Sirius said, rubbing his hands with glee. 'Let's train him.'

'Pardon me for mentioning it,' Remus said softly, rolling up his parchment and tying it closed with a bit of twine; 'but we have a paper due tomorrow. Have any of you started it?'

For the next half-hour or so panic enveloped the dormitory. James tore frantically through his cupboard, emerging with a howl of triumph when he found his sheaf of scattered jot-notes. Sirius launched straight for _The Standard Book of Spells _and a fresh roll of parchment, as usual bent on starting the assignment scant hours before it was due. Peter produced a rather grubby mass of scribbles and started trying anxiously to make sense of them. Remus tidied his belongings and filed his notes and waited patiently for his services to be required.

James was, predictably, the first one ready for checking. After offering the usual bribe of five Chocolate Frogs, he lay down on his belly with his chin in his hands and watched as Remus read his paper. Behind him Peter was beginning to look rather tearful, and from the opposite end of the room came the frenetic scratching of Sirius's quill.

Remus swiftly corrected a few minor punctuation errors and divided up one or two of the most unwieldy sentences. 'It's very good,' he said at last, coming to the end. 'You just need to fix up your concluding paragraph. You're begging the question.'

'Begging what question?' James asked. 'I mean, right at the end there I ask whether there mightn't be some larger scale application for Engorgement Charms, but Flitwick likes it when we slip in an original thought as a sort of a tease, doesn't he?'

'No, I mean you're making a circular argument,' Remus told him. 'Right here you've written: _Engorgement Charms are a useful addition to a wizard's artillery of spells. There are many situations in which increasing the size or volume of an object may prove valuable. Therefore it is important to know a Charm that will accomplish just that_. You're basically saying that Engorgement Charms, which make things larger, are useful because making things larger is useful. Do you see what I mean?'

James wrinkled his nose. 'When you put it like that I sound like an idiot,' he said.

Sirius tittered. 'Call a cauldron a cauldron,' he taunted. 'Hey, Lupin, how do you spell _disenfranchised_?'

'_Why_ would you spell _disenfranchised_?' asked James.

'See, this is why _I_ don't wind up sounding like an idiot when Remus rephrases,' Sirius told him blithely. 'Maybe if you enlarged your vocabulary at the same time you enlarged your repertoire of showy dives you would almost equal my level of academic excellence.'

'If by academic excellence you mean starting from scratch the night before a paper is due, I'll pass,' James said. He reached across the space between beds to prod Remus's knee with his quill. 'So how do I fix it?'

'Give some more concrete examples of how making things larger is useful,' Remus said; 'and cut out that third sentence altogether. That should do nicely.'

Sirius cleared his throat pointedly. '_Disenfranchised_?' he demanded. Remus spelled it obligingly.

The homework session lasted long into the night, but though he grew ever more agitated and clearly frustrated Peter did not ask Remus for help. Somehow this hurt more than anything the little boy had said or done since the truth had come out. If he could not even lower himself to interact with a werewolf when it was in his own best interest, it seemed there was no hope for reconciliation.

_~discidium~_

On Thursday the spectacle of Potter, Black and MacFusty lobbing the Quaffle about while under assault from an agile and very cheerful owl drew an enormous crowd. Most of the same group were back on Friday, but by Saturday – one week before Gryffindor's opening match against Hufflepuff – the novelty was beginning to wear thin. The younger students were back at their game of trying to touch the Whomping Willow, and the older ones were all gone for their first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Meals were very quiet that day, and on Sunday the Gryffindor common room was awash with sweets and joke shop purchases and various exciting new trifles.

Sirius approached the scene as if it were his own personal marketplace. He wandered about with his bag of Galleons, swapping gold for goods and, when interested parties began to run low, goods for other goods. Finally he started exchanging promises of amnesty for Dungbombs and packets of Puckering Powder.

'That should do us at least three weeks,' he said, strolling into the dormitory and spreading out his loot across his bed. 'And I've got at least three sources who promise that if we give them the list and the money they'll pick up whatever we want next time.'

'Who are these mysterious sources?' James asked.

'Eldritch McKinnon, for one,' said Sirius. 'It seems he appreciates my efforts to ensure his new Chaser is in top form for the forthcoming match. Also Paul Jordan, whom I think is rather fond of mayhem as a general rule – and a certain young lady in fifth year who wishes to remain anonymous but was quite taken with my charming smile.' He flashed a sample of the aforementioned smile for his friends.

'Ugh,' James said. 'You do realize it's underhanded to take advantage of silly teenage girls. They can't help themselves: they'll fall head over heels for a bit of a flirt.'

'I know!' Sirius said gleefully. 'I'm beginning to think the whole of the female population of fourth through seventh year are putty in my hands. Except Dorcas Meadowes, of course,' he added ruefully. 'She threatened to set me so many lines I'd forget my own name if we lost Gryffindor any points with these things.'

'She doesn't count anyhow,' James scoffed. 'She's only a Prefect. Now, if you've got the approval of Eldritch McKinnon you've got all you need. After all, he's—'

'_Quidditch Captain_!' Sirius chorused along with James, and with precisely the same inflection. 'He certainly is. As no doubt you too wish to be one day.'

James managed to subdue his grin so that it did not look too dreadfully conceited. 'If wishes were broomsticks…'

'…then your father would buy you one,' Sirius finished sagely. James arched an eyebrow and the taller boy chuckled. 'Don't worry, Potter. I'm not bitter. Had a letter from Alphard this morning: he's stopping back in England for Christmas, and I can get my broom then.'

'Glad to hear it,' James said. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room where the illicitly acquired Cleansweep Two was propped. 'I'd hate to get caught with stolen school property.'

'Oh, James,' Sirius said, shaking his head condescendingly. 'When do we ever get caught?'

_~discidium~_

As a matter of fact they got caught that very evening, when Mr Filch came upon the two of them trying to rig the suit of armour outside the Slytherin common room to hurl Dungbombs at anyone who came out. Monday and Tuesday's practices were cancelled because the two organizers were in detention. Fortunately for Sirius, the caretaker lacked either the power or the inclination to dock house points and so Dorcas Meadowes was left with little to complain about.

On Wednesday, despite the pouring rain, McKinnon kept the Gryffindor team drilling until well after dark. James and Sirius – who was the only one brave or foolhardy enough to venture out into the storm to watch indistinct shapes rocketing around in the gloom – returned to the dormitory soaked to the skin and rather disheartened. It seemed that the less glamorous aspects of the game had never quite been explained to either of them. Despite their subdued mood Remus was glad of their return. The oppressive hush that always fell when he was left alone with Peter was beginning to wear hard upon his sanity.

Thursday was a clear day, if a little frosty, and the practices resumed as usual. There was hardly any audience at all: everyone was off by the Whomping Willow, either trying to touch the trunk or calling out wagers on how long any given student would last before being driven back. Only Peter, Remus and Charlotte sat on the dying grass, faces upturned, and Peter's spirits were low. They had been given their Charms papers that afternoon, and his had come back positively drowning in red ink. For easygoing Professor Flitwick to so lambaste a student's earnest effort the essay must have been truly ghastly. Remus cringed at the memory of the moment.

'Good lord, Pettigrew! Did he spill his ink pot on it or something?' Sirius had asked, first craning his neck and then snatching the parchment, turning it in every direction as if looking for a hidden image in the scrawlings. 'You spelt "fruit" with two 'O's and an 'E'? What the devil's wrong with you?'

'I did my best,' Peter had said defensively, though his small eyes were brimming with tears of discouragement. 'I worked really hard on that, I did.'

'You'd have to have done, to get a grade this awful,' Sirius said. 'Nobody fails so spectacularly in Flitwick's class without a deliberate effort.'

'Why didn't you have somebody look it over for you?' James asked.

'I tried!' Peter snapped. Then he composed himself, repentant of raising his voice to his hero. 'You said you didn't have time.'

'And I said you should ask Remus.' James whirled on the fourth member of the group. 'Don't tell me _you_ blew him off too?'

Remus shook his head mutely. He wanted to protest that Peter had not asked him, but he was not sure if this would be a violation of their pact of secrecy.

'I didn't want to ask Remus,' Peter said stiffly. Then he, too, remembered the agreement and the degree to which it was in his best interest to keep the secret. 'I thought I could do it myself,' he added emphatically.

Sirius and James appeared to believe him. Certainly neither of them had said anything to the contrary. Watching the two of them now, weaving around one another high above as if they shared one set of instincts between them, Remus wished he could explain the situation with Peter. He was lonely and he was hurting and he wanted very much to talk to one of his friends about it, but he had given his word.


	55. Stars and Scars

_Note: Last chance to pick a plot bunny! The poll closes tomorrow after 12 pm GMT (that's 8 am in New York City)_.

**Chapter Fifty-Five: Stars and Scars**

Remus awoke before dawn on Saturday as a massive cramping spasm tore through his right leg. He could not stifle the initial gasp of pain and alarm, but after that he was silent, curling into the searing agony and bowing his back to clutch at his ankle. When at last the convulsions passed he melted miserably against the mattress, taking shallow gasps in an attempt to fill his lungs.

He could already feel his muscles stiffening and he knew that if he did not get up and use them he would be limping all day. He was anxious to avoid such a blatant show of weakness. Tomorrow night was the full moon – and for the first time the others would be aware of its significance. They would be watching him, gauging his behaviour and trying to take a measure of him. Their understanding of the wolf and its impact upon him would be defined by this transformation, and Remus desperately wanted to prove himself worthy of the respect of James and Sirius. He wanted to show that even at such a time he could be a valuable member of the group.

So though his muscles protested and his skin came out in gooseflesh against the morning chill he dragged himself from the cosy refuge of his bed. He parted the left-hand hangings and stood, putting most of his weight on his good leg. The first few steps were torture as the muscles of his right, weakened by the previous transformation and dragged on towards the next, stretched in defiance of the memory of the cramps. By the time he reached the foot of the bed Remus had mastered the worst of the discomfort. He promised himself that he would do half a dozen laps of the dormitory before retreating back to bed. That ought to be enough, he reasoned, to work out the stiffness so that he could still use his leg that day.

He had not taken two steps into the open part of the room, however, when he halted. Despite the early hour he was not the only one abroad. Perched on the window seat with one leg tucked up to his chest and the other dangling was James.

'G'morning,' he said, cocking his head to look at Remus. 'Bad dream?'

Remus shook his head. It seemed like ages since he had last been roused by a nightmare, and the occasional dream of the wolf was not half so terrifying as the images that had visited him before he had understood that James and Sirius would neither revile nor attack nor abandon him. 'I've got a cramp,' he whispered, keeping his voice low out of deference to the two who were still asleep. He gestured at his leg and took three steps forward.

James grinned sympathetically. 'Growing pains?' he asked. 'I get those sometimes.'

It was as good an explanation as any, and Remus was too accustomed to fishing for convenient excuses to refute it. If James wanted to believe this a normal part of growing up, why should he be disillusioned? Surely it did not count as a lie if Remus merely declined comment.

'You're up very early,' he said, taking several more determined steps. He tried to flex his foot properly, but gave up that effort when a fiery twinge in his calf threatened to trigger the whole series of spasms afresh.

'Couldn't sleep,' said James. He turned his face to the grey sky beyond the glass and sighed. 'It's stupid, I know, but I'm nervous.'

'It isn't the least bit stupid,' Remus told him, shuffling closer. 'You've worked very hard for this, and it's only natural to want to do well.'

James snorted softly, raking a hand through his unruly hair. 'There's a big difference between wanting to do well and being scared you just won't be able to.'

'Not for me,' Remus said kindly. 'I'm nearly always scared that I won't be able to do well. It's only because you're ordinarily brilliant at everything. You're not used to worrying.'

'You're meant to tell me there's nothing to worry about,' James said with a wry little chuckle.

'When Sirius wakes up I'm sure that's what he'll say,' Remus told him gravely. 'I think that there's usually something to worry about, but that doesn't mean that your worries will come to anything.' He flushed a little. 'The thing I was most afraid of didn't happen, but that doesn't mean the danger of it happening wasn't real. It was only luck that I wound up in a dormitory with you and Sirius instead of…'

'Instead of a pompous git like Andrews?' James asked. 'Or a bunch of slimy Slytherins?' His smirk softened into a sad smile. 'Remus, were you really so afraid we wouldn't stand by you?'

He very nearly hadn't, and but for Sirius would likely still be looking at him like he was scarcely even part-human, but Remus did not point this out. His anxious soul could not let him forget, perhaps, but all was forgiven. In his gratitude for the gift of tolerance Remus would have forgiven so much more than that – even supposing there was anything to forgive. After all, James had from the very start exercised more tolerance than werewolves were ordinarily afforded.

'I'm sorry,' James said softly, hopping down off the window seat and moving to grip Remus's shoulders. 'I haven't said that yet, have I? I'm sorry it took me so long to think it through. I wish I could be like Sirius and just forget all the stupid things I've been told, but it's not as simple as that for me.'

'I understand,' Remus said earnestly. 'It isn't natural. It goes against everything you've been taught to be friends with me, and I'm grateful.'

'Not everything,' said James. 'Mum's always saying you have to judge a person by his actions, and you've never acted like anything but a true friend. Well, except for the lies, but I can understand that now.' He grinned. 'There'll be no more of that, I promise.'

Remus wanted to thank him for that assurance, but he was afraid that his voice would break if he did so. 'All this isn't getting you ready for the match,' he said with a wavering smile.

'Damn. I was just forgetting all about it, too,' James said with a snap of his fingers and a roguish wink. 'I don't suppose you've got any better advice than _worrying is normal_, do you?'

'You bank left a little when you make a dive steeper than forty-five degrees,' Remus said. 'You ought to try and watch that.'

'I didn't know you were paying attention,' James said, sounding rather impressed. 'Or that you knew enough about Quidditch to notice things like that.'

'I know almost nothing about Quidditch,' Remus said matter-of-factly; 'but I do know a bit about mathematics, and you drift off the vertical axis when you dive.'

James laughed and reached to ruffle the light brown hair. 'I'll bear it in mind,' he said. 'Thanks.'

'Do you think we ought to try to get some sleep?' asked Remus. 'It's still almost three hours 'til breakfast.'

'Sure,' said James. 'But let's walk off that cramp first, okay? You need to be in top form for climbing up into the Gryffindor box. You are coming out to see us play, aren't you?'

'I wouldn't miss it,' Remus said. 'Not for the world.' Or for the moon, he thought as his muscles protested the motion contrary to the tug of the tides.

James draped an amiable arm around his shoulder and joined him in his pacing. The half-dozen rounds of the room passed more quickly and more pleasantly than Remus could have imagined with the encouragement of his friend to bolster his resolve. When he and James slipped back behind their respective curtains Remus fell asleep again cradled in the warmth of belonging. He understood now why he had so desperately craved it, for there was nothing so soothing to the spirit as the knowledge that one had a place in the world.

_~discidium~_

Just before eleven o'clock Remus found himself following close upon Sirius Black's heels as the taller boy eagerly elbowed older students aside to secure three coveted places in the very front row of the Gryffindor box. There were some good-natured protests, but no one seemed eager to begrudge Sirius what he wanted. Remus wondered if this was a gesture of respect, or a sign that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of the arsenal he had acquired the previous weekend. Whatever the cause, the result was that the three boys were perfectly poised to catch every move made on the pitch.

Sirius and Peter were on the outs after an unfortunate spill at the breakfast table, courtesy of the latter, had necessitated an impromptu changing of robes on the part of the former. So it was that Remus was obliged to sit between them despite his resolution to give Peter a generous berth. If the plump boy minded he said nothing, for he was too busy working himself up into a frenzy of excitement and telling anyone who would listen that _his_ best friend was playing Chaser.

It was as well the match started when it did, for Sirius swiftly grew impatient with Peter's chirps and squeaks. He was beginning to look rather murderous when the whistle sounded and the two teams came out onto the pitch.

It was, James had said with no small measure of relief, perfect weather for Quidditch. The cloud cover was high and even – a downy grey that seemed to promise little chance of rain – and there was very little wind. Though Remus, bundled in a set of his wool robes and already wearing his winter hat and gloves as well as his hand-knitted Gryffindor scarf, found the morning rather cold he supposed a bit of a chill would keep the players from overheating.

The Gryffindor team looked most impressive as they strode onto the pitch. There was Eldritch McKinnon, Keeper and Captain in the lead. The three Chasers followed behind: Gabriella Walters and John Blotts and of course James Potter, who now grinning and strutting without a hint of nervousness. The Beaters, whose names Remus thought were Trask and McMillan, followed behind. Last of all came the new Seeker, a tall dark-skinned boy a year or two above Remus and his friends.

The Hufflepuff team, sporting two new players but otherwise much the same as the previous year, squared off and mounted their brooms. The Beater who had replaced Tonks looked rather anxious, and Remus could not help but feel sorry for her. After all, she was taking the place of a star player. James, for all his longing to succeed, had replaced a Chaser considered mediocre at best. Glenna Friessen, no longer a House player, was sitting two rows behind Sirius and watching the pitch rather bitterly.

The match began, and the noise grew deafening. Remus could scarcely follow the words of the announcer. It was one of the Smythe sisters; a Ravenclaw Prefect and therefore nonpartisan in this match. Though her voice was clear and loud it lacked any dramatic flair, and Remus quickly found himself tuning her out. Indeed, he soon found himself unable to focus on anything but James. He watched as his friend sped to and fro through the pitch, swooping and diving and climbing with skill. There were times when he actually removed both hands from the broom and gripped with his knees alone in order to make a particularly spectacular catch or an especially difficult throw.

He dodged the Bludgers with lazy ease, and every time he did so Remus could not help but grin, remembering Ronan rocketing through the air with a series of enthused hoots announcing his approach. The dark balls were not so considerate, but James almost seemed to possess a sixth sense. He had a trick of veering off to the left and then banking sharply right so that the Bludger whistled past his ear, and each time he did so the Gryffindor spectators howled with triumphant adulation.

James made the first three goals of the match, and then played some excellent defense while Hufflepuff advanced on the Gryffindor hoops. The other two Chasers seemed like accessories put upon the pitch for his use. James seemed able to read Gabriella's mind, and he was always in precisely the right position when she needed to hand off the Quaffle. Blotts seemed something more of a rogue factor, but he was very useful when James wanted to make a feint and together they managed another four goals to Hufflepuff's two. The score was sitting at ninety to thirty when the Hufflepuff Captain asked for a time out.

'Oh, he's brilliant!' Peter shouted, bouncing up and down and clapping his hands wildly. 'James is _brilliant_! Isn't he brilliant, Sirius? Isn't he?'

From the other side of Remus Sirius favoured the podgy boy with a strained grin. 'Yeah, he's brilliant,' he said. 'Why don't you tell somebody who's not just about ready to toss you down onto the pitch?'

Unperturbed, Peter turned around to babble at anyone and everyone within earshot, boasting of James's brilliance and the fact that Peter himself not only shared a dormitory with Gryffindor's new rising star, but was also one of his closest friends. He quickly found himself inundated with questions from interested parties, and from the timbre of the voices Remus knew they were not all first years. He sat quietly next to Sirius, who was leaning over the edge of the box as if he might hear what was being said in the two knots of strategizing players far below. It was wonderful to hear so many people speaking well of James; despite his worries it seemed he was playing spectacularly, and Remus was very proud of his friend.

By the time the match resumed Peter was positively possessed with the spirit of the game. Every time Gryffindor made a play, however wondrous or ordinary, he bolted off the bench, pumping at the air with his fists and cheering as loudly as his shrill little voice would permit. Remus sat stooped and rather hangdog on the bench. He could not help but wish that the match would end soon, for he was weary and sore and he was beginning to tremble with the first stirrings of a fever. He understood that the longer the Snitch went uncaught the greater the fun and glory for James, but he found himself thinking longingly of the roaring fire in the common room, and warm blankets, and mugs of hot chocolate, and anything other than the damp openness of the October day.

When the Gryffindor Seeker pulled into a sharp climb, the score was one hundred and eighty to fifty for Gryffindor. Hufflepuff's Seeker spied the dark boy's ascent and she followed him, accelerating so swiftly that she nearly collided with one of her own team's Beaters. James was apparently oblivious to this development, and he used Hufflepuff's momentary distraction to seize control of the Quaffle. He wove between the other players and managed a truly spectacular goal that arced neatly over the opposing Keeper's head before dropping just enough to graze through the hoop.

The two Seekers were neck-on-neck now, and the crowd was hushed as they watched them climb ever higher. Remus caught a glint of gold from the corner of his eye and he knew that they were indeed within fifteen yards of the Snitch. But another flash of light drew his attention back down into the thick of the action, where James, now under hot pursuit from all three Hufflepuff Chasers, dropped suddenly by about twelve feet, bowing low over his broomstick as the older students whizzed over his head. He turned the broom as if on a pinion, and tossed the Quaffle at John Blotts. Blotts almost lost hold of his broom as he reached for it, but somehow managed to keep his seat. He and James rose at the same moment, and the Hufflepuffs, perhaps confused by the surfeit of scarlet involved, went after James.

Realizing this, James crouched low over his broom, one arm crooked broadly against his chest to make it look as though he was carrying the Quaffle. By the time his opponents realized this was not the case, Blotts and Walters were bearing down on the Hufflepuff hoops. Another ten points were won for Gryffindor.

James spared a moment to shoot an appraising glance heavenward. The two Seekers were now jostling for a matter of inches, each with an arm outstretched as they leaned forward on their brooms. But the Quaffle was back in play and James did not have time to worry about how near the end of the game was. He watched, hovering patiently, as the Hufflepuffs tossed the ball from one to another as Blotts and Walters each tried to wrest it from them. Calculating his moment perfectly, James shot forward at precisely the right moment to pluck the Quaffle out of mid-air.

It seemed impossible that he should fail to drop it, but somehow he managed to balance the ball against his stomach with his left hand while pulling into a sharp starboard bank with his right. Remus leaned forward, captivated despite his discomfort as James set a winding course for the Hufflepuff hoops.

A Bludger came whistling out of nowhere and James flattened himself against his broomstick so that it narrowly missed clipping him between the shoulder blades. Remus stiffened as anxious fingers dug into his right forearm and he realized that Peter was touching him, grabbing hold of him in an unthinking expression of suspense. He had no time to wonder if his former friend knew what he was doing, or was merely lost in the moment, for James dropped into a sharp descent, pulling up abruptly and hurling the Quaffle high. The Hufflepuff Keeper, caught unawares, nearly fell as he tried to foil the goal. It was a useless endeavour: James had timed the shot perfectly. The score was now two hundred ten to fifty: even if Hufflepuff caught the Snitch at this moment Gryffindor would win.

The two Seekers seemed unaware of this, for neither flagged in their efforts. They were hurtling forward, shoulder to shoulder…

And then suddenly it was over. The Hufflepuff Seeker pulled back sharply, clutching her broom handle with both gloved hands and tossing back her shoulders in indignant defeat. Gryffindor's player kept moving forward, slowing gradually and brandishing one fist high above his head. Shimmering between finger and thumb was the Golden Snitch.

The silence endured for a breathless moment before the crowd erupted in a cacophony of warring noises. There were anguished moans from the Hufflepuffs, fading swiftly enough into subdued but very sporting applause. The Ravenclaws and even a good number of the Slytherins were cheering and clapping, for it had been a very impressive game and neither of their teams had lost the field. As for the Gryffindor box, it seemed to rumble with the sounds of victory. There were deafening cheers, and much stamping of feet. Many of the fourth years were hollering incoherently, and the firsties were beside themselves.

Before Remus knew what was happening Sirius had hauled him to his feet and they were both leaning out over the edge of the box, waving and cheering as James descended to the pitch. He looked up from the throng of his celebrating teammates, eyes searching the crowd for his friends. He flailed his arms at them, grinning enormously.

Sirius leaned out, shouting something rendered unintelligible by the roar of the crowd around him. Even Remus could not make sense of it, for at that moment two podgy arms flung themselves around him and someone plump and exceedingly excited hugged him tightly while bouncing up and down and laughing with delight.

Remus reciprocated the embrace without thinking, forgetting for a moment his promise not to touch the other boy. Peter was hysterical with joy, revelling in Gryffindor's triumph and James's part in it. It took him almost a full minute to realize who and what he had engulfed in his arms, and when he did his hands dropped to his sides. Remus withdrew immediately, ramming his gloved hands into his pockets and hanging his head.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, 'I didn't mean… I didn't think…'

He stole a glance at Peter, expecting terror or revulsion. To his surprise the round little face was suffused with a deep crimson flush, and Peter's lower lip was trembling. All semblance of celebration was gone, and in its place was an obvious and abiding misery.

'I wasn't going to touch you…' he said helplessly, his mouth twisting in anguished discomfiture.

'I know,' Remus whispered. He was obliged to lean in so that he could make himself heard over the noise of the crowd, and his heart ached when Peter took a tremulous step backward, almost landing in the lap of a seventh year girl.

'Oi, watch yourself!' she laughed, scooting out of his way and getting up to join the crush rallying for the stairs. Glad of a moment's distraction Remus watched her go. By the time he looked back Peter was leaning down to wave to James, the enormous grin once more upon his face as he whooped and hollered and waved frantically at his friend.

_~discidium~_

Sirius waited until the congestion on the stairs cleared before herding the other two down onto the pitch. The Gryffindor team had already disappeared into their changing room and when Sirius tried to elbow his way in he was driven out by an irate Gabriella Walters. Undaunted and not in the least chagrined, he merely shrugged his acquiescence and stood aside to wait with Remus and Peter.

Eventually the door opened and James came out. He was back in his school robes, though his hair was still dishevelled from the game and his belt was on upside-down. He had a broad grin on his face and a euphoric light in his eyes.

'We won,' he said contentedly.

Sirius let out a shriek of victory that made Peter jump. '_You_ won, Potter!' he howled. 'D'you know there was only _one_ goal you didn't either make or assist? You're a genius! A prodigy! A champion in the making!'

'It was brilliant, James, really it was!' Peter said eagerly, hurrying forward to hover at his friend's elbow. His upturned face was the very picture of adoration. 'When you took that last dive I thought I was going to _die_ of fright!'

The next several minutes continued along the same lines: Sirius eulogizing happily about the game and reliving it in intimate detail while Peter gushed extravagantly about the new Chaser's talent and James beamed happily at each of them in turn. Finally he seemed to realize that there was a member of the group still standing aside, watching with quiet longing. He shrugged off Peter and elbowed past Sirius to look at Remus.

'Well?' he asked. 'Did I do any better on the vertical axis? I was trying.'

'Much better,' Remus assured him. 'You were wonderful.'

The enormity of the smile that met this pronouncement filled Remus with a gratified glow. James had the good grace to make it look as if this small praise was worth every bit as much as the other two boys' enthusiastic ranting. 'Thanks, mate,' James said. Then his eyes were grave for a moment, carrying Remus back to the predawn hour in the dormitory when he had tried to offer sensible reassurances to his friend. 'Thank you.'

The moment was broken when the changing room doors burst open and the rest of the team came flooding out. There was much congratulating and whooping and slapping of shoulders as the seven players ambled back to the castle, James's entourage in tow. That day at lunch the Gryffindor table was so noisy that Professor Binns did not drift off over his plate even once. The celebrations continued throughout the afternoon and well into the evening, until at half past ten Eldritch McKinnon himself stood up and howled for silence. The crowd in the common room was treated to a blistering lecture on the importance of sleep and the fact that this was, after all, only the first game of the year. Then the Quidditch team was ordered off to bed by their Captain, and if the party continued without them it was not audible from the boys' dormitory.

James, clearly worn out after the day's excitement, was asleep before he could even draw his curtains. Sirius discharged that task in his stead, moving quietly around the bed. Peter disappeared into the depths of his hangings, still making tiny excited noises in the back of his throat.

Remus dug out his nightshirt and tried to gather his strength for the ordeal of changing in his bed. He had not abandoned that habit, for even though the truth was out he did not want the others to see his scars. They were such a livid reminder of the ferocity of the wolf; an irrefutable illustration of the animal he became. More than that, they were profoundly embarrassing. He was ashamed of his riven imperfection, and he did not want the others to see his thin and ugly body – particularly not when James and Sirius were such perfect specimens of healthy youth. So he set his teeth and forced himself to climb onto the mattress.

'You don't need to do that,' Sirius murmured. He was sitting on his own bed, using his penknife to trim his toenails. 'I've seen, remember?'

Remus felt his stomach churn and he turned, slipping onto his tailbone with a force that would have been painful against a less yielding surface. 'You have…' he moaned, remembering.

'They're not…' Sirius's voice faltered and his jaw twitched. 'They're not so terrible.'

'That's kind of you to say,' Remus said, struggling to keep his composure; 'but I know that they are.'

'No, I mean it's terrible what's happened to you,' Sirius said. 'It's terrible that you've had to go through that. But the… the things… the things themselves aren't so bad.'

'They're dreadful,' Remus whispered, staring down at his dangling feet. 'They're hideous.'

'Do they hurt?' Sirius asked, a tremor in his voice.

Remus shook his head. 'Only the big ones sometimes, if I strain them,' he confessed.

'Isn't there anything the matron can do for you?' Sirius asked. 'Why hasn't she healed them properly?'

'She has!' Remus protested, unable to listed to the intimation that Madam Pomfrey had done anything less than her best. 'She has,' he repeated, more softly. He did not want to wake the others, nor did he wish to make Sirius feel badly. 'They're cursed bites,' he said quietly. 'There's not much she can do. Even some of the scratches… if the wolf spittle gets into them they scar.'

Quiet horror was creeping across Sirius's face. It was more awful than revulsion would have been. 'B-but what about something like dittany?' he asked. 'Wouldn't that help, at least a little?'

'When I was little my father tried it,' Remus said. 'It did help, a little. But it didn't make the scars go away, and it didn't even really make them smaller, only less raised. Dittany's frightfully expensive, and it isn't worth it for the tiny benefit it gives. I'd need ever so much each month, and it doesn't make them go away.'

There was a long silence until at last Remus raised his head, puzzled. 'How d'you know about dittany?' he asked.

Sirius shrugged lazily, but there was a shadow in his grey eyes. 'Mum buys it in pint bottles,' he said with almost convincing insouciance. 'You're right, too: it's awfully costly. Probably why she likes it so much.'

Remus wished he had not asked the question. A pint bottle of dittany, besides costing nearly as much as his parents paid on the mortgage in a year, would last him through three transformations. It seemed a ridiculous quantity for a normal family to keep on hand. And of course, with natural wounds – wounds that were not cursed – it was wonderfully effective. It would never leave a mark inflicted by physical means.

'Tomorrow night, right?' Sirius asked softly.

Remus nodded. He had wondered when one of the others would mention the impending full moon. They had been discussing it in Astronomy this week and the last, and Remus had been so grateful at the time that he did not need to fear for the loss of his secret.

'How does it work?' Sirius went on. 'Do you go straight down to the tree?'

Remus shook his head. 'I usually go to the hospital wing when I'm not feeling well enough to be in lessons anymore,' he said. 'As it's Sunday, though, I'll probably go when everyone is at lunch. Madam Pomfrey likes me to rest beforehand. If I don't…'

He stopped, aghast. He had very nearly admitted to the rage the wolf felt when he went into the transformation agitated or frightened. He did not want Sirius to suspect that his state of mind in any way impacted the severity of the change. If he did he might realize that the previous month's injuries had been due in part to Remus's anxiety over the impending revelation. The last thing Remus wanted was for his friend to feel that any bit of this nightmare was Sirius's fault.

'If I don't she worries about me,' he finished, telling himself that it was at least true, even if it was not the whole truth. 'We go down about forty minutes before sunset; that gives her time to get away before – b-before…'

He stopped again, his horror mounting. Never before had he spoken so candidly about what befell him when the monthly nightmare rolled around. It was frightening to give voice to these rituals, and he was suddenly mortified that Sirius knew so much about them.

'Can I come?' asked Sirius.

The words startled Remus out of his agony of embarrassment. 'What?' he exclaimed, his whispered voice rising to a sharp hiss of air. 'No! No, Sirius, you don't understand! I'd hurt you. I'd bite you. The wolf—it doesn't know the difference. I wouldn't be able to stop it! No one can come with me! No one could ever—'

There was a hand on each of his knees, gripping tightly. Sirius was squatting before him, looking up at him with tormented eyes. Remus swallowed his mounting tirade, though his heart still hammered with panic.

'I meant,' Sirius said, his voice firm and gentle; 'can I come with you to the hospital wing? It might be nice to have somebody there to distract you, mightn't it? I know if I was waiting for something like that I'd rather play some chess with a mate or the like than just lie there worrying.'

Remus felt his throat constrict, and hot tears prickled in his eyes. 'You'd do that?' he whispered. 'You'd sit with me, even though in just a few hours I'll be turning into a m-m-m—'

'If you say "monster", I'll beat you to a jelly,' Sirius said with a ghost of his usual roguish smile. 'You're not a monster, Remus. Maybe the wolf is: I don't know. But you're not; you're my friend. If it takes all the rest of six years I'm going to convince you of that. Do say you'll let me come and wait with you. I promise not to make a fuss or upset the matron.'

Remus looked down at the upturned face, so earnest and compassionate and kind. The fingers gripping his kneecaps were gentle and firm, anchoring him in the miracle of acceptance. He felt the corners of his mouth rising in a wavering smile that triggered only the smallest spasms of pain in his tense and aching neck.

'All right,' he consented softly. 'If you'd like to sit with me I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would allow it.' He hesitated a moment before adding, 'And I'd truly appreciate it, Sirius. You're right: it would be much nicer to have some company while I wait.'

Sirius nodded his head resolutely. 'That's settled, then,' he said. He patted Remus's right leg and stood up. 'Now go on and get changed on the floor like you ought to. I'll not peek if you don't want me to.'

'Thank you,' Remus whispered, sliding off of the bed and beginning to remove his robes. He waited, half expecting Sirius to turn his back. Instead the other boy busied himself in his own cupboard, digging out his night things and making a thorough but remarkably casual inventory of his socks.

Remus changed quickly, spending the minimum amount of time with his ravaged body exposed to the open air. By the time Sirius was finished rifling through his collection of underpants Remus was adequately covered, hugging his arms to his stomach. The fingertips of his left hand brushed the knotted scar that was a souvenir of his most recent visit to St Mungo's, but for the first time in conscious memory the feel of the ridges did not cause him undue pain or sorrow. When Sirius turned and grinned at him, even his dread seemed to fade.

'You ought to get some sleep,' Sirius said sensibly. 'You look done in, and I'm certainly knackered. It's hard work, isn't it? Being friend and confidante to a Quidditch star?'

Remus smiled earnestly. 'He did wonderfully, didn't he?'

Sirius bobbed his head emphatically. 'He was brilliant,' he agreed. 'Next best thing to being out there myself, watching James on the go. Confidentially? He's a much better flyer than I am.'

'You're just as fast,' Remus said. 'It's only that you've been using an old broom.'

Sirius grinned. 'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'Sure, I'm quick, but those turns he was pulling today – that's practically pro stuff. He's got the instinct for it. And he's had more practice,' he added. This time there was a tiny note of bitterness in his voice.

'It must be difficult to find the chance in London,' Remus murmured, unsure what else he could say.

''Tis,' Sirius snorted, letting out a puff of air that ruffled his hair. His eyes lolled towards the pilfered Cleansweep. 'Mind you, I've been getting a lot of time in lately. If I can catch up to Potter on that old thing I'll be outstripping him in no time the minute I'm back on mine.' An eager glint appeared in his eyes. 'And Uncle Alphard still has to make good on his promise of buying me a new one.'

'When he does,' Remus said; 'perhaps you ought to leave it with one of us over the holidays. So that you can get it whenever you want it, you see.'

Sirius shot him an appraising look liberally laced with earnest respect. 'You're downright devious, you are,' he said. 'I'm beginning to think we've underestimated your capacity for rule-bending.'

This, Remus knew, was a complement of the highest order and he chose to take it as such. He bowed ever so slightly. 'I have my moments,' he said. Then an enormous yawn cracked wide his face, loosening some of the tension in his jaw. 'I do need to sleep,' he said shyly. 'I… I shan't get much tomorrow.'

He waited, breathless, to see how Sirius would take this allusion to the transformation. His relief when the other boy nodded sagely precipitated his sinking back onto the mattress.

'Good night, then,' Sirius said. He wagged a finger at his friend. 'And don't you dare sneak off tomorrow,' he warned. 'You promised, remember?'

'I promised,' Remus echoed. He sat still, watching as Sirius dived into his bed and yanked the hangings closed. Then he flicked his wand to dim the lamps and crept between the sheets. Despite his fatigue he lay awake for a long time, running over the conversation again and again and savouring every tiny indication that Sirius was well and truly his friend: unafraid of the wolf, willing to stay with him while he waited to go down to the Whomping Willow, tolerant even of the scars.

Remus slept well that night.


	56. Down to the Willow

_Note: A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to vote in the poll! Results are now posted, and I'll be working away at the winning one-shot. Cheers!_

**Chapter Fifty-Six: Down to the Willow**

'You're not eating anything,' Sirius said shrewdly, eyeing the untouched sausage and only faintly nibbled bit of bacon on his friend's plate.

Remus let his hands slide into his lap. 'I'm not hungry,' he mumbled.

'I told you,' Peter said, looking from Sirius to James with an expression of vindicated satisfaction on his face. 'I told you he always loses his appetite before he disap—' The dangerous slip was cut off in a sharp yelp as Sirius shot out with his foot beneath the table and kicked him squarely in the shin.

'Not outside the dormitory, remember?' he said with a hint of menace in his voice.

'Right,' Peter muttered, staring down at his plate as his face turned a livid shade of puce. 'Right. Not outside the dormitory.'

'Are you all right?' James asked softly, eyeing Remus with candid concern. 'I mean, last time you were sick all over the hedges by the greenhouse.'

'That was because I ate things I oughtn't have,' Remus whispered, his cheeks burning with the memory. He realized uncomfortably that the flush would intensify the contrast of the pink fever spots against his wan cheeks, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. 'I thought…'

He left the sentence unfinished and hung his head. Though neither Sirius nor James said anything Remus thought he could feel them exchanging a salient look. He could not help but wonder if they knew or suspected that he had overheard their council last month. Worse, he was uncertain whether he ought to be glad or ashamed if they knew.

'I thought maybe we could go down to the lake and skip stones,' James said, filling the awkward silence with his usual carefree chatter. 'I've got a theory that if you charm them just so they'll skip indefinitely.'

'It's much too cold to be hanging about the lake,' Sirius said. He jerked his thumb towards the enchanted ceiling, which was roiling with dark clouds. 'And it looks like rain. I think we ought to stay indoors.'

'We could go exploring,' Peter suggested. 'There's that corridor on the third floor we haven't been down yet.'

'No exploring today,' Sirius said firmly, scraping up the last forkful of eggs and sighing contentedly as he pushed away his plate. 'We've got more important things to do.'

'What more important thi— _oh._' Hazel eyes grew wide as James realized what his friend meant. His cheeks grew pink and he looked at Remus with an expression of mingled pity and dismay. 'I… I didn't think,' he stammered. 'I mean, of course we shan't go exploring _without_ you…'

'Please hush,' Remus begged, looking anxiously from side to side and praying that no one was listening. Thankfully the surrounding students were all engrossed in their own conversations and appeared to have no interest at all in what was being said. 'We… could we go somewhere else if we need to talk about it?'

'Sounds perfectly reasonable to me,' Sirius said. He nodded at James's plate. 'Finish up Potter, and sharpish. Unless you'd like to be the one left behind.'

'No fear of that,' said James, bolting down his porridge and slipping an orange into his pocket. 'C'mon Peter, let's go.'

Peter was nowhere near the end of his meal; most of his second helping was still piled on his plate. Nevertheless he got to his feet without protest and followed James meekly. Sirius offered Remus a hand as he hoisted his aching body off the bench, and Remus took it gratefully.

Once out of the Great Hall they made for one of the little-used auxiliary corridors on the first floor. There was a jettied casement set into it, with a high window overlooking the grounds flanked by two ornate stone benches. Sirius and Remus settled on one, and James and Peter on the other. Remus took one corner, propping himself between the wall and the window and letting his cheekbone rest against the cool glass. James sat directly across from him, which was fortunate because Peter looked uneasy enough about his perch on the edge of the bench without being crowded into the small space with the werewolf.

'What's the plan?' asked James. His firm gaze faltered when it shifted from Sirius to Remus, and he shifted a little uncomfortably. 'I mean, I suppose you won't need to sneak off, but what else do you usually do?'

'He goes to wait in the hospital wing, of course,' Sirius said with very impressive authority. 'When it's time the matron takes him down to the tree. We'll go with him, of course.'

'Will we?' James asked, eyebrows arching towards his hairline. Next to him, Peter made a muffled noise of terror and clapped his hands over his mouth.

'Not to the tree, you sodding great pillock,' Sirius snorted. 'To the hospital wing. Remus has all afternoon to wait, and I think we ought to keep him company. Don't you?'

'I…' James frowned, looking genuinely bewildered. 'I don't know. Remus? Is that what you want?'

The assertion that it was indeed very much what he wanted died on Remus's lips. Only a month ago he would have done anything just to earn his friends' tolerance. It seemed selfish now to force them to give up their whole day sitting with him. Sirius plainly wanted to: the entire thing had been his idea. But Remus was not so certain about James, and it was obvious from Peter's expression that he would rather be fed piecemeal to a dragon than attend upon a werewolf scant hours before moonrise.

'You ought to do what you like,' he said quietly. 'After all, it's your Sunday and you should enjoy it. I'll be quite all right: I always go alone.'

Sirius twisted on the seat to fix him with scrutinizing eyes. 'You always _went_ alone,' he corrected; 'because you didn't tell us where you were going and why. Now we know it's our solemn responsibility to do whatever we can to make it more pleasant for you. I'm coming, and you won't talk me out of it, you hear me?'

Remus bobbed his head obediently. He was used to Sirius's fierce assertions that sometimes had the flavour of a threat. He knew now that Sirius would never do anything to harm him, and that these emphatic assurances were meant to be comforting. 'I wouldn't dream of it,' he said quietly. 'I'm very grateful you're coming with me. It's only that James and Peter needn't, not if they don't want to.'

James snorted. 'And how are we supposed to say no to you now?' he asked, chuckling. He reached across the breadth of the window and squeezed the fingers of a pale left hand. 'Of course we'll come, if you don't mind the invasion.'

'Madam Pomfrey might mind,' Peter said, sounding really rather hopeful at the prospect. 'I'm sure she won't want the lot of us crowding into the hospital wing for no good reason.'

'Remus said she wouldn't mind it,' Sirius argued. 'And it's not for no reason. We'll be keeping our friend company and distracting him while he waits. Wouldn't you rather have your friends with you than just sit there brooding?'

'I don't brood,' Peter said, his tone conveying a deep hurt.

'Maybe not,' said James; 'but we all know that Remus does.' He smiled affably at the boy in question. 'Can we bring games or something?'

'Chess,' said Sirius. Clearly he had put a great deal of thought into this. 'Last month we played a good deal of chess afterwards, didn't we? And Exploding Snap. Gobstones are strictly discouraged by Pomfrey, of course, but even if we just sit around and talk it's bound to be more interesting than lolling about staring at walls.'

'All right, then,' said James. 'Do we go now, or…'

'I was going to wait until the school was at lunch,' Remus murmured, unable to keep from staring in wonder at the expression James wore. He had the satisfied look that he sported when he had made up his mind to a clever prank or some other enjoyable activity. It was as if he saw this no differently from any other afternoon of games and socialization they had had before. 'If you'd rather wait and eat first, or if you'd prefer not to—'

'While the school's at lunch it is,' said Sirius resolutely. 'Until then why don't we go back upstairs and see you're properly packed?'

_~discidium~_

Of course, packing took almost no time at all: there were only his undergarments and his nightshirt to bring, and a clean set of school robes and his wand. Remus choose two of his textbooks – Potions and Astronomy this time – and he realized abruptly that if he changed his mind about what he needed to study during his days of recuperation he had only to ask Sirius to bring another book. That epiphany left him speechless for many minutes while Sirius and James gathered up chessmen and playing cards and back issues of _World Quidditch _and stowed them into Sirius's satchel.

'Hold up,' Sirius said when the two bags were sitting side-by-side next to Remus's trunk. 'Have we got time for a quick run to the library? There's a book I've been meaning to have a look at.'

'_You_?' James said incredulously. 'A _book_?'

'Mock me if you want, Potter,' said Sirius airily. 'Some of us enjoy expanding our minds.'

'Right, then,' James said with a low chortle. 'It's only quarter to eleven: there's time, isn't there, Remus?'

Remus nodded. 'I'd rather stay here, though, if you don't mind,' he said mildly. He waited anxiously for them to ask why, wondering how he could admit to the ache in his back and the dull pain in his limbs without seeming too much of an invalid.

Instead Sirius only shrugged and grinned. 'No worries,' he said. 'I'm sure I can stretch a point and find one book without your help.'

'Don't fret,' James added, winking. 'I'll go along and be sure he doesn't get lost.'

'Do try to stay out of trouble,' Remus warned, managing to slide a teasing note into the words. 'It would spoil the afternoon to have you both in detention.'

'Right you are,' Sirius said. 'Noses clean, I promise!' Then, with the sort of ebullient energy that Remus could only dream of, the two dark-haired boys bolted from the dormitory, slamming the door behind them and thundering down the stairs.

Remus leaned back against his headboard, drawing up his knees a little in an attempt to ease his discomfort. The thought that this was the perfect moment in which to slip away unnoticed occurred to him, but only fleetingly. He did not need to sneak off any longer. The others knew, and more than that they were willing to go with him to the hospital wing. For a moment all the worries of the past year seemed so utterly ridiculous.

Then he realized that two small, hard eyes were fixed upon him. Peter was standing by the foot of James's bed, arms crossed and a furrowed frown on his face.

'We agreed,' he said coldly. 'We agreed I wouldn't have to have anything to do with you if I didn't want to.'

Remus stiffened as though he had been slapped. 'You don't,' he murmured. 'You needn't come; I'd never expect you to come.'

'James and Sirius expect it,' Peter argued. 'They think we ought to go and sit with you and play games and pretend that you're not going to turn into a… a…'

'A monster,' Remus whispered, closing his eyes so that he did not need to see the hatred that surely blazed across the other boy's face.

He was surprised and alarmed when Peter made a tiny whimpering noise. He lifted his leaden lids to see the plump little boy sinking down on the edge of James's bed as he buried his head in his hands.

'Y-you were my friend,' Peter moaned. 'You were such a good friend. You never made fun, even if I _do_ spell things badly and make mistakes in lessons and say stupid things sometimes. If I'd spilled pumpkin juice in _your _lap you would've just smiled and said something nice like "_Never mind, Peter. No harm done_." I always wanted a friend like that.' He looked up, tears streaming down his round, ruddy cheeks. 'Why, Remus? Why did you have to turn out to be a werewolf?'

Remus wished that he could protest that he could not help it; that he had not asked to be a Dark creature any more than Peter had asked to befriend one; that he had never done anything to deserve this either. But that was not true, and he had told so many lies already – enough for a lifetime. Once again, he let himself be truthful.

'I made a mistake,' he confessed softly. 'I did something foolish, something I should never have done, and now…' He held out his palms in a gesture of helplessness. 'I'm sorry, Peter,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry. I wish I could be the friend you want me to be. I'm so sorry.'

Peter's lower lip quivered perilously, but he bit down upon it with his narrow front teeth. He blinked resolutely against his tears and he tried very hard to scowl sternly. 'That doesn't make the problem go away, though, does it?' he said.

Remus felt his throat constrict almost to the point of closing off access to his lungs. 'No,' he breathed hoarsely. 'No, I suppose it doesn't.'

'You think it's my fault, don't you?' Peter said, accusation in his eyes. 'You think it's my fault I can't just forget all about it like James and Sirius. You think I ought to just give up and be friends with a werewolf, don't you? _Don't_ you?'

Remus shook his head. 'I know that's not fair,' he said, his voice now so low and so weak that he was surprised it carried the few feet between them. 'I never dreamed James or Sirius would put up with me. I thought everybody would abandon me when the truth came out. You've been very kind to keep the secret and to be civil to me when other people can see. I'm grateful, Peter. Truly I am.'

For a moment something like anger blazed in the blue eyes. Then Peter's face crumpled miserably. 'You always call me Peter,' he whispered. 'Even James says _Pettigrew_ sometimes…'

Remus did not know how to respond to this. He had always tried to be a good friend, to be patient and loyal and understanding. But all of that counted for nothing when weighed against the fact that he was a werewolf. He wished that there was some way he could help Peter understand that he was still what he always had been, and that the truth did not have to matter.

But perhaps it should, he realized unhappily. Perhaps the others _ought_ to care that he was soon to be changed into a bloodthirsty beast. Ten hours from now he would sooner devour them than look at them, and he was not certain that Sirius understood that. Even James, who had some inkling of the danger the wolf posed, was looking blindly past it and supressing his instincts for self-preservation in order to be a good friend. Perhaps they were the ones who were mistaken, and Peter was the one doing the right thing.

'I'll explain,' Remus promised softly. 'I'll tell Sirius and James that you need to work on your Transfiguration questions and that you're going to stay here. I'll tell them you're right, and schoolwork has to come before games and visiting. You shan't have to come to the hospital wing.'

Peter's look of abject gratitude sent his stomach churning. Then it faded a little. 'You're still stealing them away from me, though, aren't you?' he protested wretchedly. 'They'd still rather be with a… with a…' He gestured at Remus with one twitching hand. '… than with me.'

Remus hung his head. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I can't help that. Sirius… you know how he is when he's made up his mind.'

He hated himself for those words, because he knew, deep down, that even if he could have changed the situation he never would have been brave enough to do so. He needed James and Sirius so desperately. He could never find the fortitude or the integrity to drive them off, not even for the benefit of a human child. Peter had more right to their friendship than he ever would, but in his selfishness he knew he would never be able to give up their companionship.

'All the same,' Peter said impotently. He did not finish the sentence. Indeed, perhaps he had nothing more to say. He seemed unable to meet Remus's eyes any longer, and Remus found himself pathetically grateful for that small mercy.

'I'll explain,' he said again. 'You needn't come along.'

Then the miserable silence swamped the dormitory and Remus subsisted into small bouts of convulsive shivering. Whether he owed them to the fever or to his befuddled emotions he could not say.

_~discidium~_

James accepted the Transfiguration excuse without a second thought. Sirius, though he frowned and fixed Peter with a long and scrutinizing stare, did not press the issue either. Both of them were more concerned with the business of getting Remus down to the hospital wing unobserved.

It was easy enough, even if there were three of them this month instead of one, and even if a member of their group was the most famous Gryffindor in the school this weekend. The corridors were deserted, apart from the occasional ghost. They took the short route to the hospital wing, James on Remus's left carrying the satchel full of clothes, and Sirius on his right with the games and the library book. As they stepped into the brightly lit ward, Remus at last caught sight of the title and his stomach wrenched painfully.

'Why did you bring that?' he whispered, unable to keep the fear and loathing from his voice.

'This?' Sirius asked, holding out the book. 'I want to learn more about it, of course. It's listed in the bibliography of the third year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook.'

James laughed. 'Where'd you get your hands on a third year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook?' he asked. Immediately he threw up his hands. 'Never mind: don't tell me. I'd rather not be an accessory after the fact.'

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, checking the time on the little gold watch pinned to her apron. 'Remus!' she said happily, a welcoming smile spreading across her face. 'And you've brought your friends.'

'Yes, Madam,' Remus said, his discomfiture over the book Sirius had chosen fading away. He looked left and then right at the two boys flanking him, and an earnest smile overtook him. 'They'd like to sit with me awhile, if you don't mind it.'

The matron's expression was unreadable, but her eyes were shining. 'So long as they don't go digging about in my cupboards or raising too much of a ruckus, they may stay,' she said. Then she smiled again, reaching out as if to touch Remus's jaw but thinking better of it when she remembered that young boys did not always appreciate such gestures where their mates could see. 'Go on and settle in, then. And try not to make too much noise!'

Sirius and James were surprisingly obedient. In the little room Remus climbed onto the bed, propping himself up against the pillows. Sirius sat on the foot of the mattress, legs crossed. James took the chair, drawing the bedside table down a little so that Remus's chessboard could be set up upon it. They played several matches in turn, and despite his fatigue and his mounting fever Remus put in his usual excellent showing. They only played one round of Snap before Sirius suggested they put the cards away. Remus wondered whether this decision was driven by boredom, or if his friend had realized how weary he was growing and reasoned that the game was rather too strenuous.

At half past four, Remus realized it was time to change out of his school robes. Ordinarily he would have done so in the dormitory, but he was rather ashamed of his ragged old play garments that were now far too small and badly in need of mending. With the others to sit with him, he had thought he would be more comfortable in his uniform. So now he excused himself, dragging his aching body and his satchel across the room to the tiny water closet. He closed the door and leaned against the sink for a minute before he could muster the strength to start undressing.

He had just hauled the warm woollen robes over his head when he heard James's voice on the other side of the door.

'I can't do this anymore,' he said, quiet strain underlying his words. 'I'm going down to supper.'

'What do you mean, going down to supper?' Sirius demanded. 'We said we'd wait with him.'

'I know,' James said miserably. 'But… I didn't think it would be this hard, Sirius. He looks… he looks so _sick_.'

Remus let his robes fall to the floor and stood hugging his bare arms to his scarred ribs. Hot humiliation rose from under the chilling layer of sweat that coated his flesh. He had tried so hard to keep from showing any weakness, but his body had betrayed him anyhow.

'I imagine you'd look sick too if you had to change into a wolf in a couple of hours,' Sirius said curtly. 'He can't help it, Potter.'

'I know,' whispered James. 'B-but it's so _hard_ to watch him like this. I don't see how he can go through it, the way he looks now. Mightn't it kill him or something?'

The sorrowful concern in his friend's voice eased Remus's mortification somewhat. At least James was not disgusted by his feeble countenance, nor scornful of it. Sympathy, even pity, was preferable to that. He hurriedly removed his socks and his underpants and rummaged for his tatty transformation robes.

'It hasn't killed him yet,' murmured Sirius in a way that told Remus he was wearing a very closed expression. 'The matron will take care of him.'

'I just… isn't there something we can _do_?' asked James. 'There has to be something we can do.'

'We had him smiling there for a bit,' said Sirius. 'That's something, isn't it?'

Remus struggled into the faded garment. It was too short, showing a good portion of his calves and his forearms. He folded his school robes over his hands, hiding the most visible of the scars. Then he pushed the door open and padded barefoot into the room.

'Are you going down to supper?' he asked in what he hoped was a pleasant voice. 'Madam Pomfrey will be taking me down to the Willow soon.'

'Yeah.' James got to his feet, pushing the table back to its place by the head of the hospital bed. 'Good luck, mate.' He clapped Remus on the shoulder and managed to smile sincerely. 'We'll all be thinking about you.'

'Thank you,' whispered Remus. He did not dare to say more. This, too, was something he had often longed for but never hoped to have: the firm and earnest support of a friend, wishing him well despite the terrors to come.

'Sure,' said James. 'I'll see you on the other side?'

'On the other side…' Remus echoed. He had never thought of it quite like that before, but the expression struck a chord. The transformation was, after all, something to be passed through – like a tunnel, or some sort of mythological trial. He had to endure it, but it would pass. And when it was over, his friends would still be there, waiting to see him again. His eyes swam with tears of wonder and gratitude, but he did not let them fall.

'Right then,' James said, a little awkwardly. He shuffled to the door and opened it. 'Best of British luck, Remus. Truly.'

Then he was gone.

'Aren't you going with him?' Remus asked softly, turning to look at Sirius where he still sat on the bed.

'Nope,' Sirius answered. 'I'm not budging until Pomfrey chases me out with a switch. C'mon and sit down; you look about ready to topple over.'

Instead of shame Remus felt a burst of amusement. Only Sirius, he thought, would speak the truth in that frank, teasing way as if there were something humorous about the situation. He exerted the necessary effort to lift himself up onto the mattress, and hurriedly tugged the fraying hem of his old robes over his marred feet.

In doing so, however, he exposed his forearms. Before Remus realized it had happened, Sirius reached out to trace a crescent-shaped bite two finger-widths above his wrist bones. Remus shied away from the unexpected touch, trying to hide his arms in the inadequate folds of the robe. Sirius looked up at him, sadness in his eyes.

'It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know,' he said softly. 'It's not as if you did anything to deserve it.'

Remus cast his gaze away, and his eyes fell on the book lying on the floor beside Sirius's satchel. _The Werewolf Elucidated_, by Timotheus Gray. His mother had a copy, which she kept hidden in the blanket chest in the master bedroom. Remus knew that it was a clinical text: impartial and filled with anatomical engravings and statistics and firm facts. Nevertheless he shuddered to think what Sirius might learn from it, and how the information contained therein might colour his view of the werewolf in the next bed.

'Why do you want to read that thing?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Sirius admitted. 'I'm curious. You know me: I hate it when there are things I don't know. Besides, maybe there's something in there that might be useful. Maybe there's something we can do to help you.'

Remus could not help but feel grateful for the concern underlying that sentiment, but neither could he let his friend harbour any false hope. 'There's nothing,' he said. 'My parents tried. We even went to the Continent, trying. There's nothing that helps.'

'Well, I wouldn't put too much store by what adults say,' Sirius remarked with a disdainful sniff. 'You'd be amazed at the things they'd never dream up. Did you know that Drooble's Best Blowing Gum was invented by Drooble himself—'

'Never would have guessed,' Remus quipped in spite of himself.

Sirius smirked, continuing with his instructive anecdote as if he had not been interrupted. '—when he was only fifteen? I'd like to think that the kind of brain power we have in our dormitory is more than up to the challenge of finding _some_ way to help.'

'You've helped already,' confessed Remus. 'You were right: I'd only sit here brooding if I were alone. I had a very nice afternoon.' He hesitated briefly before adding; 'Would you tell that to James? I didn't think to say it, but he ought to know…'

'Absolutely,' Sirius said with a determined nod. Then his expression shifted. 'Merlin. You heard us, didn't you?'

Ashamed to be caught out as an eavesdropper, Remus cast his eyes downward. 'Yes,' he muttered shamefacedly.

'Did you understand he's just worried about you?' Sirius asked. 'He isn't hurt or angry or disgusted; he cares about you and he doesn't like to watch you suffering.'

'I'm not suffering,' Remus protested quietly. He did not add _not yet_.

There was a knowing look in Sirius's eyes as he murmured. 'Of course not. I suppose a body can get used to just about anything, can't it?' Then the smirking mask was up again. 'Except, of course, trying to listen to Professor Binns banging on.'

'Have you started that essay yet?' Remus asked, his tired lips curling into a cheeky smile. 'You might find that a little bit more fruitful than learning the names of all the wolf's ribs.'

Sirius's grin was impossibly wide and absolutely sincere. 'You told a joke,' he said wonderingly. 'You told a joke about the wolf. I _am_ making progress!'

Remus's jaw went slack and he made a stammering sound, but he was spared the necessity of dreaming up a reply when there was a soft knock at the door and Madam Pomfrey came in.

'Time to be going, dear,' she said, picking up his cloak and offering him her hand.

'I'll come along,' Sirius announced, hopping to the floor and standing like a sentinel by the door. 'Only as far as the tree, I promise.'

Remus knew that he did not have the strength of character to protest, although he earnestly wished to. Madam Pomfrey, fortunately, did not have any such compunction.

'I think not,' she said. 'We can't start turning this into some kind of a ritual procession. The rest of the school's at supper now, but next month we'll be sneaking out in the middle of the afternoon. You shall just have to say your goodbyes here, and you may come and visit tomorrow night if Remus is well enough to receive you.' She draped the cloak around Remus's shoulders and fastened it deftly. 'Two minutes, Remus dear,' she said firmly. Then she slipped from the room.

The two boys stood there for at least forty seconds, awkward silence between them.

'I don't know what to say…' Sirius admitted at last.

'You needn't say anything,' Remus told him. 'You came: that's enough.'

'Well… good luck, anyhow,' said Sirius. He tried to smile. 'I'll be back in here the minute Matron lets me.'

'Don't you skive off lessons,' Remus chided gently. 'I'll not be responsible for you losing Gryffindor any more points.'

Sirius smirked. 'You sound like Prefect Meadowes,' he said fondly. Then he looked furtively at the door before pulling Remus into a quick and only slightly awkward hug. 'Don't you go tearing into any major arteries, now,' he said, his voice breaking a little.

'I… I have to go…' Remus whispered uncomfortably. He waited until Sirius nodded, and then rammed his bare feet into his shoes and hurried after the matron.

_~discidium~_

Madam Pomfrey was unusually silent as they walked down to the Whomping Willow. Only when they were safely in the tunnel and starting down on their way to the house did she at last give voice to the sentiment that must have been on her mind all afternoon.

'It seems I misjudged those two, Remus,' she said. 'I took them for shallow little fools, but they're actually very dear boys, aren't they?'

'Very, Madam,' Remus said. Despite the grim surroundings and the horror that loomed just ahead in the darkness he could not help but smile. He imagined the expression on Sirius Black's face as he heard someone calling him a "_very dear boy_". 'They're still my friends, although they know everything.'

'Yes,' the matron said pensively; 'and that means I was wrong about their good sense, too. They have got some after all.'

'What do you mean, Madam?' Remus asked. He could not imagine how remaining friends with a dangerous Dark creature was sensible. Brave, yes. Kind, certainly. Miraculous, without a doubt. But sensible?

'I should think that's perfectly obvious, Remus,' said Madam Pomfrey, raising her arm to lift the trap door and climbing up into the house. Her face, illuminated by the glow of her wand, smiled down upon him as she offered her hand. 'Only a perfect fool would throw away the chance to have such a good and loyal friend just because of a silly little complication.'

'It's hardly silly or little,' Remus mumbled, crawling along the floor until he felt able to get his aching legs under him. He stood, swaying a little and clutching at the sideboard. 'You ought to know that: you're the one who has to patch me up every month.'

'_Patching you up_, as you put it, is one of the most important parts of my job,' Madam Pomfrey said solemnly. 'If I can help you enjoy your time at Hogwarts, and if my efforts help to keep you here so that you can get your education, that's more than worth the effort, Remus. Sometimes I think you run yourself down entirely too much.'

She was looking at him with shrewd, knowing eyes, and Remus found himself obliged to turn away. He fumbled with the fastenings of his cloak. 'You really ought to be going,' he said softly. 'I haven't much time.'

'We've another twenty minutes on my watch,' said the matron. She moved to help him with the clasp and folded the garment carefully before setting it down on top of the cupboard. 'I know the last quarter of an hour before the change isn't the time to have this discussion, Remus, but all the same I'd like you to think about it. Those boys don't care a whit about your situation: they're just proud to be your friends. And I see you as a pleasure to care for, not a burden in any way. Professor McGonagall looks at you and she sees your academic potential and your good manners. The Headmaster knows you have a bright future ahead of you. Don't you see that the only one who has any doubts about you is you?'

A hundred arguments sprung to the tip of Remus's tongue, each vying to be the first to shoot down this line of reasoning. But the Matron was right: this was not the time for that discussion. If once he started to rattle off the ways he had been hurt or belittled or shamed over the years Remus knew he would not be able to stop. If he kept silent now, he could sit and wait for moonrise with the matron's kind words still fresh in his mind. That, and the memory of Sirius's embrace and James's wish for luck, might carry him through the whole ordeal.

'Please,' he whispered. 'Please go. I need to get ready, and I'd rather not…' He looked down at the old robes that concealed his imperfect nakedness, and shuffled out of his shoes.

'Of course, love,' Madam Pomfrey said. She smoothed his damp hair from his brow, her fingers deliciously cool and comforting upon his feverish brow. Then she drew him into a consoling embrace. 'I'll be back first thing after sunrise,' she promised – unnecessarily, for she had never yet failed him. 'Good luck.'

When he was alone Remus finished disrobing. He folded his clothes and put them, with his shoes and his cloak, in one of the drawers of the sideboard, taking care that it was tightly closed. The wolf might rage against the residual scent of the human upon them, but it could not penetrate the heavy oak, nor manipulate the knob without the benefit of thumbs. Naked now, and shivering, Remus curled up in his customary chair.

His jaw ached, and there were twitching spasms running up and down his spine, but he forced himself to ignore these discomforts. He closed his eyes, trying to savour the feeling of Sirius's gentle hand upon his arm, or the sound of Madam Pomfrey's voice reassuring him that he was not completely worthless. Or James, burying his worries to wish the werewolf luck. Each memory surged back, bright and vivid and beautiful, and Remus felt a warmth in the core of his chest that had nothing to do with the fever. Even when the silvery light began to spill through the boarded windows and his limbs began to shake and he toppled onto the floor with a feral snarl of pain, he clung to them. He was not alone. He was loved, and his friends were waiting. Whether he deserved them or not, he had them – and that was a joy he had never expected to know.

_~discidium~_

When the tentacles of torment released him, casting him up upon the stony beach of suffering, Remus drew in the harsh, shuddering breath of one lately recalled from drowning. His ribs heaved, tugging at the pallid skin stretched across them, and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. He resisted the instinct that begged him to roll onto his side and to curl into a ball. From experience he knew that it was best to move as little as possible until someone had a chance to see how badly he had wounded himself. So he lay there, subsisting in quivering agony, and tried to take inventory of his physical condition.

The dusty rafters of the safe house came into focus above him, and Remus realized that the very fact that he was able to remember words like _inventory_ was a promising sign. He blinked thrice, feeling flakes of crusted blood rain down upon his cheeks and his ears. There was something hot and sticky oozing from beneath his right arm, and he could feel the sting of deep scratches on his ribs, but the blur of exsanguination was decidedly absent. He could not feel the prickling of broken bones, though when he tried to move his toes he felt a dull pain shooting up into his abdomen.

The ache in his frontal lobe told him that the wolf had likely tried ramming its head against something. He rolled his left shoulder cautiously, and when no burst of anguish erupted from his scapula or his clavicle or his sternum he let out a soft moan of relief. He was reluctant to shift his right arm, for he could still feel the creeping flow of blood, but nevertheless he dared to hope that this time, perhaps, it was not so bad.

The creak of the trap door was followed by the sound of the matron's steady footfalls. 'Remus,' she breathed, her voice very soft. A moment later she was gripping his left hand and bending low over his body. It took him a moment to realize that the reason he could see her teeth was because she was smiling gently at him.

'Don't try to speak, dear, though you look like you very nearly could,' she said fondly. 'Let me just see to your arm now, and we'll mend the rest when we've got you out of the cold. We've had a frost overnight; I wonder if we couldn't get you into your robes before heading down to the castle.'

Fatigue was clawing at him, beckoning him back into the muzzy embrace of slumber. Remus had dim memories of the warmth of healing magic on his limbs, and of leaning forward over his lap as Madam got the robes over his head. After that there was only a sort of a vague dream of floating, and then clean sheets beneath him and a hot water bottle against his feet. He slept.


	57. On the Other Side

_Note: In the interest of full disclosure, the lack of updates has been due to a colossally dismal week. I've been running to and from the hospital for most of it, and I've been very run down as a result. This has made writing difficult to say the least. Furthermore, I got my first-ever flame this week. It was very rude and not the least bit constructive, but thankfully anonymous, so it's gone now. Anyway, I'm so sorry for the dearth of posts! I've been trying very hard to cling to my motivation, but lately fatigue has been winning out._

**Chapter Fifty-Seven: On the Other Side**

Remus knew that he had not slept long, for the very act of breathing was exhausting and he could not find it in himself to open his eyes. He was aware that he was tucked securely in his little bed in the hospital wing: he could feel the soft pillowslip beneath his cheek and he could smell the fresh clean stone and the mingling tangs of healing potions. His mouth was very dry, but he did not feel that his thirst warranted the effort of moving.

At first he wondered what could possibly have roused him so soon after the transformation. His thumbs were still throbbing, and that ordinarily faded within three hours. He ought to be deep in the embrace of oblivion, sleeping off the strain of the change and the aftermath of his wounds. It was not pain that had awakened him, for his pain was no more terrible than it ordinarily was, and far less horrific than it had been even on the second day last time. Nor was it the thirst, for that was tolerable. Nor did he feel the need to fulfil any other biological imperative. It did not make sense that he should have awakened so soon.

His speculations were cut short when he heard the sound that must have startled him from slumber. It was a voice, firm and urgent and anxious.

'But you've got to let me see him! Please, just for a minute. I promise not to wake him.'

There was a moment of terror in which Remus forgot, ever so briefly, that Sirius knew the truth and had proved determined to overlook it. Then Madam Pomfrey spoke.

'I'm sorry, Mr Black, but I'll not have him disturbed,' she said, her voice steady and practical but also very kind, as though she appreciated the boy's intentions. 'You may stop by after lessons today; perhaps by then he'll even be awake and ready to speak with you.'

'I don't see why I have to wait,' Sirius protested. 'Why can't I just have a quick look?'

'Because he isn't a specimen to be stared at,' the matron said. 'I understand that you're curious, but you need to respect the fact that your friend is a very ill boy this morning, and he needs his rest.'

'B-but…'

Something under Remus's ribs flopped guiltily. Sirius hadn't come to stare at him: he knew that. He wasn't curious, wanting to see what a werewolf looked like right after moonset. He was worried. And instead of allaying his fears Madam Pomfrey was going to send him off to class. It was unfair.

Here was a cause worth moving for. Remus set his teeth against the coils of pain that spiralled up and down his spine and the sharp stabbing in his right arm. He rolled onto his back and reached across his body. His left hand trembled and the muscles around his elbow protested, but at last his fingertips grazed the handle of the bell that sat at his bedside. He gripped it and managed to lift the little brass weight. He twitched his wrist and the musical tone rang out.

There was a moment's silence, and then Sirius said, shrewdly and yet with worry knit into his words, 'That's him, isn't it?'

Madam Pomfrey did not answer, but a moment later the little room was flooded with light as the door opened and she hurried it. Remus fumbled, dropping the bell and falling back against the cushions. He felt a cool, kind hand upon his brow.

'What is it, dear?' the matron asked gently. 'What do you need?' Without waiting for an answer she slipped her arm behind his head and neck, raising him up a little and putting a glass of water to his lips.

Remus gulped at it, revelling in the relief that he had foolishly thought he might do without. His eyes drifted closed, and it took a concerted effort to open them again.

'Sirius…' he whispered hoarsely.

Even before Madam Pomfrey had his head back on the pillow Sirius was at her side, his familiar shape silhouetted against the unpleasantly bright light in the doorway. Remus felt long fingers closing around his left hand, squeezing reassuringly.

'Hey, there,' Sirius said. His voice was low but affable – and almost casual, as if it were any other morning. 'How are you feeling?'

In truth Remus felt rather dreadful. He ached all over, and under the soft hospital gown he could feel the sting of long raking claw-marks. So soon after the transformation he craved nothing so much as he craved sleep, and every minute he remained awake his mind grew all the more muddled and the throbbing in his temples deepened. But Sirius was worried about him, and it was true that this month at least it was not so bad as usual. Remus had little to offer his friend, and what he had could be no repayment for the grace he had been given, but this at least he could do. He could allay his friend's worries and allow him to enjoy his day without fretting.

''M all right,' he mumbled. His tongue felt strangely fat and heavy in his mouth, though he could not think why. 'Jus' sleepy.'

'Did you hurt yourself?' Sirius asked anxiously. 'I mean, I know you must have done, but – but how badly?'

Remus turned questioning eyes at Madam Pomfrey, whose features were beginning to rise up out of the shadows as he grew used to the light. A little half-smile touched her lips. 'Your arm is rather torn, but we'll soon put that right,' she said. 'There were a few wounds on your legs, but those were quick enough to mend. Other than that, Remus dear, it's only a few scrapes and bruises. You did very well this time.'

She said it in a tone that was almost congratulatory, as if Remus had any control at all over how the wolf behaved. Madam Pomfrey was sweet and so very kind to him, he thought sluggishly, but sometimes she didn't really understand.

'It's not so bad, then?' Sirius asked, turning his gaze onto the matron. 'I mean… he doesn't look as bad as he did last time.'

'No, it's much better than last time,' said the witch, planting her palm on Remus's forehead to gauge his temperature. 'A touch of a fever, dear, but nothing a couple of days' rest won't set right. As you're up I'll fetch your potions now instead of waiting until later.' She glanced at Sirius. 'You may stay for a minute if you promise not to excite him.'

She needn't have worried, Remus reflected as the matron left the room and Sirius moved up to take her place by his head. There was nothing that could have excited him at this moment: he was simply too tired for such things. Sirius still had a firm hold on his hand, and with his free fingers he plucked a stray lock of hair out of Remus's right eye.

'Doesn't that tickle?' he asked.

'A bit,' Remus confessed. He blinked twice, ponderously. 'You didn't need to come to see me,' he murmured.

'Says you!' Sirius snorted. 'For your information, I would've been down here an hour ago except that James pointed out if I was caught in the corridors too early I'd wind up in detention this afternoon. And I couldn't very well take the Invisibility Cloak, could I? Because Pomfrey would know I was out anyhow.'

'I'm glad you came,' Remus admitted, his voice rasping painfully. 'It's only… you needn't.'

Sirius glanced at the glass on the side table. 'You want some more water?' he asked.

Remus did, very much, but he was not certain that he felt comfortable with Sirius being the one to give it to him. Bad enough that he was too weak to get himself a drink; to have his friend do so for him would only drive home the unpleasant reality of the situation. Sirius had had quite enough of unpleasant reality for one lifetime.

'Mad'm Pomfrey will be back in a minute,' he mumbled.

Either Sirius did not hear him or he disregarded his words. He released his hold on Remus's hand and picked up the cup. He shifted it from one hand to the other and back again, apparently considering the best method of delivery. Then he put one clumsy hand behind Remus's head and tilted it forward while the other brought the rim of the glass to his lips.

Remus curled his left hand into a fist against the ache this motion sent into his shoulders. He tried to drink, but the angle of his head restricted his throat and the water dribbled out, down his chin and onto his gown and the sheets.

'Oh, bollocks!' Sirius moaned, dismay furrowing his brow. He set the glass down with haste and tried to dab ineffectually at the dampened garment. 'I'm sorry,' he said hurriedly. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!'

''S all right,' Remus murmured. He lacked the strength for more forceful assurances, even though the guilt on his friend's face made him feel rather ill. 'Sirius, don't fret. It's nothing…'

Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to enter the room, and Sirius sprang back from the bed as if expecting a scolding or worse.

'I was only trying to help,' he said, anxiety in his voice. 'I didn't mean to spill it.'

'There, now, no harm done,' said the matron. She set down the little tray of medicines, plucked her wand from the pocket of her apron, and cast a quick charm to restore Remus and the bedclothes to a comfortably dry state. She bent to raise him off the pillow properly and gave him first the water and then each of the three concoctions in turn. Sirius came around to the foot of the bed, leaning in to watch how she did it.

'Behind the shoulders too,' he said pensively. 'I see…'

'Now, dear, you'll be fast asleep in no time,' Madam Pomfrey said as she settled Remus's head back on the pillow and straightened the bedclothes. She looked at Sirius with a small amused smile. 'And you, Mr Black, ought to be running along to breakfast. I'll take good care of your friend: never fear. You may stop in again in the afternoon.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Sirius said gravely. His usual cheek, Remus realized, was all but absent. He wondered if that had been the other boy's intention, or if in his anxiety he had merely forgot to be impudent. Sirius skirted around the bed and leaned in to squeeze his hand again. 'You do what she says and get some sleep,' he advised. 'You look like you need it.'

'I will,' murmured Remus. He could already feel himself slipping away as the potions took hold. 'Thank you… for coming to see me. Thank you.'

Sirius grinned, though it did not quite reach his eyes. 'Not a bit of it,' he said. 'I'll be back the minute lessons let out, and I'll have your homework for you.'

'Be off with you now,' the matron said. There was not even a hint of annoyance in her voice as she spoke. If anything, she sounded rather tender. 'And you can tell Mr Potter that we'll have Remus set right in no time.'

They moved away to the door, and Sirius was speaking again, but Remus could not hear him. The room was swimming before his bleary eyes and it seemed most natural to close them. The moment he did, of course, his mind could no longer see any compelling reason to stay lucid, and he slipped off into a heavy slumber.

_~discidium~_

In his dream, Remus was perched on a garden stile along an old dirt road. As he sat there he heard the sound of footsteps in the distance; many feet trudging in unison. Over the crest of the hill they came: a long line of people marching together like soldiers. One after another they passed him. Some wore wizards' robes and some were obviously Muggles, and a few wore the bizarre combinations of Muggle clothing that witches and wizards were wont to don when they did not take the time to do better. There were young men and women, and old people, and some were about the same age as his parents. There were Hogwarts students and even little children, striding solemnly along with the rest. Dozens of people – hundreds – and not one of them spoke or looked from one side to the other. Not one of them knew that he was there, watching them. On and on they walked, until the line of bodies stretched from one horizon to the next. Yet still they came, and the sound of their footsteps grew ever more crisp, ever more coordinated, until at last it sounded like the noise of one pair of feet marching on and on and on…

Then everything grew dark and Remus realized that it was indeed one pair of feet, off to his right, and that every five steps there was a little hitch in the rhythm. Somebody was pacing.

'Is he ever going to wake up?' an anxious voice demanded in a throaty whisper. 'She said he might wake up any time now. Are you _sure_ he's all right?'

'He was talking this morning,' Sirius said. He was very near at hand and his voice was low and reassuring. 'He took his potions – that's a good thing. He'll wake up when he's ready. I expect he's knackered.'

'Did she say what he hurt? How much blood he lost? What about that scratch? Why didn't she mend that scratch?' The pacing quickened as the voice grew more agitated, and Remus could imagine James gesticulating wildly as he shot back and forth through the little room.

Oh. Of course. The voice belonged to James. Remus tried to open his eyes to seek out his friends, but his lids were heavy and he was reluctant to abandon the warm, drowsy place in which he now hovered.

'Perhaps he isn't going to wake up,' Peter said timidly. 'Perhaps we should just go. We could come back after supper if you like.'

'Come back after supper?' Sirius echoed, derision in his voice. 'What kind of friend are you?'

'I only thought…'stammered Peter.

'You only thought your grumbly tummy is more important than Remus,' Sirius said coldly. His voice grew low and shrewd as he added; 'I noticed he was making excuses for you yesterday, too. Have you two been fighting? Is this about your Charms paper? Because he would have helped you with that if you hadn't been stupid enough to think that you could do it yourself.'

'All right, Black, that's enough;' said James, sparing Remus the obligation to rouse himself to Peter's defense. 'I'm sure we've all attempted an assignment or two without having Remus look it over. You've been breathing down Pettigrew's neck all day. Leave him alone.'

'If you insist,' Sirius grumbled. 'But I still think there's something going on, and you should know that I'm going to find out what it is eventually.'

Remus had no choice now. He had to let the others know that he was awake, before Peter confessed to their private arrangement. With a deliberate effort, he opened his eyes.

'Remus!' James was at his side in an instant, gripping the pale left hand in both his own and bending over the bed. 'You're awake! Should we go for the matron? Is there anything you need? How can we help?'

'I…' The word stuck in Remus's dry throat, and he tried to moistened his lips with a swollen tongue.

'Here,' Sirius said gently. 'I know what to do.' He nudged James aside and slid his left arm behind his friend's neck and shoulders, lifting him off the pillow. This time he did not force an unnatural angle into Remus's throat, and when the glass was held to his lips Remus was able to drink.

'Thank you,' he mumbled as Sirius settled him back upon the pillow. Remus looked up at James, who was still watching him anxiously. 'I'll be all right,' he promised. 'I'm hardly hurt at all. Madam Pomfrey has mended the worst of it already, and I'm sure she'll do the rest as soon as it's fitting.'

James relaxed a little, and the frantic grip of his fingers loosened. 'You do look better,' he admitted. 'Better than last time, I mean.'

'I feel better,' murmured Remus. He managed a tiny smile. 'And here you are… on the other side.'

James made a snorting sound something like a laugh. 'I said that, didn't I?' he asked softly.

Remus managed a tiny nod despite the sore muscles in his neck. 'I liked it,' he confessed. 'I liked the way you put it. You're very kind to me.'

'Least I can do,' James said hoarsely. There was a strange glimmer in the lenses of his spectacles, but it might have been a trick of the lamplight. 'I'm sorry I didn't come down this morning,' he mumbled, suddenly looking very ashamed. 'It isn't that I didn't want to. It's only… only…'

'It's all right,' Remus assured him. 'I was scarcely even awake. Please don't feel you have to be sorry.'

'I took notes for you,' James said. 'Defense Against the Dark Arts And History of Magic. Sirius took Transfiguration.'

'If there's any questions, though, you'd better ask him,' Sirius advised. 'James came on top of the class.'

'You say that like it's surprising,' James said indignantly. 'D'you know what I think? I think you're jealous that my slippers came out more neatly than yours.'

'Who's going to transfigure themselves a pair of slippers, anyhow?' Sirius snorted. 'They'd only come untransfigured at the wrong moment and scare the house elf or something. Actually,' he added with a wicked smirk; 'perhaps there's a practical application of that skill after all.'

'Frankly, mate, your house elves don't strike me as the type to scare easily,' James said. 'Not if they've spent all their lives waiting on your grandmother.'

Sirius laughed, a little too loudly. He got to his feet and ambled around the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his palms on the mattress. 'Do you feel up for something to eat?' he asked Remus. 'We could send a deputation to the kitchens to nick something for you.'

'Madam Pomfrey will bring me some broth or something later,' Remus said. Heat flooded his cheeks as he admitted; 'I don't often feel hungry right afterward.'

'That's awful,' mumbled Peter. He was standing in the far corner of the room, pressed against the wall and watching the other boys uneasily. His eyes widened a little with something that looked almost like pity, before flitting down to his shoes.

'You ought to go and have something to eat,' Remus said, looking from James to Sirius. 'Is it nearly suppertime, then?'

Sirius shrugged and James did not seem inclined to answer, but behind them Peter nodded vigorously, shooting Remus a pointed look.

'Go on,' Remus said. 'I'll still be here when next you want to visit.'

'We're not leaving,' Sirius said stoutly. 'We've been waiting all day for a chance to see you, and we're not going anywhere now.'

'Is there anything at all we can do for you?' James asked. 'Anything you want? Anything you need? Anything we could bring you?'

'I expect I shall need tomorrow's notes as well,' Remus said. 'But you needn't trouble yourselves. I can always get them when I come back to the dormitory.'

'It's no trouble,' James said vehemently. His lips twitched as if he were in pain. 'It's no trouble in the least.'

'Do you know when you will be back in the dormitory?' asked Sirius. 'I mean, you were in here ever so long last month – much longer than you'd ever been gone.'

'Last month…' Remus stopped himself. The others did not need to know how badly his terror and anxiety had agitated the wolf. Yet he wished there was some way that he could tell them how much easier this month had been with the knowledge of their support to cling to.

'I wanted to thank you,' he said quietly. 'I never thought – I never hoped that you would wait with me, or come to see me after.' He shifted his eyes from Sirius to James and smiled. 'Thank you.'

'Don't mention it,' James breathed.

'He's right; it's nothing,' agreed Sirius. 'The real sacrifice was keeping out of detention tonight. I was sorely tempted to hex Andrews's slippers into biting bunnies. Pompous git.'

'What did he do this time?' Remus asked indulgently. From the looks on their faces he could tell that his friends were eager to share this particular story.

'Well,' James said, raising a hand to chafe the back of his neck. 'It seems he's rather changed his tune where boasting about his grandfather is concerned.'

'The St Mungo's Christmas Ball is coming up in a couple of months,' Sirius added.

'_Seven_ weeks,' James corrected.

'Seven weeks this coming Friday,' said Sirius.

'And Aeolus in his wisdom was trying to harangue McGonagall into letting him and his little snob of a sister take off for the weekend so they could attend,' James went on.

'In the middle of the lesson!' Sirius snorted. 'Held up the rest of the class so that he could bring it up, just so we'd all be _sure_ to remember that he's the grandson of the sodding Minister for Magic.'

'Sirius took offence,' James said sagely.

'Sirius wanted to put him in his place!' protested the party in question.

'But he didn't,' James concluded. 'Because if he had—'

'—though it would've been _brilliant_…'

'—he would have wound up in detention for sure,' said James. 'So we just wanted to be sure that you appreciate the lengths he went to in order to be here tonight.'

Remus knew that he was grinning like a fool, but he did not care. The others were treating him no differently now than they did at any other time of the month. They were considerate of his feelings and attentive to his needs, but more importantly they were willing to include him in the day-to-day occurrences of life at Hogwarts. They were willing to joke for him and with him, and they seemed prepared to treat him like an ordinary human boy.

'Could you help me sit up?' he asked, emboldened by this realization. A few minutes' awkward manoeuvring followed this request, but in the end he was propped amid the pillows with his legs crooked to keep him from sliding down under the sheets. Sirius sat back down on the chair, putting one foot up against the mattress. James surveyed the result of their efforts with quiet satisfaction.

'You really _do_ look much better this time,' he said firmly.

There was a knock at the door and Madam Pomfrey entered, carrying a covered tray. 'Oughtn't the three of you to be down at supper?' she asked, but there was not the slightest hint of castigation in her voice. She looked from one boy to the next, smiling graciously. Sirius scrambled up from the chair and relieved her of the tray, setting it down with care and whisking off the cover.

'That's it?' he asked, looking down at the mug of beef tea and the piece of dry toast. He scowled at the matron. 'Are you trying to starve him or something?'

'Don't be daft, Sirius,' James scoffed. 'Why would she do that? She obviously takes good care of him. Remus doesn't have much of an appetite just now, do you Remus? You only just said so.'

Remus shook his head, holding out his hand to take the mug. His wrist trembled a little but he managed to raise the vessel to his lips and to sip at the comfortably hot fluid without spilling any of it. 'You ought to go and eat,' he said.

'I could fetch sandwiches, I suppose, if you'd rather stay,' the matron offered, watching her patient appraisingly and clearly liking what she saw. 'A bit of company will do him a world of good, so long as no one gets too rambunctious.' She patted the pockets of her apron and drew out an envelope bearing the emblem of the South Western Gas Board, which she set on Remus's lap. 'From your mother, I think, dear. Let me know when you'd like to reply.'

She left the room and Sirius reached for the letter, stopping just short of seizing it. 'D'you want me to put it in your bag?' he asked. 'Or on the table so you can read it when we're gone?'

'Why shouldn't he read it now?' asked James quizzically. 'We're here to entertain him, not the other way 'round. Let him read his letter.'

'You ponce: he never reads his letters while we're around,' Sirius said. 'Well, not usually.'

'That's only because you've got a habit of pinching other people's post,' said James. 'He was probably worried that something his mum would write might give him away. Right, Remus?'

Shamefacedly he nodded. 'Mother isn't always… she doesn't think like a witch would,' he said.

'Just as well, really,' Sirius said. 'What sort of an envelope is that?'

'She's probably reusing the one that the gas bill came in,' Remus said, taking another mouthful of savoury broth before trying to twist to set it on the table. Sirius took it from him obligingly – almost instinctively. Remus picked up the letter and turned it over. It had indeed been sealed with a small patch of Sellotape. He hesitated for only a moment before breaking it.

Sirius and James made a good show of not staring as he read. In the corner Peter had lapsed into uncomfortable silence, though when he thought the others could not see he would shoot furtive glances at the door. Remus tried to ignore him, and with him the creeping feeling of discontent that shamed him when he knew he ought to just be grateful for what he had rather than pining after more. He read the letter quickly: it was filled with the usual gentle wishes for good health and a swift recovery. At the end Mother noted that although his father had not had much luck in finding a permanent position he had been picking up odd bits of work locally. He was hopeful, she said, of finding something steady as the holiday season drew nearer.

When he was finished Remus folded the letter carefully and returned it to the salvaged envelope. Sirius was ready: he took it from him and set it down upon the table, then gave him the mug again and held out the plate of toast. Remus picked up one of the neatly cut wedges and nibbled at it between sips of broth.

Madam Pomfrey came back with a tray of sandwiches and four mugs of drinking chocolate, and James and Peter settled on the floor for an impromptu picnic. Sirius retained his place on the chair by the bed, and filled the room with cheerfully aimless banter that played expertly off of James.

They had more or less finished when the matron reappeared to gather up the dishes. 'You'll pardon me for saying, gentlemen, but visiting hours are very nearly over,' she said. 'I'm very glad you came down, but I'm afraid that Remus needs to rest. You'll be more than welcome tomorrow afternoon – though perhaps we can forego the dawn visit, Mr Black?'

'Not a chance,' said Sirius, handing off the tray and grinning impishly. 'I'll be here with bells on.'

'Me too,' said James.

There was a moment's silence and Sirius whirled on the fourth member of the group. 'Peter?' he said, a note of menace creeping into his voice.

'Oh, Sirius, do leave him be,' Remus begged softly, in what he hoped was not a suspiciously anxious voice. 'You know that Peter likes to have a bit of a lie-in. Besides, you and James will be quite disruptive enough. I don't want Madam to feel she has to ban you from the hospital wing.'

'Quite,' said the matron, nodding with proprietary resolve. 'And I'll not have you knocking my door down the moment they let you out of the dormitories, either. You may pop in for a few minutes after breakfast if you like, but if my patient is sleeping I shan't have him awakened. Understood?'

'Understood,' James and Sirius chorused, nodding gravely.

'Good. Now run along to bed. Peter, would you mind very much helping me with the mugs?' Madam Pomfrey smiled sweetly at the little boy, who seemed utterly unable to refuse.

Sirius and James, perhaps sensing that they were in danger of being put to work, said their goodnights and each squeezed Remus's hand before hurrying from the room. Peter silently gathered the mugs onto the empty sandwich platter and stood, waiting expectantly for the witch to lead the way from the room.

Instead Madam Pomfrey produced her wand, Vanishing both the tray in her own hand and the plate in Peter's. She tucked her wand away and brushed her hands on her apron. She looked from Peter to Remus and back.

'Now then,' she said in her firm but gentle way. 'What is going on between the two of you?'

Peter blanched and Remus felt his heart hammering in his chest. 'The two of us, Madam?' he stammered. 'N-nothing.'

'Nothing, nothing,' Peter parroted.

The matron did not look convinced. She planted her hands on her hips. 'You've hardly said a word to one another,' she said. 'I know that Mr Black and Mr Potter tend to dominate the conversation, but it seems to me that the two of you are friends as well, aren't you?'

There was a long, guilty silence during which neither boy met her eyes.

'Aren't you?' Madam Pomfrey murmured, a note of pained realization creeping into her voice.

'We were, Madam,' Remus whispered.

'He's a werewolf!' Peter protested, springing to his own defence with a distinctly paranoid lilt to his words. 'How can we be friends?'

'It seems to me that James and Sirius have managed it nicely,' said Madam Pomfrey, her tone very mild. 'Have you had a chance to talk your feelings through with anyone, Peter?'

'Professor Dumbledore,' Peter muttered, shuffling awkwardly. 'But he just kept on repeating himself and I don't think he listens very much.'

'Sometimes I feel just the same way,' Madam Pomfrey said with a small conspiratorial smile. She held out her hand. 'As Remus will tell you I'm a _very _good listener.'

Remus hardly dared to feel the tiny flicker of hope when Peter looked instinctively to him for corroboration. He nodded. 'She is, Peter. She's a very good listener.'

'If you like, you and I can go into my sitting room and you can tell me all about it,' the matron said. 'Anything you say to me will stay quite between the two of us, I promise.'

Peter looked at the outstretched fingers and his hand twitched as if he would quite like to take them, but he hesitated.

'I might also be able to scare us up a shortbread biscuit or two,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Sandwiches and cocoa don't make a proper supper without something sweet for afters, do they?'

'No, ma'am,' Peter said. His hand closed on hers. 'Just between the two of us? You promise?'

'It's my solemn oath,' the matron assured him. 'I keep all the secrets entrusted to me, which I'm afraid cannot always be said for the Headmaster.'

'All right, then,' Peter said softly. 'Let's go.'

Madam Pomfrey led the way to the door, pausing on the threshold to look back and smile. 'I'll be by with your doses a little later, Remus, but you may sleep if you like.'

'Thank you, Madam,' Remus murmured, though he was not thanking her for the offer of slumber and he hoped that she knew it. She nodded her head ever so slightly as she moved from the room and drew the door closed.

_~discidium~_

Remus did not know how long he waited, but it must have been very nearly an hour. His head began to grow heavy and at last he shimmied down in the bed, twisting to beat down the pillows so that he could settle on his side. He tugged the bedclothes up under his chin and curled beneath them, letting his eyes drift closed. He was very nearly asleep when he heard the soft sound of the door. The lamp dimmed and he knew that it was the matron, come to check on him before she turned in for the night. If he opened his eyes she would give him his potions: one for pain and one for his blood and a third, perhaps, to help him rest. But the pain was not unbearable and he had not lost very much blood, and he was so near to sleep anyhow that taking a potion to induce it seemed a terrible waste. He did not move.

'I'm afraid he's sleeping, dear,' the matron whispered. 'It will have to wait until tomorrow.'

'But James and Sirius will be here tomorrow,' Peter protested. 'I'll never convince them to leave, not even for a minute or two. Mayn't I see him now, anyhow?'

There was a reluctant pause before Madam Pomfrey spoke. 'I suppose it couldn't do any harm,' she said at last. 'But do take care not to wake him; the poor child needs his sleep.'

Remus waited, petrified, for Peter to argue that he was not a child but a werewolf. Yet the protestation never came. He heard the awkward sound of the other boy's footsteps as he trundled to the side of the bed. The whisper of the matron's shoes followed, and her murmuring voice sounded very near at hand when next she spoke.

'He looks very peaceful when he's sleeping, doesn't he?' she asked. Remus focused all his energy on keeping his face impassive and his breathing deep and slow. A corner of the counterpane was obscuring his mouth, and he was very glad of that. Perhaps neither of them would realize that he was in fact awake, albeit lingering on the very threshold of sleep.

'He looks…' Peter seemed to fumble for the precise turn of phrase he was seeking. 'He looks like Remus,' he said at last, wistfully.

'Yes,' said Madam Pomfrey, very gently. 'Yes, he does. Can you tell me how he's changed now?'

'He's… he's a werewolf,' Peter whispered. The words were hollow now, recited by rote.

'But Peter, he's been a werewolf all the time that you've known him. He was little more than a baby when he was attacked. He didn't ask to be bitten, and he hasn't let it change who he is. Can't you see? He's the same Remus you've always known and trusted.' A soft hand brushed a tendril of hair from Remus's temple. 'He's a very gentle boy, Peter. He would never hurt you, and from what you've told me he's done everything in his power to prove that.'

'But… b-but…'

Peter sounded perilously close to tears now, and Remus realized suddenly that there was a stuffy quality to his voice, as if he had already done his fair share of weeping.

'All right, dear. That's enough deep thinking for one night, isn't it?' Madam Pomfrey said soothingly. She moved away from the bed, and from the sound of the sniffles Remus knew she was drawing Peter with her. 'Would you like to stay here for the night? I have beds aplenty and I daresay we could find you some pyjamas.'

'I'd b-best go back to the dormitory,' Peter said. 'Sirius and James – they'll wonder where I've gone.'

'You can quite truthfully tell them that I've been keeping you,' Madam Pomfrey said. 'You've been a great help to me.'

'But I didn't do anything with the dishes,' Peter protested, his voice growing muffled as the door closed.

'There are other ways of helping,' Madam Pomfrey told him. 'I'm very grateful to have the chance to understand everything that's happened these last weeks. I think five points to Gryffindor might be in order, don't you?'

'Five points?' Peter's voice rose sharply in pitch and volume, surprise and delight superseding his misery. 'I've never earned points for Gryffindor before!'

'Well, then, that will give you something to boast about at breakfast,' Madam Pomfrey said sensibly. 'Off you go, now, Peter dear. I'll see you tomorrow, and I'm sure between the two of us we can get you a few minutes alone with Remus.'

Their conversation continued, but it was moving farther away and Remus could no longer pick out individual words. He heard the familiar sound of the ward door being closed, and then there were the quiet noises of Madam Pomfrey putting the hospital wing in order for the night. He was not quite sure when he lost track of the sound of closing cupboards and whispering linen, but sleep overtook him at last.


	58. Peter Repents

_Note: Thank you everyone for your encouraging feedback on the last chapter! I was in sore need of it, I'm afraid! Those of you who left signed reviews have already been thanked, but to the ones who reviewed anonymously let me say: THANK YOU! Your loyal readership is always so much appreciated, and I love each one of you for taking the time to comment. Thank you!_

**Chapter Fifty-Eight: Peter Repents**

Remus awoke very early the following morning. After Madam Pomfrey came to dose him and to help him to the toilet and back, he settled in bed wearing his own nightshirt and propped up with some dignity against the pillows. By the time he heard the door of the outer ward swing open with an enthusiastic _bang_, Remus was ready to receive his visitors.

Predictably, Sirius was the first one into the room, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of Remus sitting up in bed. He offered a rousing greeting as he flung himself in the chair by the bed and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

'Good morning!' said James brightly, following close upon his best friend's heels. 'You're looking really well, you know.'

'Thank you,' Remus said, though he had seen himself in the mirror less than half an hour ago and he knew it was not quite true. In fact he was thinner than he had been, and the shadows under his eyes were still as dark as bruises, but at least there was a little colour in his cheeks and his lips were neither grey nor cracking. He supposed in comparison to this time last month he did indeed look just fine.

'G'morning,' mumbled Peter, sliding into the room after James and moving to lean against the wall in the corner again. He did not seem able to look Remus in the eye, but the moment the other boy's attention was drawn elsewhere he began to make a furtive assessment of him as if looking for signs of the wolf.

'Good morning,' Remus said softly. He wondered what Peter was thinking, and what might have happened if he had only opened his eyes the night before, but of course he could not ask. In any case he had agreed not to speak to Peter any more than was strictly necessary, and so the salutation was as far as he could go without violating that pact.

'How're you feeling?' Sirius asked, raking over Remus with his eyes and coming to rest upon the bulge in his sleeve where his right arm was still bandaged. His brows furrowed ominously. 'Hasn't that silly witch finished fixing you up yet?'

'You mustn't say things like that about Madam Pomfrey!' Remus cried, shocked by the indignant tone of his own voice but unable to help himself any longer. 'She's very good to me. Healing cursed wounds isn't easy, and sometimes she needs to do it in stages so as not to hurt me. I can't have you speaking ill of her, Sirius! It isn't right.'

Sirius sat back, clearly chagrined. 'Hey, no harm meant, mate…' he said, holding up his hands in surrender.

'I know,' Remus sighed, deflating a little against the cushions. 'I didn't mean to snap like that, Sirius. Only you don't understand. Madam Pomfrey takes such good care of me and she doesn't – she never – she wouldn't…'

'She cares,' James said softly. There was agony in his eyes and his face was twisting into an expression of misery. 'She cares whether you live or die. And… and most healers don't.'

The instinctive urge to console his friend was superseded by the need to make his point. 'That's right,' Remus said firmly. 'So you aren't allowed to question her. If… if you do, you can't visit me anymore!'

The silence that followed this pronouncement was sickening. Remus felt his heart hammering in his chest while every fibre of his being shrieked in horror. How could he have said such a thing? How could he have put the matron's reputation before his friends' feelings? What if they decided that he was not worth such a condition, and refused to come and see him ever again? What if they decided that if he was going to lecture them they did not want him at all anymore? Who wanted to be friends with a sanctimonious werewolf?

'Well, all right then,' Sirius said at last. His tone was rather heavy and Remus bit down on the inside of his cheek so that he would not burst into tears when the verdict came down. 'No more questioning the matron. Pomfrey knows best.'

'Pomfrey knows best,' James agreed, nodding resolutely. 'I'll even embroider it on a pillow if you want me to.'

The thought of James bent over a birch hoop stretched with cambric, plying a needle full of colourful silk was too much for Remus. He began to laugh, mirth and relief mingling into a sort of hysteria. He bent forward as his diaphragm began to ache, clutching at the bedclothes and dimly aware that the others were laughing too. James was giggling uneasily, obviously shocked by the spectacle of his friend – still wan and sickly – doubling up in a fit of merriment. Sirius was chuckling, shaking his head ruefully. Even Peter, just visible through the moisture gathering in the corner of his right eye, was sniggering a little, nervously.

The door to the isolation ward flew open and Madam Pomfrey stood upon the threshold, jaw slackened. Remus looked up at her, aware that his face was contorted into an alarming rictus of laughter but unable to stop himself. His side was beginning to burn and his ribs were jerking uncontrollably, but despite the needles of pain shooting through him he could not stop laughing.

'What in the world…' The matron hurried forward, and Sirius leapt out of her way as she took hold of Remus. He found himself leaning against her, clutching at her arms and trying to control himself. 'What is going on in here?'

'J-James!' Remus panted, forcing the words out between giggles. 'James p-promised he'd – em-embroider… me… a _pillow_…'

His laughter redoubled, high-pitched now and punctuated with increasingly painful wheezes. Madam Pomfrey looked helplessly from James to Sirius. Neither of them was laughing anymore, but each wore a matching look of bemused guilt. James shrugged helplessly and Sirius held up his hands.

'Don't look at me,' he said. '_I_ said nothing about pillows, embroidered or otherwise.'

'You're not going to hold me to that, are you Remus?' James asked, leaning in to be seen around the Matron's hip. 'Because I haven't got time to learn needlepoint, what with Quidditch practice and detention and all…'

'S-stop! _Please_ stop!' choked Remus. He was trying with all his might to arrest the increasingly excruciating spasms under his lungs, and further deadpanning was not helpful.

Madam Pomfrey was now supporting him with one arm and tracing circles on his back with the other. It was precisely the gesture she would have made if he had been hysterical with panic instead of mirth, but it proved just as effective in this case. The euphoria slipped away, leaving him hiccoughing quietly into the crook of the matron's elbow. A moment later he felt the rim of a glass brushing against his lower lip, and he took a cautious sip of water.

'There now,' said the witch soothingly. 'Laughter may be the best medicine, but an overdose can still be uncomfortable. Deep breaths, Remus dear, and drink up.'

By the time the cup was empty Remus was calm again. He let Madam Pomfrey settle him back against the cushions and gladly accepted the handkerchief she offered him. He dabbed at his eyes and let out a tiny, rueful chuckle.

'I'm sorry, Madam,' he said earnestly. 'I didn't mean to disturb you.'

The matron smoothed her apron and reached up a practiced hand to straighten her cap. 'You didn't disturb me, my boy,' she said. 'And as you're my only patient at present you didn't disturb anyone else, either. I do approve of a little good cheer to speed recovery, but do be sure not to strain yourself.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said solemnly.

Sirius snorted into his hands. When Madam Pomfrey turned to look at him he straightened, eyes wide in an attempt at an innocent expression.

'It seems to me,' said the matron ponderously, consulting her watch; 'that lessons are starting in seven minutes' time. Perhaps if there are young men about who would like a detention-free evening in which to visit with their friend, they ought to be running along?'

There were hurried farewells from Sirius and James, while Peter scrambled for the door. In less than a minute Remus and the matron were left alone, listening to the thunder of retreating footsteps as the three boys charged off to their lessons.

'Well, now,' Madam Pomfrey said, turning back to her patient with a small noise of satisfaction. 'What would you say to some coddled eggs on toast?'

_~discidium~_

Remus found to his amazement that he was able to finish almost all of his breakfast. Afterwards he found himself pleasantly drowsy, and so he curled up and slept for a while. When he awoke shortly before noon the matron helped him out of his nightshirt so that she could finish mending his right arm. The resulting scar was low-lying and not in the least strained, and Remus almost found himself wishing that he had the courage to show it to Sirius as proof of Madam Pomfrey's competence.

After that he had a warm bath that went a long way to easing the residual aches in his limbs. While he was washing himself Madam Pomfrey changed the linens on the bed, and when he returned to it he was able to revel in the delicious feeling of a clean body between clean sheets. He did not get near the end of his lunch, but that was because the matron had brought more than usual. He finished all of the barley soup and half of the chicken sandwich and every morsel of chocolate mousse, leaving only the roasted carrots and the sweet roll untouched.

He penned a careful reply to his mother's letter, for of course he did not want to set either of his parents fretting about the fact that the other boys knew the truth. Madam Pomfrey took the finished missive and promised to send it at once by a very reliable owl. Remus had just spread out the notes that James had taken for him in Defence Against the Dark Arts when there came a low tap on the door. He knew it was not Madam Pomfrey, for she had only just left him and in any case it was the matron's prerogative to enter without waiting for a response. Nor was it Sirius or James, surely, for they would have hammered on the wood – or at least beat out a pattern. Remus felt his heart spring into his throat. Could it perhaps be Peter?

'Come in?' he said unsteadily, hastily gathering the papers into a sheaf and clutching them to his body.

The door swung inward and Remus could not help the audible sigh of relief when he saw who it was.

'Good afternoon, Mr Lupin,' Professor McGonagall said, smiling kindly as she closed the door and moved to take the chair next to the bed. 'I must say you're looking very much improved already.'

'Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor,' Remus said, nodding his head and noticing that there was almost no pain when he did so. 'I… I did much better this month. I expect I shall be back in lessons tomorrow.'

'I see I've interrupted your schoolwork,' observed McGonagall, peering at the notes through her spectacles. 'Perhaps I might persuade you to lay Defence aside for a little while? We could go over yesterday's lesson if you wish.'

'Haven't you a class to take?' Remus said worriedly. He did not want to be accused of dragging teachers away from their duties.

'Not until two o'clock,' McGonagall assured him with a small appreciative smile. 'Have you the notes Mr Black made for you as well?'

Remus nodded, twisting his torso to pick them out of the pile on the side table. 'I'm afraid I haven't even looked at them yet, ma'am,' he confessed.

'Small wonder, on the second day,' McGonagall said kindly. She took the parchment from him and perused it carefully. 'I must admit he did a very thorough job,' she said. 'I suppose I have you to thank for my unusually quiet lesson yesterday. I very much expected Black to try something on Andrews, but it seems perhaps he was too busy actually paying attention to what I was saying.' She looked at Remus with a little gleam in her eye. 'It seems that having the truth out among your friends is good for everyone concerned.'

'Yes, Professor,' Remus said earnestly. The transformation had been easier without his usual fretting. Madam Pomfrey seemed glad to have the other boys to divert his attention from his convalescence. And Sirius was not wreaking havoc in Transfiguration despite temptation so obvious that it had not escaped the teacher's notice. 'I think it is.'

'I take it then that all is well?' asked McGonagall earnestly. 'The other boys are coping, and they are not holding to at any disadvantage?'

Remus thought briefly about his arrangement with Peter – but surely that did not count as putting him at a disadvantage. After all, Peter had agreed to keep his secret, and the loss of their friendship was hurting him just as much as it hurt Remus. 'No, not at all, Professor,' Remus said. 'They've all been very good about it. James has been a little anxious over me, but it's only because he cares. And Sirius didn't even need to think about it.'

'It seems to me that Mr Black rarely thinks about anything before taking action,' said McGonagall pensively. 'Nevertheless I am delighted that his instincts proved sound in this case. He seems refreshingly determined to chart his own course through life.'

Remus was not quite certain whether he had been meant to hear that remark, but he certainly agreed with the sentiment. Having met Sirius's family, he harboured no illusions that his friend's support was at least to some degree an act of defiance.

Professor McGonagall was watching him in that inscrutable way that always made Remus think that she could read his thoughts. 'I have been meaning to ask you, Lupin, whether Pettigrew has seen sense,' she said. 'I know that the Headmaster spoke with him, but I did wonder…'

Had the question arisen the previous afternoon Remus might have found himself in a moral dilemma. He had promised, after all, to keep Peter's true feelings secret. Yet lying to a teacher was a serious offence, and he did not want to give Professor McGonagall any cause to think less of him. Today, however, he had last evening's strange encounter to consider.

'I think he's beginning to see, Professor,' he said softly. 'He's only a little frightened of me.'

'Frankly, Lupin, I cannot imagine anyone in their right mind being frightened of you,' McGonagall said with a small, kindly smile. 'Though I suppose that is not what a boy of your age likes to hear.'

'No, ma'am, it is,' Remus said hurriedly. 'I don't want anyone to be afraid of me. I'd rather they think me harmless. I… I _am_ harmless most of the time. Or I try to be.' It was a feeble protestation, laced thickly with doubt and the need for reassurance.

Professor McGonagall nodded. 'So you do,' she said. 'At least in as much as the closest friend of two dedicated mischief-makers can.' Again her eyes glinted in amusement. 'From what I hear Madam Pomfrey is making a great sacrifice in the name of seeing you properly cheered up.'

'I'm afraid they're rather boisterous,' Remus admitted, flushing a little. 'It's just in their nature. I know I oughtn't to encourage them, but—'

'But it's pleasant to have companions of your own age to visit you instead of just a stuffy old professor,' said McGonagall. Remus gaped at her, shocked by the words and by the realization that there were, in some way, true. Before he could stammer out a protest she patted his arm. 'Never mind,' she said. 'I may not be riveting company but I'm sure I can be useful. Now, what do you say that we turn back to the business of making rabbits into slippers?' She consulted the notes briefly. 'Of course you must learn the concept, but when you are ready you may come to my office and make slippers into rabbits for your practical.'

'You remembered,' Remus said softly.

'Certainly I remembered,' said the teacher, sounding almost insulted by the intimation that she might not. 'I think you will find that I have an exceedingly keen memory, Mr Lupin.'

'Yes, ma'am,' he murmured, but he was smiling. It meant a great deal to him to know that one of his teachers understood him and was willing to be patient with him. His resolve to apply himself in Transfiguration redoubled, as it did after each such visit. He listened raptly as McGonagall started into an expurgated version of yesterday's lesson, preparing his questions with care as he did so.

_~discidium~_

Remus was dozing contentedly over his History of Magic notes when someone rapped at the door. He raised his head off of his chest with an involuntary snort, before realizing as he had last time that it was not the matron, and he had to give permission for the caller to enter.

'C'min,' he mumbled, pushing himself up into a more upright posture and scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. There was a little bead of dribble on his chin and he swiped at it with his cuff as the door slid open and a rather portly little figure slipped inside.

'Hello,' Remus said, rather startled. It was not that he had not expected to see Peter, but rather that he had assumed the other boy would be dragged in on the coattails of Sirius and James, reluctant and resigned. For him to come alone, in the middle of the afternoon while the others were surely free of classroom obligations, did not seem to bode well.

'Hello,' mumbled Peter, checking to be sure the door was tightly closed. He seemed to have come fresh from Charms: he had his satchel slung over his shoulder and his wand was poking out of his pocket. Remus noticed that he still had dirt under his nails from Herbology, and there was a faint smell about him that seemed to indicate that the morning's Potions class had not gone well for him. His tired and harried expression bore testament to a hard day, and Remus felt a pang of longing. Little more than a month ago he would have been the one Peter turned to for sympathy and a kind word at a time like this. Now Peter could not even bear to look him in the eye as he shuffled forward.

'Where are Sirius and James?' Remus asked.

'They're busy,' Peter muttered, wringing his hands nervously. 'Sirius said to tell you they'd be along in half an hour and he's very, very sorry, but it needs to be done now.'

'What needs to be done now?' Remus asked uneasily. Sirius had not yet failed to come to see him the minute he was free. Had he perhaps decided that waiting upon a sick werewolf was not an auspicious use of his time?

'They heard a rumour,' Peter whispered.

'W-what sort of rumour?' Remus forced himself to stop trying to concoct explanations. His imaginings promised terrible things, and it was just as likely that the reason for the others' absence had nothing whatever to do with him.

'That S-Snape and Mulciber planned to go after another firstie,' Peter said. His ears were turning a brilliant shade of pink, and he appeared to be perspiring heavily. Suddenly Remus understood.

'Where did they hear this rumour?' he asked gently.

Peter looked up guiltily. 'From me,' he confessed.

Remus closed his eyes briefly. 'And where did you hear it?'

'I didn't,' Peter said miserably. 'I just made it up. I wanted to see you alone and it seemed the only way to distract them.'

'Oh, Peter…' The exhalation was low and mournful, but as much as he wished he could merely be disappointed in the other boy's underhanded tactics Remus knew that he was just as much to blame. If he had not put Peter into the position of having to choose between his friends and his principles, the younger boy would not have felt obliged to tell such a lie.

'I know I shouldn't have done it,' Peter said. 'But I mean Mulciber and Snape can look after themselves and they probably deserve it anyway. That's what James always says, isn't it?'

Remus was about to protest that just because James always said it did not necessarily make it right, but he held his tongue. Who was he to hurt Peter's perception of his idol? Who was he to rob Peter of the comfort of having someone strong and charismatic to follow? And even more importantly, who was he to criticise James?

'All the same,' Remus said, feeling obligated nonetheless to provide an argument against Peter's choice; 'you shouldn't have done it. What if they get into a scuffle? Sirius and James could get hurt. At the very least they'll be disciplined.'

Peter's face crumpled. 'I didn't think of that,' he said miserably. 'I… I'm not very clever, I know. It wasn't a good plan.'

Remus was inclined to agree, but to say as much would have been cruel. Though he did not especially wish to, he knew that the only thing to do was to change the course of the conversation. 'Why did you want to see me alone?' he asked softly.

Though Remus would not have thought it possible Peter's misery seemed to intensify.

'You were such a good friend,' he began awkwardly.

Remus steeled himself. He did not feel well enough yet to endure another of these anguished conversations, and he prayed that he had the fortitude to keep from breaking down in tears and begging Peter to forgive him. He knew that such pleas would be useless anyhow, and he wanted very badly to hold onto his dignity.

'You were a good friend, too,' he said quietly.

'You… these last weeks…' Peter stammered. 'You… Madam Pomfrey said, she made me see, you've still… you've still been acting like my friend, haven't you? Even though you said I didn't have to be yours anymore.'

'I've tried to,' said Remus. 'You haven't done anything wrong and it wouldn't be fair to treat you differently or to punish you.'

Peter let out a ragged puff of air and covered his face with his plump little hands. 'I've been punishing _you_ though, haven't I?' he whimpered.

'It isn't the same thing,' murmured Remus. 'I lied to you. I let you think I was a normal boy. That was wrong. I never should have let you believe that.'

'I always knew you weren't a normal boy,' Peter whispered, parting his fingers ever so slightly and squinting at Remus from between them. 'Normal boys call me names and poke fun because I'm fat and slow and rather thick. You were always so patient. Sirius and James – they never offer to help me study. Even when I _ask_ for help they brush me off. And I know they only let me come along in the first place because you put in a good word for me. I may be thick, but I'm not stupid.'

'No,' Remus said gently. 'I've never thought you're stupid. It's just that some things don't come as easily for you as they do for James and Sirius. That's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm not as bright as they are, either.'

'You are,' Peter said. 'You just… you're not as showy as they are. You don't get noticed.' His hands fell away from his face and he hung his head. 'Do you know how badly I wish _I _didn't get noticed?'

'I try very hard not to be noticed,' Remus admitted. 'If nobody notices me when I'm there then maybe no one will notice me when I'm gone. I don't think that Andrews or Rosier would be as kind as you've been, keeping my secret and letting me stay on at Hogwarts. Do you?'

Peter sniffled. 'You really think that, don't you?' he asked wonderingly. 'That I've been kind, I mean.'

'You've certainly been more than fair,' Remus told him. 'You're tolerating me as best you can. I couldn't ever expect you to do more than that.'

'That isn't what Sirius thinks,' said Peter. 'And it isn't what Madam Pomfrey says. She says if… if I want to have my friend back all I need to do is ask.'

Remus bit down upon his lip, unwilling to allow himself to hope. He was not certain that he could bear the disappointment that would surely follow.

But Peter took a faltering step nearer to the bed. His head was bowed and his hands were clasped over his belly. His lower lip was trembling.

'R-Remus?' he said, his voice so quiet and tremulous that it was scarcely audible. 'Would you, could you be my friend again? Please?'

'I will,' Remus breathed without hesitation. 'Of course I will!'

Suddenly round little arms were tugging him into a desperate embrace, and he could feel Peter snuffling softly against the collar of his nightshirt. Remus placed his hands on the other boy's back, letting himself be drawn into the hug. There were tears running down his cheeks, but he did not mind them now. Dignity in the face of adversity was necessary if he was to cling to the remnants of his self-respect, but at a moment like this tears were permitted. His relief and his gratitude and his happiness could not be expressed in any other way.

'I'm sorry,' Peter whimpered, tightening his hold. 'I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. Madam Pomfrey explained. Sh-she said you were just a little boy when it happened! She said you're ill, and you need us to understand that, and if you could be well you'd choose to be, and it isn't your fault, not really. I'm sorry, Remus. I… I hurt you, didn't I?'

Remus did not trust himself to respond to that question. Of course Peter's words and actions had hurt him, but he could certainly understand them. It was no more than a werewolf deserved, after all, and he was not about to deny Peter any comfort he could offer.

'Don't think of it,' he said softly, patting Peter between the shoulder blades and noticing happily that the weeping seemed to be easing up a little. 'I understand. I'm glad you changed your mind, but I do understand.'

Peter wriggled out of the hug, wiping his nose on his sleeve and sniffing unsteadily. 'I'm… I'm still a little scared of you,' he confessed, clearly determined to unburden himself completely. 'I'm not brave like James and Sirius. It's frightening, to know that you could eat me.'

Remus wished that he could keep from feeling the hurt at those words. The accusation was a just one, irrefutably true. 'Only when the moon is full,' he said quietly. 'And that's why I'm locked away; so that I can't hurt anyone. Peter, I would never hurt you.'

'She said that, too,' said Peter. 'And she asked why I thought you'd changed. And… and I couldn't tell her. Because you haven't changed, have you? It's just that now I know the truth, isn't it? I mean, you've been a w— a w— a… you-know-w-what for years and years.'

Remus nodded mechanically. He was not certain whether Peter's avoidance of the word was a good sign or not, but he could not deny that he preferred not to hear it. 'Ever since I was four,' he admitted.

'Four…' Peter echoed, his brow furrowing as he tried to conceive of how young this was. He looked at Remus desolately. 'You were so _little_,' he moaned. Then his eyes grew wide. 'That's why you'd never had any friends before us,' he said. 'I always wondered why people wouldn't want to be your friend…'

'Now you know,' Remus said quietly. He stopped himself before drawing the obvious comparison. Peter had suffered too much already for the unwitting crime of befriending a Dark creature. It was not fair to force him to face such truths. 'Peter, I can't thank you properly. I don't know how to thank you for agreeing to put up with me even though you were afraid. I'm grateful for that, truly I am. I know you've always done your best to be good to me.'

Peter grinned rather wetly. 'I suppose I have, haven't I?' he said, puffing out his chest a little. 'Only my best will be better now, I promise.'

Remus offered a small smile in return. 'My best will be better now, too,' he said. 'I can't help that I'm a werewolf, but I'll always try to be a good friend in spite of that.'

Peter nodded, and for a moment he was silent. 'Remus?' he said at last.

'Yes?' Remus said.

Peter hefted his satchel onto the bed and pulled out a roll of parchment badly spattered with in. 'You could help me with my Transfiguration questions if you want to be a good friend,' he said.

Remus felt his smile widen. He was accepted after all. 'I'd love to help you,' he said earnestly.

Peter pulled up the chair and leaned forward with his arms on the bed. Remus reached for his own notes, courtesy of Sirius, and began to go over the assignment with Peter. At first he found himself proceeding rather too quickly, for he had forgotten how rudimentary the explanations had to be. He was out of practice in tutoring Peter, but he found the rhythm again quickly enough. The smaller boy watched him intently, his brows furrowed in concentration. The expression he wore was not the awed worship he reserved for James, nor the almost fearful admiration he had for Sirius, but there was a quiet respect in his eyes, and Remus was grateful for that.

They were almost halfway through the assignment when the door popped open and Sirius and James came in. James was grinning happily, but Sirius's smile disappeared as soon as he laid eyes upon Remus.

'You've been crying!' he exclaimed, and Remus realized too late that there were still salty tracks down his cheeks where his tears had dried. 'Damn you, Pettigrew, what did you do?'

Peter whirled in his seat, cowering against the bed.

'Sirius…' James said placatingly.

'No! I want answers!' Sirius roared. 'He's been acting dodgy all week, and I demand to know _why_!' He crossed the room in three long strides and seized the front of Peter's robes. 'Out with it, Pettigrew! What's going on?'

'Sirius,' said Remus. He shifted his position, reaching out to prise the long fingers off of Peter's clothing. 'Sirius, don't shout at him. I was only helping Peter with his Transfiguration homework.'

Sirius whirled upon him, but anger was supplanted by suspicion. 'Yeah?' he said. 'So how come you're crying over Transfiguration homework?'

'I wasn't,' Remus said. 'I had a bad dream; I'd just woken up when Peter came in. I was so glad to see him that I forgot about my face.'

The silence was not more than five seconds, but in his horror it seemed like an eternity. He had lied. He had lied again. True, he had lied to protect Peter from Sirius's wrath, but it was a lie nonetheless. Remus felt his innards grow tight with self-loathing. He was a lying half-breed. He had done it again.

He was just about to blurt out a confession when Sirius relaxed. 'Oh,' he said. He looked at Peter, who was watching him with wide, frightened eyes. 'Oh. Sorry, Pete. My mistake.'

James snorted. 'You great paranoid berk,' he said. 'I know you like to look out for Remus, but sometimes you take it a little too far.'

The mention of taking things too far reminded Remus of the decoy that Peter had set the other two. 'You went after Snape and Mulciber?' he said warily.

'Went after, yeah,' Sirius said, flopping down across the foot of the bed and lounging with his head propped up by one hand. 'We didn't get far.'

'Gave up, didn't we?' James said. 'I told you; we're keeping out of detention until you're back in the dormitory. Can't leave you pining away of an evening with nothing to do.'

'Let the firsties fend from themselves, that's what I say,' Sirius added. 'But Potter insisted on tipping off Prefect Prewett. If Snivelly and Mulciber are planning anything they won't get far with it.'

Remus had to make a conscious effort to keep from betraying his relief. He did not like the idea of Sirius and James picking fights just because Peter had wanted a few minutes alone with him. 'It's just as well,' he said in what he hoped was a benign and sensible voice. 'That's what Prefects are for, after all.'

Sirius snorted. 'And all this time I thought Prefects were put upon this earth for the express purpose of annoying me,' he said. Then he grinned. 'How urgent are these Transfiguration questions, anyway?'

'They're due tomorrow,' Remus said solemnly. 'If you haven't started them yet I'd recommend beginning at once.'

'Who says I haven't started them yet?' said Sirius disdainfully.

Remus raised an eyebrow. 'Have you?' he asked.

Sirius smirked. 'Course not,' he said. 'I was planning to dash them off over breakfast.'

'That's no good!' said James. 'Remus might get out tomorrow, and then we'll be busy seeing him back to the dormitory. You can't be all distracted by something silly like schoolwork. _Priorities_, Black.'

Sirius conceded, and the four of them spent the next half-hour working on the study questions. At last Peter's were finished and Sirius had concluded his lazy scrawling and James had submitted his for careful perusal by the resident proof reader. Then Sirius produced the Exploding Snap deck and they got up a very pleasant game on the bed. Only when Madam Pomfrey came to shoo the others off to supper did they get up to take their leave.

'First thing tomorrow, then?' James asked, looking at the matron.

'I think so,' said Madam Pomfrey with an appraising glance at Remus. 'Provided he gets a good night's sleep and manages a proper breakfast.'

'I will,' Remus promised. 'I'd rather not miss another day. I don't want to fall behind.'

'Naturally,' Sirius said sagely, cuffing Remus very lightly on his left shoulder. 'We've already established that you're the model student.'

'Thank you for helping me, Remus,' Peter said. Reaching into his satchel he pulled out two rather squashed Chocolate Frog packets. 'I've only got two at the moment, but I've sent away for a fresh supply.'

Remus accepted the agreed-upon payment with an enormous smile. 'Thank you,' he said, hoping that Peter would understand that his gratitude went far beyond a few battered sweets.

'Off you go, now!' the matron said, waving the boys out into the main ward. 'And no poking about in my cupboards!'

'Gee, Potter,' Sirius said in a voice deliberately louder than necessary. 'D'you honestly reckon she expects us to turn down an invitation like that?'

'C'mon you daft thing,' James snorted. 'We can't afford to get ourselves banned from the hospital wing, you know.'

'Right,' Sirius said conspiratorially. 'Not if we plan to go after the wayward hexers tomorrow…'

The conversation moved out into the corridor and beyond Remus's earshot. He realized that the matron was watching him thoughtfully.

'It seems that you and Peter have patched things up,' she said mildly.

'Oh, yes, Madam. Thank you,' Remus said. 'Thank you ever so much. I know you must have had a great deal of trouble convincing him to put up with me, but—'

'Stuff and nonsense!' said the matron. 'He only needed somebody to listen and to answer his questions. He was near enough to coming around all on his own; I only hastened the process a little.' She moved the chair back to its usual place and reached out to cup her hand around the crown of Remus's head. 'You've been a very good friend to Peter, and he knows that. He just needed a little reminding, that's all.'

'Thank you all the same, ma'am,' Remus said, his voice going quiet again. 'I need all the friends I can get.'

Madam Pomfrey smiled gently. 'Don't we all, dear?' she asked.


	59. Passing on a Message

_Note: Hey, everybody! Full moon tonight…_

**Chapter Fifty-Nine: Passing on a Message**

Remus was waiting when the others arrived, having bolted down a hasty breakfast before coming to fetch him. Remus had already eaten, earning Madam Pomfrey's approval, and he had packed up his books and put on his school robes and brushed both his teeth and his hair with care. He knew that he still looked rather wan and weary, but he felt well enough and he was eager to return to his daily routine. There was nothing to dread now about the reintegration into the dormitory: Peter had chosen to try to think of him as a friend again, and there was no secret to be kept from James and Sirius.

Treble grins greeted him as his friends came into the room. Remus was sitting in the chair by his bed, and he smiled for them. 'Good morning,' he said.

'G'morning!' Sirius replied eagerly. 'Have you been given the all-clear? Are we out of here?'

'We certainly are,' said Remus proudly. It was only the third day after the full moon, and he was feeling better than he usually did on the fifth.

'That's a relief,' James said. He obviously meant for it to come out as a joke but there was no mistaking the genuine thanks in his tone.

Peter edged around Sirius. 'Can I – _may_ I carry your bag, Remus? Can I?' he asked.

'Thank you, Peter,' Remus said, his smile growing wider. 'That would be wonderful.'

A moment later Peter had the satchel slung over his free shoulder and Remus, flanked by Sirius and James, was on his feet and moving out into the main ward.

Madam Pomfrey was standing in her office door, waiting to see him off.

'Now, you mind that you don't overexert yourself,' she said. 'And don't you boys keep him up all night.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Sirius said, without an ounce of cheek. 'We'll look out for him, I promise.'

'I'm going to hold you to that, Mr Black,' said the matron. She moved to hold the door open for them and watched as they made their way out into the corridor.

'Free at last!' James announced as they rounded the corner and started for the stairs. 'Doesn't it get awfully dull, sitting there for days on end?'

'It wasn't dull this time,' Remus said softly, looking to his right and then to his left at the caring faces around him. 'Thank you.'

'Least we could do, mate!' Sirius assured him, clapping Remus on the shoulder. 'Have you eaten? We could make a run for the Great Hall if you haven't.'

'Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me leave without a good breakfast,' Remus reproached. His tone was not lost on Sirius, who threw up his hands.

'Right you are then,' he said. 'Didn't mean to question her.'

Remus found himself gnawing on his lip, and he halted at the head of the stairs, turning to look at his friend. 'Sirius, I'm sorry,' he said humbly. 'I never should have raised my voice to you like that. Please… I didn't mean it.'

'Don't be daft; of course you meant it!' Sirius snorted. 'I was bang out of order and you put me in my place. I'll admit I've never seen you so wound up, but I reckon we had it coming. Didn't we, James?'

'Absolutely,' said the bespectacled boy firmly. 'It won't happen again.'

He started down the stairs and Remus followed him, Sirius half a step behind and Peter bringing up the rear. Though Remus was grateful for his friends' loyalty and their willingness to oblige him in this he was also ashamed. Immediately before and after a transformation he always found his emotions more labile, more difficult to control. His mother had always shown endless patience for his mercurial temperament, and his father generally looked the other way. Madam Pomfrey, of course, was eternally unflappable. But if Sirius, James and Peter were going to be hanging about the hospital wing after every full moon Remus needed to learn how to control himself. The memory of his overreaction, both to Sirius's slighting of the matron and to James's joke, filled him with unease and a profound embarrassment. Such a thing must not happen again.

They reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom before any of their fellows, and took their customary seats. James and Sirius were soon locked in a lively debate as to the best way to proactively identify and neutralize a Hinkypunk when the rest of the class began to arrive.

'You're back!' Lily Evans exclaimed, halting just beyond the threshold and smiling at Remus. 'Are you all right? You don't look well.'

'He's fine,' Sirius said. 'What business is it of yours, anyhow?'

James elbowed him in the ribs. 'Remus has been down with a touch of the flu,' he said. 'He's much better now, and before you ask he's not catching, either.'

'I see,' Lily said, brilliant green eyes narrowing as she looked at James. 'And has he lost his tongue as well? I'll thank you to keep out of my conversations, Potter.'

'I'm much better now,' Remus said softly, anxious to defuse the situation before James took offence or Sirius did something rash. 'Thank you for asking.'

Lily favoured him with a small smile. 'I'm glad to hear that,' she said. 'My mum always says the best cure for the flu is a good hot dish of camomile tea with just a dash of honey.'

'I'll remember that. Thank you,' said Remus.

Lily moved off and Sirius and James looked at one another. 'Not half nosey, isn't she?' asked Sirius.

'She was only being nice,' Remus whispered. 'You mustn't ever make a fuss about the fact that I'm gone, or pick upon people who notice I'm back. If you do, then they're more likely to remember the encounter, and then…'

'And then they'll spot a pattern,' James murmured. 'I've got you. Right. No picking on people who ask after you. But I mean, flu's a good story, isn't it? It's that time of year.'

Remus nodded. 'Flu is believable once,' he said; 'but you mustn't use it again this year. And you need to be sure that everyone hears the same story.' His cheeks burned as he realized what he had said. 'I mean you needn't lie for me,' he mumbled, casting his eyes into his lap.

'Best all 'round if we keep our mouths shut, I'd say,' Sirius observed. 'You've got much more practice at this sort of thing.'

'Bloody uncalled-for, mate,' James said, shaking his head.

Sirius's face morphed into a contrite mask. 'Hey, Remus, I didn't mean that you—'

Remus shook his head. 'Please, let's not talk about this here,' he said. The seats near to them were beginning to fill and he prayed that his friends would understand the need to be circumspect.

'Right,' said Sirius with the tone of one cottoning on to a difficult concept at last. 'Right, it's more a dormitory topic, isn't it?'

'That's his point, yeah,' James said.

'We could talk about something else,' suggested Peter. 'Are we going to go exploring today?'

'Let's make that decision after lessons,' said James, nodding pointedly at Remus, who offered a small grateful smile. The expression covered a niggling unease. How long would it be, he wondered, before his energetic companions tired of making allowances for him?

Professor Meyrigg came striding into the room, tweed robes billowing around her. She surveyed the class with a satisfied smile and offered a hearty 'Good morning!'

'Good morning!' most of the students chorused. The teacher inclined her head happily and launched into her lecture.

As the class was filing out, Professor Meyrigg beckoned Remus aside. 'May I have a quick word?' she asked pleasantly.

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus mumbled, shuffling over to stand before her desk. His pulse was quickening and he hid his hands behind his back so that she would not see them tremble.

Meyrigg's eyes were kind. 'You missed Monday's lesson,' she said.

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said again. 'I've got the notes. I shan't allow myself to fall behind.'

'I never suspected that you would,' said the professor. 'I only wondered whether it might be something you would like to talk about.'

'Oh, no, ma'am,' Remus said hastily. 'No, Sirius and James have answered all my questions already, and the textbook is very clear as well. You follow it closely, which is helpful…' He let his voice trail off, aware that he was beginning to babble.

'That isn't what I meant, Remus; though of course if you ever do have any questions or concerns about the course material I am happy to listen.' Professor Meyrigg got up from her chair and moved to sit on the edge of the dais. She looked up at the boy, a thoughtful expression on her face. 'I wondered if you would like to talk about your troubles.'

'I haven't any troubles,' Remus said, too quickly. The unpleasant flopping in his stomach was either dismay at lying to a teacher or fear that she might suspect: he could not clearly identify it. 'And anyhow I think I'd talk to Professor McGonagall.'

A tiny flicker of hurt showed in Meyrigg's eyes before she softened them into an understanding smile. 'Fair enough,' she said. 'I just want you to know that – may I help you, gentlemen?'

Remus looked over his shoulder, only to realize that there stood James, Sirius and Peter, all watching the pair of them expectantly.

'Nope,' Sirius said with a cheerful grin. 'We're just here to collect Remus. Unless he's in trouble, in which case you ought to know it was probably my fault in the first place.'

'He isn't in trouble,' Meyrigg said, getting to her feet and putting her hands on her hips. A playful grin tugged at her lips. 'Though I shall be sure to remember that you're the root of it if any arises.'

'I'd appreciate it,' Sirius assured her. 'Can we go now?'

'Thank you for your concern, Professor,' Remus said; 'but it was nothing. Just a touch of the flu: not anything that needs talking about.'

'I understand,' Meyrigg assured him. 'I suppose you four had best run along: my Ravenclaw OWLs will be in directly, and I need to clear the floor.'

'Lucky sods,' James muttered as they left the classroom. 'They're probably learning all sorts of interesting counter-curses and things while we're stuck on Hinkypunks.'

'I think Hinkypunks are scary,' Peter offered. 'They remind me of all those old stories of creatures leading children off and eating them.'

'Don't worry, Peter,' Remus said. 'If you ever run across one all you need to do is keep your eyes off the lantern. It's just like ignoring Sirius when he says something that's meant to tease you.'

'Hey!' Sirius said indignantly. 'I'm not sure I like this confident and snarky new Lupin!'

Remus felt his mouth go dry. 'I didn't mean… I was only trying to be funny, Sirius. I'm sorry.'

'I for one like the new Remus,' James said. 'You needn't be afraid of us, you know.'

'I know,' Remus whispered as they slipped into History of Magic. He wasn't sure if the others had heard him until Peter leaned across the aisle.

'I don't think Sirius meant it,' he hissed reassuringly. 'He likes you just fine like this; don't worry.'

Remus smiled gratefully, nodding as he laid out a fresh piece of parchment and fixed his attention on Professor Binns. None of his friends could manage to pay attention in History of Magic more than once or twice a month: by an unspoken pact it was his responsibility to take proper notes.

_~discidium~_

That afternoon when Transfiguration let out Sirius took off at a swift trot. The other three, exchanging puzzled looks, hurried after him.

'You know,' James said as they took a corner sharply and scuttled down a flight of stairs; 'a lesser man might take offence to his friend deciding unilaterally what everyone is going to be doing with their free time.'

'Unilaterally?' Sirius snorted. 'We agreed this morning. Well, you and Pettigrew and I did anyhow. Remus doesn't mind what we do, do you Remus?'

'Not at all,' Remus said meekly.

'What's this agreement meant to be?' James asked. 'I don't recall any agreement as to the afternoon's activities.'

'I didn't agree to anything,' Peter piped up. 'Did I?'

'Of course you did!' Sirius said. They had come to an intersection of three corridors, and he looked up and down each one before adding in a conspiratorial tone; 'We all agreed to do whatever we could to help Remus.'

'And tearing around the school on your heels is going to help Remus?' James asked. 'Sometimes your logic escapes me.'

Sirius tossed his head. 'You know what your problem is, Potter? You lack imagination. And also a decent sense of direction. Remus? Tell him where we are.'

'We're on the second floor,' Remus said. He pointed down the left-hand corridor. 'The library's just around that corner.'

Sirius grinned and patted the crown of Remus's head. 'You're a treasure,' he said. 'Better than a map any day.' He took off down the left-hand corridor.

'We're going to the _library_?' James groaned, hurrying after him. 'Why in the name of Merlin's worn-out shoestrings?'

'Research,' Sirius said. He strode into the great vaulted room and took off past the circulation desk before any of the others could protest. After five minutes' meandering through the towering shelves they came to a little alcove with a table and four squashy chairs. 'Here we are,' Sirius said proudly. 'Private enough, don't you think, Remus?'

Remus looked around and nodded. The study tables were far away to their left, and this appeared to be a corner seldom visited, to judge by the layer of dust on the nearby stacks of books. Glancing at a few of the spines he realized why: it was the History of Law section – slightly less interesting, therefore, than anything that came out of the mouth of Professor Binns.

'All right, then,' James said, flopping down in one of the chairs and motioning that Remus should do the same. 'You go right ahead and research. I'm going to relax.'

'That's what you think,' Sirius informed him smugly. 'The moment we get to reading you won't be able to resist. C'mon, Peter: let's you and I grab some books.'

They disappeared amid the shelves and Remus tried to settle in his chair. His unease was mounting. He knew the sort of books Sirius was after, if he was looking for ways to help a werewolf.

'There isn't any point, you know,' he said quietly. 'There's no cure. There's nothing anybody can do.'

'Maybe,' James said, his lips tightening into a pained expression. 'But you can't blame him for wanting to try. After all, there's nothing worse than doing nothing.'

'I know it's hard for you,' Remus said quietly. 'To be with me in the hospital wing, I mean. You don't need to do it.'

'That's where you're wrong,' said James. 'If I didn't do it I'd go mad. It's the only thing I can do, even if it doesn't much help.'

'It does help,' Remus argued. 'It helps ever so much. I've never had such an easy time of it.' He sucked in a long gulp of musty air. He hadn't meant to admit to that.

Blessedly, James misunderstood. 'Yeah,' he said with a wry smile. 'I suppose it'd be awfully dull just lying there with nobody but Pomfrey for company. _Not_ that I'm criticizing her, mind,' he added hastily. 'Just that she's, well, not the sort to give you a good laugh.'

'Maybe not,' conceded Remus. 'She's very nice to talk to when you're feeling down, though. And she always seems to know just what to say.'

There was an awkward silence. 'Remus?' James said at last. 'I've been thinking about what you said about… about Madam Pomfrey and how she compares to the other healer's you've had.'

Remus felt the hot flush of mortification creeping up his neck. Bad enough to be treated like an animal without his friends knowing about it. 'Don't let's talk about it,' he begged.

'No, listen,' James said. 'I… my father… he's on the Board of Governors at St Mungo's Hospital. If you've been treated badly there he ought to know about it.'

'James…'

'I don't mean that he has to know about _you_,' James went on. 'I wouldn't need to tell him that it's anything to do with you. But… b-but if there's a Healer or two who aren't taking proper care of patients I need to tell him so that he can do something.'

Remus thought of Healer Selwyn, cruel and disrespectful not only to her patients but to her junior. He remembered her scolding Healer Ferrinby – casting a Silencing Charm upon him when he dared to speak out against her. The recollection of what had befallen the well-intentioned Trainee Healer turned his stomach, but despite his desire for retribution he could not speak out. Selwyn was not responsible for what had befallen her pupil, and in any case to mention her name would bring about obvious conclusions.

'I can't,' Remus whispered. 'You don't understand, James. All the Healers I've seen work in Dangerous Bites. Who else would they be scornful of but werewolves? I have to be careful; don't you see? Any little thing that might lead back to that… I can't afford to raise any suspicions, not ever.'

James took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Hazel eyes made vacant by myopia lolled heavenwards, accompanied by a heavy sigh. 'I'm not used to thinking like this,' he said. He wiped the lenses on his sleeve before replacing the spectacles. 'I'm not used to being careful of what I say.'

'I know,' Remus murmured. 'I'm afraid you'll have to learn. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be sorry!' James said. 'You're my friend. Friends look out for each other, protect each other. If I need to learn how to keep a secret in order to protect you, I'll do it. I know you'd do the same for me.'

Remus did not think it prudent to point out that as James was not a Dark creature the likelihood that he would need such protection was slim. Fortunately he was spared the burden of thinking of something else to say by the return of Sirius and Peter, each buried under an armload of books.

Sirius dropped his burden unceremoniously across the table, and Remus reached to take the top four volumes from Peter before he could drop the lot. The titles turned his stomach. Some were books on Defence Against the Dark Arts; others dealt with part-humans in general. Three of them were clearly dedicated to werewolves, and none of those three looked even remotely impartial.

Sirius reached into his bag and fished out _The Werewolf Elucidated_. 'Lots of good general interest stuff in this one,' he said; 'but Gray's not got a word about cures. Spells his name wrong and all. Stupid prat.'

'There is no cure,' Remus said leadenly, looking again at the heap of books. 'You'll not find anything different in these.'

'How do you know 'til you try?' Sirius asked.

'I _have_ tried,' Remus whispered, hating the way that his voice wavered.

James was eyeing one of the Defence texts as if it was about to bite him. 'I don't know, Sirius,' he said dubiously. 'Shouldn't we just let it alone for a little while? I mean… there's no hurry, is there?'

'No hurry?' Sirius cried. 'We've only got twenty-six days 'til the next—'

'You ought to keep the noise down, Black,' a sneering voice said. All four boys looked around, but there was no one to be seen. Then one of the books on the shelf across from the alcove slid forward out of its place, landing splayed upon the floor. In the gap left by it a pair of deep blue eyes glittered menacingly. 'This _is_ a library after all.'

Sirius was on his feet in an instant, wand drawn. Taking his cue from his friend, James rose as well. There were footsteps on the other side of the shelf, and a moment later Phillip Avery rounded the corner, a roll of parchment in his off-hand and his wand drawn. He waved it slowly from James to Sirius and back.

'Don't try it,' he snarled in his nasal voice. 'Don't you dare try it.'

'Aw, why would we hex you?' Sirius asked, curling his lip. 'You've only burst in on our study space brandishing your wand and telling us what we should and shouldn't be doing. And all alone, too. That's not much like you.'

'Brave,' James concurred, nodding his head ponderously. 'Stupid, but brave.'

'You wouldn't dare,' Avery snapped. 'The librarian's just 'round the corner. Besides, I'm just passing on a message.'

Sirius's eyes narrowed. 'What kind of message?'

Avery smirked. 'What makes you think I've got any idea? I'm just doing a favour for a friend.'

'Are you, now,' James said, taking a step forward and positioning his feet so that he could slide swiftly into a duelling stance if the need arose. 'This _friend _wouldn't happen to be a certain third year with an evil sense of humour, would it? A certain third year who likes to hunt firsties for sport?'

'Maybe,' said Avery. 'Maybe not. I'm just passing on a message.' He flicked the roll of parchment pointedly, and Sirius very nearly shot off a hex before he realized which hand was moving.

'Potter?' he said, looking sidelong at James.

'Go ahead,' said James. 'I've got you covered. Any funny business, Avery, and your tongue will start sprouting purple pustules.'

'Really, Potter, I wish you wouldn't be so hostile,' Avery said. 'I've got no problem with you: Black's the blood traitor and the disappointment to his family. Black's the one who's turning his back on everything we stand for. You're just a silly misguided Gryffindor git from a long line of silly misguided Gryffindor gits. It's a blood defect in your case, and it'll have to be bred out.'

'Do you even know what all those words mean, Avery?' James asked. 'And if you do, how exactly do you propose to breed the Gryffindor out of the Potters? We don't go in for fawning stupid creatures or girls who look like they ought to be wrestling trolls – and as far as I can see that's all Slytherin has to offer.'

'Well, I suppose they could pair you with a Hufflepuff,' Sirius said conversationally. 'But I'm not sure what they'd have then. A Huffledor? A Gryffinpuff?'

'Definitely a Gryffinpuff,' James said sagely. 'Would you please take the letter already so that we can get rid of this irritating little person?'

'Watch who you're calling little, Potter!' Avery yelped. 'You may be the new Quidditch marvel, but I've got friends who could grind you into a fine paste.'

'Right,' James said. 'Friends who almost trust you to deliver their mail.'

'What d'you mean _almost_ trust me?' growled the other boy.

'That seal on the parchment?' James said, nodding at it. 'It's Tamper-Resistant Wax. It's charmed so the sender knows if it's broken by anyone but the recipient. Looks like somebody thought you might try and snoop.'

Avery looked at the letter, his face contorting angrily. Then he thrust it at Sirius. 'Take your stupid message!' he said angrily. 'And don't you dare try and hex me the minute my back is turned.'

'What do you take us for?' Sirius asked disdainfully. 'Slytherins?'

'Gryffinpuffs,' said James.

Avery made a noise of disgust deep in his throat and backed away, disappearing around the shelf. They heard his footsteps retreating at a brisk trot, followed by Madam Pince's irate voice admonishing him for running in the library.

Sirius was studying the seal on the scroll. 'I've never heard of Tamper-Resistant Wax,' he said.

'No reason you should have,' James said, tucking his wand into his robes and resuming his seat with a smirk. 'I only just made it up.'

'Who's it from?' Remus asked.

'What's it say?' said Peter.

'It doesn't say anything,' James told him. Then he and Sirius chorused together; 'You have to read it.'

Sirius broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. His eyes skimmed deftly over it and a wicked grin spread across his face. 'Well, well,' he said silkily. 'It seems we're invited to a meeting of the minds on the fifth floor by that statue of the peg-legged goblin at midnight tonight. I say _meeting of the minds_, of course, when what I mean is the meeting of two minds – that's yours and mine, Potter – with whatever Slytherin manages to dredge up in lieu of.'

'Would you talk sense, man?' James asked, feigning exasperation that was undercut somewhat by his grin.

'Mulciber,' Sirius said, tapping the signature line with his index finger. 'What do you want to bet that he and Snivelly are looking for a little revenge for shopping them to Prewett yesterday?'

'Ooh, I do hope so,' said James. He rubbed his hands together gleefully. 'After all, if they're going after _us_ we can hardly be expected to take it lying down.'

Sirius rolled up the piece of parchment and shoved it into his satchel. 'Midnight tonight, then,' he said. He looked at the heap of books, and his brow furrowed worriedly. 'Remus?' he said. 'Would you mind terribly if maybe we left this for another day? I think we ought to scout out the fifth floor corridor.'

'Yes, please,' Remus said, enormously relieved.

'I don't know,' Peter put in, shifting uneasily in his chair. 'What if it's a trap?'

'That's why we're scouting,' Sirius said, gathering up his belongings.

'We ought to put the books away,' James pointed out.

Sirius snorted. 'What exactly do you think librarians are for?' he asked.

'Yeah,' James said. 'But isn't it a little bit suspicious to walk away from a pile full of werewolf books? I mean, what if Avery comes back and sees what we were looking at or something.'

'You're right,' Remus breathed, his stomach contracting uneasily. 'He's right, Sirius.'

'All right, then,' Sirius said, snatching up several books and piling them into Peter's arms before collecting the rest himself. 'We'll sign 'em out. You're not worried about Pince catching on, are you? She doesn't even know anyone's name, much less who's missing for a day or two.'

'Then we can work on the problem on our time,' James said, nodding in comprehension. 'None of this closes-at-eight-o'clock nonsense.'

'Precisely,' Sirius said.

'And more privacy,' added James, winking at Remus.

'All right,' Remus said, trying to hide his unease. He was not at all comfortable with the notion of sharing a dormitory with a phalanx of werewolf reference books, but he could not blame his friends for hoping. His parents had held out hope for years, and he with them. Remus only wished that he might somehow spare his friends the awful moment when they would be forced to face the truth.

_~discidium~_

After a brief detour to Gryffindor Tower to drop off the library books, the four boys made their way down to the fifth floor and the statue of the peg-legged goblin. It was a narrow corridor a good distance from the Astronomy and Arithmancy offices and far from any classroom. A quick search of the immediate area revealed no sign of cleaning cupboards or toilets – or anything else that seemed likely to draw the caretaker's attention in the dead of night. It was an inner corridor, with no windows, and all of the doors opening off of it were locked. It seemed the perfect place for a clandestine meeting.

'Of course,' Remus pointed out as they went down to supper that evening; 'it's possible that Mulciber's just trying to lure you out after hours. Perhaps he won't show at all, and you'll be caught breaking curfew.'

'You mean _we'll _be caught, don't you?' James asked. 'You and Peter are coming, of course.'

'Don't be such an insensitive sod,' Sirius snorted. 'Perhaps Remus doesn't want to spend his first night out of the hospital wing lurking in disused corridors waiting for angry Slytherins.'

'It isn't that,' said Remus. 'Peter and I weren't invited, were we? I mean, the letter only mentions the two of you.'

'So?' asked James. 'Whither I go, there goest my friends. If they're not welcome I'm not welcome.'

'It isn't a garden party!' Sirius snorted. 'It's a duel. Or a punch-up. Or something equally exciting. It doesn't matter if you've been _invited_. If you want to come and lend your support, of course you can come. If you're tired, you can stay in the dormitory.'

'It isn't very sportsmanlike to bring extra hands,' Remus pointed out. 'Four against two is hardly fair.'

'Third year against second is hardly fair,' Sirius pointed out. 'Though I'll admit any one of us would be more than a match for Snivelly; we've proved that often enough. Well, excepting Peter, of course.'

Peter flushed a little, but he turned pleading eyes on Remus. 'I'm sure you're tired,' he said. 'You ought to rest: Madam Pomfrey said so. I'll be happy to keep you company if you like.'

'I…' As much as Remus hated to put Peter into this position, he was anxious to go along. If Sirius and James did indeed find themselves tangled in something they could not handle, he might be able to help. And there was a part of him, though he was loath to admit it, that was excited by the prospect of sneaking off to stand up to the Slytherins. He found himself thinking of the encounter with Rosier, and the way that he had managed to put him off. He had wished then that the others might have seen him at work. Here was his chance to prove himself in front of them.

'I'd like to go,' he said. 'I think we ought to stick together. We're… we're the second year Gryffindor boys in the third dormitory, after all. We're a team.'

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'If we're a team we're going to have to think of a much more impressive name than _that_,' he said.

'Christening the organization can wait, Black,' James told him. 'We've got to work out our strategy for tonight.'

_~discidium~_

That evening James went to Quidditch practice alone. Remus and Peter spent the time constructing a detailed map of the corridor in question while Sirius watched with an expression alternating between bemusement and profound respect.

'How d'you get the lines so straight?' he asked as Peter marked out a door at Remus's instruction. 'Every time I try to draw a perfect rectangle it comes out looking more like a banana.'

Peter shrugged his shoulders, though he was flushing with pleasure. 'I'm just good at it, I guess,' he said.

'Very good at it,' Remus agreed. 'The alcove with the goblin statue was about six and a half feet from that door; that's two and one-sixth inches on our scale…'

'And you!' Sirius said, snapping his fingers. 'How d'you know so much about scale and shapes and things?'

'Geometry?' Remus asked. 'And cartography, of course. I… I studied a lot when I was younger. It's helpful in Transfiguration, understanding how objects relate to the space around them. Just a hair lower, Peter.'

Peter obliged, and then rendered a deft and clearly recognizable caricature of the goblin amputee in the correct place on the map. Sirius sniggered. 'Nice fangs,' he said.

When James returned, wind-chapped and glowing, they bent over the map with their wands, charting out strategies.

'They're likely to come from this direction,' Sirius said, pointing to the northeast end of the corridor; 'since the stairs up from the dungeons are away over here somewhere. 'And of course they'll be expecting us to come from the northwest, because Gryffindor Tower is back over here. Isn't it?'

Remus nodded. 'Do you think we ought to double around and come the other way, then?'

'That's all well and good if they're waiting for us at midnight,' said James. 'Then we'll be coming up behind them. But if _we_ get there first then they'll be coming up behind us.'

'I think we ought to send out a team to reconnoiter,' Sirius said. 'Remus and Peter can head out at a quarter to twelve with the Invisibility Cloak. That way they can hole up by the statue and keep an eye on the northwest end of the corridor. You and I will come from the northeast at twelve sharp. If the Slytherins aren't there yet we'll have our pick of positions. Doorways are usually good places to shelter.'

'Speaking of doorways,' Peter said timidly; 'I think we ought to unlock one of them so that we've got somewhere to run.'

'That's not a very good plan,' James pointed out. 'If we duck into some room on the fifth floor we'll be trapped; Mulciber and Snivelly can just hem us right in and finish us off.'

'You're talking as if we're at war, James,' Remus said. 'Perhaps they only want to straighten out the confusion about Prefect Prewett.'

Sirius scoffed and reached to tweak Remus's nose. 'For someone who didn't want to trust his best mates you're entirely too trusting,' he said good-naturedly. 'Do you really think _Mulciber_, of all people, is going to set up a midnight assignation in an out-of-the-way corner of the castle just to negotiate?'

'Then why are we going if you think he wants to hurt you?' asked Remus.

'We're going,' James said, climbing to his feet and striking a heroic pose; 'because a Gryffindor does not run from danger. A Gryffindor does not shirk his duty to uphold the right. A Gryffindor does not let injustice go unpunished. A Gryffindor does not put his own safety before the greater good. A Gryffindor—'

'Doesn't turn up a chance to turn Eustace Mulciber into a wobbling mound of jinxed jelly,' Sirius concluded smugly. He tapped the campaign map insistently, marking two rather squashy shapes that might have been meant as circles beside the goblin statue. 'Now, Remus and Peter, you'll be here. Stay under the Cloak and well out of it unless we need you: no sense letting the Slytherins know you're there until the very last moment.'

'And that way if you're right, Remus, and the whole thing is a ploy to get us out in the middle of the night, you and Peter can just creep off after Sirius and I get caught,' James said. 'Your perfect records are valuable to the group, you know. We ought to preserve them as long as we can.'

'My _almost_ perfect record,' Remus corrected.

'Naw, McGonagall had that one stricken,' Sirius said airily. 'As far as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is concerned, Remus Lupin has never served a detention.'

'How do you know that?' Peter asked, eyes narrowing.

'How many times?' Sirius laughed. 'McGonagall keeps all the Gryffindor files in her office, and she's got a habit of running off for a few minutes in the midst of a chap's detention just because some firstie's feeling homesick or something. I know everything there is to know about everyone. For example: did you know that Elsie Appleby is lactose intolerant?'

'Which would be helpful,' James said; 'if we were meeting Elsie Appleby in the dead of night on the fifth floor. Can we _focus_, gentlemen, please?'

'Right you are,' Sirius said, flopping down onto his stomach and crossing his arms so that he could rest his chin on his wrists. 'I wonder what's in all those rooms, anyway…'

'Focus!' James trumpeted. 'That's an order!'

'Absolutely,' Sirius said, nodding jerkily against his arms. 'After all, it isn't every night that the Second Year Boys in the Third Dormitory go off to war.'

'War?' Peter said worriedly. 'We aren't really going to _hurt_ anybody, are we?'

'Only if they hurt us first,' said Sirius. 'The Second Year Boys in the Third Dormitory won't stand to be disrespected by a couple of slimy Slytherin berks.'

James put his head in his hands, chuckling ruefully. 'You're right,' he conceded. 'We really need a better name.'

'Sod that,' Sirius scoffed, turning over the piece of parchment that held their map and reaching for a quill. He licked the nib and dipped it into the inkwell. 'Let's talk hexes…'


	60. A Midnight Assignation

_Note: 'Heart of Oak' by David Garrick c. 1759._

**Chapter Sixty: A Midnight Assignation**

'Why didn't you just tell them you didn't want to do it?' Peter asked as the portrait-hole swung closed and the Fat Lady yawned enormously.

'Because I do want to do it,' Remus said. 'Or part of me does. Isn't there a part of you that thinks it's great fun to go out on these adventures?'

'I like exploring,' Peter admitted. 'And I like it when we do funny things like nicking that broomstick for Sirius or the one with the Slytherin plates. I just don't like it when they start talking about war and hexing and people getting hurt. And I _don't_ like that I'm expected to jump in and save James and Sirius if everything goes wrong.' He sighed heavily. 'They're the ones who are meant to do the saving; I'm sure to muck it up.'

'You'd never muck it up,' Remus assured him in a whisper. They were starting down the corridor now. Although Remus had the Invisibility Cloak at the ready they had decided not to slip under it until they were a little nearer their destination. Sirius had pointed out that it was easier to move quickly without trying to coordinate two people under the same garment, and when Peter had not disagreed Remus found himself wondering, inevitably, whether the other boy was still a little wary of sharing close quarters with a werewolf.

'Just because you don't go looking for trouble like James and Sirius doesn't mean you can't cope with it,' he went on as they rounded the corner and slipped beyond sight of the Fat Lady.

'I hope you're right,' Peter said tremulously, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging himself tightly.

'I'm right,' Remus asserted. 'Remember your Stinging Hex?'

Peter's face morphed into a sudden smile. 'That was pretty good, wasn't it?' he asked.

'I should say it was,' said Remus.

Peter's little eyes grew wide and the grin disappeared. 'W-what if the whole gang of them is waiting for us?' he asked anxiously. 'L-Lestrange is in fifth year now, and the fifth years are learning how to duel properly; James said so.'

Remus squared his shoulders and steeled his resolve. 'Then I suppose we'll just have to do him one better.'

'At least we'll have the element of surprise on our side,' Peter said, parroting James's parting remark.

They had reached the head of a long staircase now, and they hurried down before it could shift on them. Remus could not quite bring himself to point out that Mulciber had chosen both the time and the place and therefore had the tactical advantage. He had tried to say as much earlier, but James and Sirius – engrossed in the business of tallying up their catalogue of hexes – had brushed him off.

'I think perhaps if there is trouble only one of us should jump out right away,' he said. 'The other ought to stay hidden if he can, so that there's somebody to go and get help if it's needed.'

'Oh!' Peter looked significantly happier at this prospect. 'I like that idea. I mean, we'll be awfully far away from any teacher up here, and if everybody gets jinxed or something… should I do it, or should you?' He waited for a minute, clearly hopeful, and then his expression melted into uneasy resignation. 'You,' he said. 'Because you only just got out of the hospital wing and you're probably still tired.'

'I was actually thinking that it ought to be you,' Remus said. 'I… I had a little run-in with Evan Rosier a while back. If he's told anybody they'll expect me to be there.'

Peter stopped walking, staring up at Remus's face in the glow of a sconce. 'You had a run-in with Rosier?' he said. 'All alone? What happened?'

'I was a little bit insolent,' Remus said, smiling at the memory. Then he realized how banal that boast sounded and cast his eyes down with a self-deprecating shrug. 'It wasn't anything worth mentioning,' he mumbled. 'Only I think they'll expect me to be there.' He looked up again and reached out to brush the tips of his fingers against Peter's elbows. The other boy did not shy away. 'Whereas they might not even think of you,' he said. 'You'll be our secret weapon.'

'Secret weapon,' Peter echoed, squaring his shoulders. 'I like that.'

Once they were on the fifth floor the two boys stopped to conceal themselves. It took a couple of attempts to work out how best to move together under the Cloak, but in the end they shuffled onward with their elbows linked. Remus found himself taking sidelong glances at Peter's face, trying to gauge his expression whenever they passed through a pool of candlelight. There were no overt signs of discomfort, and Peter did not appear to be struggling to hide them either. He did look quite nervous, but as his eyes kept darting left and right Remus knew that he was not the cause of his friend's anxiety.

'Ready?' he whispered as they drew near the chosen corridor. Peter nodded, small eyes wide.

It was difficult to remember as they rounded the corner that they were hidden from sight by the Cloak. There, near the statue behind which they were meant to hide, stood Mulciber, feet planted widely apart and hands on his hips. He was surveying the hallway intently, and Remus held his breath as the keen blue eyes seemed to pierce through him. At his side he could feel Peter trembling, but at least the other boy remembered that they could not be seen and held his ground.

'That one,' Mulciber said smoothly, pointing to one of the doors to his right. 'Go on and open it.'

Phillip Avery came hurrying forward, wand levelled at the door. He mumbled the incantation that unlocked the door, and pushed it open, watching expectantly.

Mulciber nodded. 'Lestrange, you'll hide in there. Remember: _quiet_ is the key. We're trying to draw 'em out, not warn 'em off.'

Peter was biting his lip now, having gone very white at the mention of the name Lestrange. Remus was simultaneously horrified and curious. It seemed unlikely that Mulciber, a third year of no great importance, would speak that way to Lestrange – who was in fifth year and a the heir of a very prominent and exceedingly wealthy pure-blood family. Slytherin impertinence only carried so far.

The mystery was resolved a moment later when a burly first year appeared around the curve of the corridor. He had a square jaw and a rather thick look to his eyes; Remus recognized him as the boy who had accompanied Evan Rosier on the search for Severus some weeks prior. He realized this must be the second Lestrange: Rodulphus's younger brother.

'In there?' he said dubiously.

'Yes,' Mulciber asserted with a curt nod of his head. 'Stay quiet; I'll shout if – I'll shout _when_ you're needed.'

The young Lestrange nodded his head and trundled into the opened room, drawing to the door. Avery scowled.

'Why'd he have to tag along?' he asked in a adenoidal whisper.

'Because Lestrange insisted,' said Mulciber. This time there was a note of respect to the name that told Remus that he was referring to the elder one. 'He wants Rabastan to feel useful; who are we to argue? Besides,' he added, with a slow and unpleasant grin; 'this way we'll have Black and his little band outnumbered.'

'D'you really think they'll all show?' asked Rosier, rubbing his hands gleefully.

'Do _you_ really think Black would do anything without a posse to back him?' asked Mulciber. 'He's a coward: he was afraid to claim his birthright, and he's afraid to stand up to us.'

Remus felt his jaw tightening, and beside him he could feel Peter bristling with the same indignation. Sirius was not a coward. He was the bravest person Remus knew. He had the courage to stand up for what he believed to be right, even though his family did not support him. He had the courage to embrace his place in Gryffindor despite his mother's loud and indeed violent displeasure. He feared neither teachers nor werewolves nor Dark wizards – and he most certainly did not fear Slytherins.

'I think…' a familiar voice ventured, wavering a little and falling silent before it could finish.

Mulciber whirled around, his lip curling. 'Oh, you _think_, do you? Listen, you grubby little half-blood, you're not here to _think_. You're here because for some reason Black and Potter got it into their heads that you and I were colluding together, and it's only fair to give you a shot at revenge. You ought to thank me for letting you come along.' There was an ominous silence. '_Thank me!_' Mulciber snapped.

'Thank you,' muttered Severus Snape, his tone unreadable. Remus inched towards the wall, drawing Peter with him until the other Slytherins were in view. Snape and Rosier were standing just past the statue. The latter had his hands on his hips and the former had adopted a rigid yet stooping stance, head inclined between rounded shoulders and arms straight at his side. His gaze was resolutely focused on Mulciber's shoes.

'That's better,' Mulciber said. 'Don't take it personally, Snape. I'm working in your best interests, you know. You've got to learn your place. That little stunt you pulled, trying to hide when we wanted you – that sort of behaviour is awfully unwise. I'd have thought you'd learn your lesson after that.'

The way the other boy cringed was barely noticeable. 'I have,' he said, his voice deliberately flat. 'I'm here, aren't I?'

'Yes,' Mulciber allowed, nodding shrewdly. 'You're here. Make sure you give your very best. That's what Slytherins do, Snape. They give their very best.'

'We haven't much time,' Avery said, glancing at his watch and suddenly looking rather apprehensive. 'Perhaps I ought to go and wait with Rabastan? I mean, it's his first time out, and he might get nervous.'

'Oh, well, if you're afraid please don't let me stop you,' said Mulciber scornfully. 'I'd hate to interfere with your determination to act like a child.'

'Maybe if you didn't _treat_ me like a child!' snapped Avery, stamping his foot.

'What do you mean by that?' Mulciber demanded, whirling upon him.

'You didn't trust me!' said Avery. 'I thought you said we were partners in this, but you sealed that letter so I wouldn't read it.'

'Did you try to?' asked Mulciber.

'No…' Avery stammered. 'But in any case I couldn't have done it without you knowing. You didn't even trust me to deliver your mail: do you call that an equal partnership?'

'Why on earth would we have an equal partnership?' scoffed Mulciber. 'You're almost as low-born as Snape, and you're not nearly as useful.'

'Speaking of useful, I hope you've got something good planned,' Rosier said, sneering at Severus. 'Not like that bit with the hair you tried on that girl.'

'Don't worry,' Snape said, trying very hard to sound cold and calculating. 'I intend to make them regret setting the Prefects on us.'

'Right, then,' Mulciber said. 'As discussed. Are you going to hole up with the firstie, Avery, or are you going to act like a man?'

'I'll do my part as agreed,' Avery said stiffly. 'I can carry my weight, you know.'

'We'll soon find out,' said Mulciber. He took four long strides past the statue and stood in the middle of the corridor, his back to the northeast. Rosier positioned himself opposite the deepest curve in the winding hall. Snape stood a pace behind Mulciber, wand ready and face set in a mask of desperate determination. Whatever was riding on this encounter, Remus could see that the stakes were high for Severus.

Peter plucked at his sleeve, nodding nervously towards the goblin statue. Remus bit his lip and shook his head as Avery climbed up onto the plinth and hid himself behind the carven stone. They would have to take shelter in one of the doorways and hope that neither Sirius nor James were too reliant upon having their backs covered from the direction of the statue.

Remus waited until Rosier began to speak, saying something boastful and inane. Under the cover of his voice he hurried forward, Peter shuffling with him, and pressed his back against the door next to the room in which Lestrange's little brother was hiding. They had neither the protection nor the vantage point here that they would have had behind the statue, but they were at least out of the way and they had the Slytherins covered from the other side.

'Any minute now,' Avery hissed, consulting his watch again.

Remus glanced at Peter, and he could see a question hovering on his lips. He could neither ask what it was nor afford to have it raised, so he reached across with his off-hand and squeezed Peter's arm reassuringly. Together they stiffened, whirling to the right as an unexpected noise came down the corridor from the direction they had come. Someone was singing in a loud, jaunty voice:

_Come cheer up me lads:  
>'Tis to glory we steer,<br>To add something more  
>To this wonderful year.<br>To honour we call you,  
>As free men, not slaves—<br>For who are so free  
>As the sons of the waves?<em>

Remus realized abruptly that the voice belonged to Sirius, and that he was striding forward alone, wand drawn and an insolent grin on his face. He passed his friends, unaware of them, and walked towards Mulciber and Snape, still singing:

_Heart of oak are our ships,  
>Jolly tars are our men.<br>We'll always be ready:  
>Steady, boys, steady.<br>We'll fight and we'll conquer  
>Again and again!<em>

He stopped less than three yards from the two waiting Slytherins and tossed his head. 'You wanted to see me?'

'All alone, Black?' Mulciber asked. 'But where's Potter? You were both invited, after all.'

'I don't keep track of my friends' social obligations,' Sirius said, flourishing his wand airily. 'I understand you have something you'd like to say to me? And I see you over there, Evan: you needn't cower in doorways.'

'I'm not cowering!' Rosier snapped, marching forward out of his cover to stand just behind Snape. Remus realized almost immediately that this was Sirius's intention. Obviously he and James had modified the plan, determining that in addition to their hidden operatives a decoy would prove useful.

'Did you have a pleasant time in detention?' Sirius asked cordially, looking from Mulciber to Snape as if Rosier had not spoken. 'I know that Filch likes to see a bit of elbow grease; I hope it didn't injure your lily-white Slytherin hands.'

'The only reason you know what Filch likes, Black,' said Mulciber; 'is that you and that rabble-rousing Quaffle-headed friend of yours have spent more time in detention in fourteen months than most people do in a lifetime. I expect that's where you'll wind up when we're through with you, too – and a nice Howler from Mummy to round out your week.'

'Ah, well,' Sirius said in the cheerfully vicious tone that meant he was about to deliver a particularly poisonous barb. 'At least my mother takes the trouble to write me. I'm sure yours hasn't the time, what with swanning about London like some middle-aged debutant. Mind you, if _my_ father had been off on the Continent for the better part of a decade, I suppose my mum might be looking for a bit on the side as well.'

Mulciber's face flushed a frightening shade of puce. 'You watch your mouth, Black,' he said. 'My mother's a patron of several notable charities: she's not looking for a bit on the side!'

'His father's back in England anyhow,' said Rosier. 'I suppose being disgraced you're not kept abreast of the latest news.'

'Shut up!' snarled Mulciber, shooting a murderous glare over his shoulder. Even though it was not directed at him, Severus Snape stiffened with the air of one bracing for a blow.

'So how would you like to do this, Eustace?' Sirius asked. 'A proper duel, wands at twenty paces? Or should I just get on with reversing your knee caps?'

Mulciber laughed. 'Do you really think you've got a hope? You're outnumbered, Black. Frankly I was expecting you to bring along some of your nasty little Gryffindor friends to help you. Thanks, though; you've made my job much easier.'

Remus adjusted his hold on his wand, his fingers finding the gap in the Invisibility Cloak. He was reluctant to eschew his cover here, where the Slytherins might so easily see the Cloak coming off and deduce its existence, but if Mulciber struck before James made his appearance he knew that he might have no choice. Beside him Peter was bracing himself.

'Oh, I don't know about that,' Sirius said with an impudent grin. He drew in a deep breath and began to sing again, _dal signo al fine_; '_We'll always be ready, steady boys, steady…_'

A second voice joined him in a rousing crescendo, chorusing; '_We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again!'_

James was standing behind the Slytherins, having crept up at some point during the squabbling. He was smiling toothily and his wand was drawn. As the three boys whirled around he flicked it at Severus. '_Tarantallegra!_' he said.

Snape began to dance uncontrollably, horror and discomfiture upon his face. Remus had no time to watch for any further reaction, for Sirius fired off a Stunner at Mulciber, who turned just in time to block it. A moment later the corridor was alive with flying hexes and hollered incantations. Rosier sent an ineffectual bolt of bluish light towards James, though it seemed to dissipate in his robes. From his perch behind the statue Avery sent off a Stinging Hex that very nearly made Sirius drop his wand. The grey eyes widened as he realized that he was not being covered from that quarter at all.

'Stay hidden, as discussed!' Remus hissed at Peter. 'And watch that door!' Then before the other boy could protest he ducked out of the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, praying that no one had the leisure to notice him emerging.

The Disarming Charm was his specialty, and he used it on Avery, catching the flying wand in mid-air and hurling it away down the corridor. It rolled out of sight as its owner let out a wail of rage. Remus ran forward into the fray, narrowly ducking a curse sent out by Severus – who seemed to have used a counter-jinx to settle his legs. He shot off the tongue-engorging hex at Rosier, but in his haste he missed. Sirius was weaving deftly between the curses, trying to get in a clear shot at Mulciber. James hit Rosier with a Body-Bind Curse and he toppled, stiff as a board, before trying the same on Severus – only to be deftly blocked and obliged to thrust up a Shielding Charm against a garbled, sibilant incantation.

'_Silencio!_' Remus cried, flicking his wand at Mulciber just as the latter began to shout something at Sirius. Whatever it was it came out as noiseless contortions of the lips.

Sirius, realizing with a wicked grin that his opponent was temporarily incapable of casting verbal magic, jabbed his wand. 'Stupefy!' he shouted, and in a blast of red light Mulciber went flying, landing in an unconscious heap on the floor.

This left only Severus Snape and an unarmed Avery to face the three Gryffindors. Disregarding Avery entirely, Sirius turned to help James deal with Snape. The three of them were swiftly locked in combat, spells flying. Severus seemed only just able to keep pace with his two attackers, and Remus knew that it was only a matter of time before he slipped up. His attention was on Avery, who was watching for a window of opportunity either to fly or to scramble after his wand. Reluctant to attack an unarmed opponent, Remus stood warily on the balls of his feet, wand trained on Avery.

'Now, Rabastan! Now!' Avery bellowed, clearly hoping that the younger boy's appearance would prove a distraction. It might indeed have done so, if he had called out the surname, but neither Sirius nor James seemed to think Rabastan Lestrange worth their consideration while they were bearing down on Snape. The sallow-faced boy had a considerable arsenal of curses, and he lost no opportunity to fire them off between his own Shielding Charms.

Remus glanced over his shoulder as the door flung open and the dim-looking firstie came lumbering out. But Peter had already scrambled out from beneath the Invisibility Cloak – cleverly tucking it into his pocket as he did so – and he hollered; '_Petrificus Totalis!_'

Remus whipped back to Avery, who froze in the midst of scrambling off the statue, eyes wide and wary. Peter shouted the curse a second time, and a third before at last there was the tell-tale thud of a falling body.

'You're not going anywhere,' Remus said softly, fixing Avery with what he very much hoped was a reproving expression. 'You meant this as a trap, didn't you? Five against four.'

'Against two,' sneered Avery. '_You_ certainly weren't invited, though Evan thought you might show.'

Remus was about to offer a quiet retort when the air was rent behind him by a startled shriek. He turned to see Sirius tumbling onto his backside, scrambling backward on the stone floor and trying desperately to wrench his feet out of his shoes. James stared for a moment, agape with astonishment, before he realized that the wand that had sent the successful curse was now levelled on him.

'_Protego!_' he cried, just as Severus shouted another curse. A moment later they were duelling with almost professional speed and frenetic desperation.

Remus dropped to his knees, Avery forgotten as he struggled to help Sirius, who was howling something incoherent and struggling with his shoestrings. He had managed to pull them into knots, and Remus swatted his hands hastily out of the way. 'Let me!' he said breathlessly, severing them with two sharp jabs of his wand.

Sirius yanked the shoes off of his feet with a cry of pain and relief. Remus found himself paralyzed with horror as five dagger-like protrusions tore through each of Sirius's socks. It took him a moment to recognize the hard, milky substance that sprouted from the tip of each toe. Sirius's toenails were growing at a terrifyingly rapid pace, lengthening and beginning to curl amid the ruined cotton of his socks.

'_F-Finite Incantatem!' _Remus stammered. He cleared his throat and tried again. '_Finite!_'

The nails halted their growth but did not shrink. Sirius's feet looked positively grotesque, the curled fiddleheads giving them the appearance of unnatural length. Sirius drew in a deep, unsteady breath. 'Thanks, mate—' he began.

'Remus, watch out!' cried Peter, somewhere behind.

Then Rosier's voice, cool and wrathful, bellowed an incantation that Remus could not quite make out. There was a burst of orange light and a pain in his chest, and after that he knew no more.

_~discidium~_

Madam Pomfrey's worried face came into focus slowly and Remus tried to remember how long he had been in the hospital wing. Not long, surely, for he could not recall waking before this – but the light of the lamp did not hurt his eyes, and that usually meant that some hours had passed since the transformation. He was blessedly free of pain, save for an ache in his ribs, and there was no taste of blood upon his teeth.

'M-Madam?' he said tremulously, startled when the word came out with neither the customary hoarseness that followed a night's mad howling nor the scratching of a dehydrated throat.

The matron let a tiny, relieved smile touch her lips before fixing her expression into one of stern disapproval. 'Well, I hope you're proud of yourselves,' she said, moving back a little. She had her apron over her navy blue dressing gown, and her hair was in a long plait that fell down her back – though she had pinned her cap to the crown of her head regardless.

Remus followed her with his eyes as she strode towards the next bed. He realized abruptly that he was not in his little room, but in the main ward. He was lying on top of the covers, still clad in his school things. And on the edge of the bed next to him sat Sirius, bare feet dangling and still weighed down by hideously overgrown toenails. James and Peter stood nearby, looking appropriately chagrined. Remus remembered abruptly the encounter with the Slytherins, the hex that had struck Sirius, and hearing Rosier's voice just before he lost consciousness.

He rolled onto his side and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that he was facing Sirius. The matron was rummaging through a tray of bandages, shaking her head.

'Don't keep him up all night, I said,' she scolded, wagging a finger at James and Peter. 'And what do you do? Go charging off doing goodness-knows-what, getting the wind knocked out of him. You're lucky that hex didn't hit a little higher, Remus. It can be nasty if it meddles with the rhythm of the heart.'

Remus splayed one hand over his breastbone, looking down at the front of his robes. The garment appeared undamaged, and he looked questioningly up at Sirius. 'What happened?' he asked.

'I should very much like to know the same thing!' Madam Pomfrey said indignantly, pocketing a pair of sheers and putting her hands on her hips. 'Is someone going to explain now?'

'We'd rather not,' James said, flushing a little. 'It was just a little misunderstanding.'

'A misunderstanding?' Pomfrey repeated. 'When I told you…' She shook her head in disbelief. 'Very well; have it your own way,' she said. 'You're just lucky that none of you sustained any serious damage. And you!' she said, turning on Remus. 'When I tell you to rest I expect you to do it! This isn't the first time we've had this discussion, young man!'

'No, ma'am,' Remus mumbled, hanging his head. Shame at his ingratitude overwhelmed him. After Madam Pomfrey had been so kind to him, and taken such good care of him not only this month but during his every transformation at Hogwarts, he had gone running off to undo her hard work. He was a wretched, thankless little creature, and he deserved far worse than a scolding.

'Aw, Matey, leave it out,' Sirius said. 'You ought to know he was only trying to be a good friend. Remus hasn't got a disobedient bone in his body; James and I talked him into going out for a jaunt.'

'Indeed?' said Madam Pomfrey. 'And did this jaunt involve other parties? Other parties who might, for instance, be injured?'

James shrugged his shoulders. 'I wouldn't know about that,' he said. 'I should expect not, or they'd be here by now, wouldn't they?'

'Could you finish up so that we can go to bed?' Sirius asked cheekily. 'Remus does need his rest, you know.' He lifted one foot and waggled his toes, sending the deformed nails bobbing. 'Shrink 'em back to size or something, would you?'

'I've half a mind to leave you like that,' Madam Pomfrey said, but her tone was softer and she seemed somewhat mollified. 'Stop wiggling like that; you're disturbing Mr Pettigrew.'

Peter was indeed looking rather green, though also strangely pleased with himself. Again Remus felt the burning desire for answers, but he knew better than to raise the question again in the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey took hold of Sirius's foot, cradling the arch like a stirrup. She reached into the pocket of her apron, but instead of the wand brought out the sheers. She spread the blades wide and with a single quick snip the five overgrown nails clattered to the floor, leaving a length of about half an inch beyond the tip of each toe.

'Hey!' Sirius yelped as the matron took his other foot and repeated the same treatment. Then he grinned, looking down at the shorn shrapnel on the floor. 'Can I keep the bits?'

Madam Pomfrey stared at him for a moment, surprise and disgust warring for purchase upon her face. Then she shrugged. 'Suit yourself,' she said. 'And you can cut them down properly on your own, as well. I'm afraid I don't provide able-bodied young troublemakers with routine personal care.'

Sirius leapt off the bed, scooped up the fallen nails, and stuffed them into his pocket. 'So we can go?' he asked.

Pomfrey was taking Remus's pulse; a ministration to which he submitted without meeting her eyes. 'Yes,' she said with a long-suffering sigh. 'You may go. But if I find that you've made a detour on your way back to bed, or got yourselves into any more trouble, then I shall be most displeased – and Professor McGonagall shall hear of it.'

'Then you're not going to tell her?' Peter asked, eyes growing wide with hope. 'That we were out of bed, I mean?'

'It's not my business to enforce curfew,' said the matron. 'Now run along before I change my mind!'

The other three bolted for the door, but Remus slipped slowly off the bed and stood for a moment with his head hanging, trying to work up the courage to slink past the matron. Madam Pomfrey looked at him, and her expression softened.

'Run along, Remus,' she said. 'You do need your sleep, dear, and I expect you to show a good deal more sense next time. Understood?'

He nodded. 'Yes, ma'am,' he mumbled.

She smiled for him. 'Good. Off you go.'

James, Sirius and Peter were waiting, and Remus hurried to join them. Though the moment the door to the hospital wing closed he found himself once more overcome with a plethora of questions, he held his tongue as they hurried through the deserted corridors and back to the Gryffindor Tower. James undertook the unpleasant task of waking and flattering the Fat Lady until she let them in. Then he and Sirius thundered up the stairs to the bedroom, Sirius still barefoot and carrying his shoes. Remus and Peter followed.

When the dormitory door was closed and two of the lamps were lit, James surveyed his followers with a grin. 'Well, that was a successful evening, I'd say.'

'Successful?' Sirius snorted good-naturedly, sitting down on his trunk and putting up one foot so that he could set about paring down his nails to their usual neat state. 'Two out of four of us hexed, one of us rendered unconscious.'

'Four out of five Slytherins hexed,' James added. That puts us ahead by thirty percent.'

'Didn't exactly go according to plan, though, did it?' Sirius asked. He looked at Peter, annoyance on his face. 'What happened to hiding behind the statue?'

'We were too late,' Remus said. 'The Slytherins were there when we arrived, and Avery got to it before we did.'

'Oh.' Sirius frowned pensively at his toenails. 'Well, we're lucky no one saw you popping out from under the Cloak.'

'That's certainly true,' agreed James. 'We've got to think more carefully about that next time.'

'What happened after I…' Remus hesitated, reluctant to use the word _fainted_.

'After Rosier hexed you I kicked him,' James said. 'He ran off after Avery.'

'And the others?' asked Remus.

Sirius shrugged. 'Put a Body Bind on Snape as well and left them there. They're probably still down on the fifth floor, trying to remember how to wrinkle their noses.'

'You _left them there_?' Remus cried, scrambling to his feet and starting for the door. 'We've got to go and reverse those curses. You can't leave them there all night!'

'It'll wear off in another half-hour or so,' Sirius said with a dismissive waft of his hand. 'That one that Peter put on Lestrange Secundus is probably finished already. Besides, they don't deserve any less. Five against four.'

'It was meant as five against two,' Remus admitted. 'Avery said so.'

'You see?' James said. 'How unsportsmanlike of them! I'm really starting to wonder about Snape, too. That hex he pulled on you, Sirius. You ever seen anything like that before?'

Sirius shook his head. 'There are all sorts of charms for making hair grow quickly, but nails? And that curling thing they did…' He rummaged in his pocket and drew out one of the long parings. 'It was right painful, too, when they started crowding against my shoes. Thanks Remus.'

'I'm sorry I spoiled your shoestrings,' Remus said hastily. 'I've a spare pair; you can have them.'

'Thanks, mate,' Sirius said, grinning earnestly. 'I'll send away for some fresh ones and pay you back in kind, if you like. Or I could just buy 'em off you.'

Remus wanted to protest that as he had ruined the laces he ought to replace them out of his own pocket, but he knew that his parents could not afford such sundries. 'Thank you,' he said humbly. 'Payment in kind would be fine.'

'Good,' Sirius said. 'Now that's settled we'd best get to bed; Potions first thing tomorrow morning.'

'First thing this morning,' James corrected. 'It's gone half two.'

Peter yawned enormously. 'Do let's go to bed,' he said. He moved to dig out his pyjamas. 'James?' he asked, turning around again. 'Did I do all right? With little Lestrange?'

'Just fine,' James said. 'I was wondering where you'd got to and why you hadn't joined in, but it's as well you waited! If you hadn't been covering him he might've got off a curse or two.'

'Well done,' Sirius agreed. He grinned enormously. 'Quite frankly, I think we all did well, don't you agree?'

James nodded soberly. 'We managed nicely,' he said. 'And it was the Slytherins who ran this time.'

There was a little more cheerful boasting as the boys got ready for bed. Changing in the safety of his draperies, Remus listened with a heavy heart. As if his shame at losing consciousness and disobeying Madam Pomfrey were not enough, he could not help but think of Mulciber, Snape, and Rabastan Lestrange on the floor by the peg-legged goblin, paralysed but conscious – having been left by their attackers and abandoned by their housemates.

He was exhausted and he fell asleep quickly, but Remus's dreams were uneasy that night.


	61. Research and Stratagems

**Chapter Sixty-One: Research and Stratagems **

Eustace Mulciber was in disgrace. He did not appear in the Great Hall until supper on Thursday, but when he did at last come in he was snubbed by his usual companions and relegated to a place at the foot of the table among the first years. The rumour, obtained by Peter, was that he had somehow displeased Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange – details did not appear to be circulating widely, at least not outside of Slytherin House. Nevertheless it was common knowledge that Mulciber had fallen from grace, and he prowled the corridors in a black mood. The firsties learned very quickly to give him a wide berth.

Remus had the uneasy feeling that there was going to be yet another retaliatory incident, but for the present time he had little leisure to dwell upon that. Thursday was always a busy day, with Potions to fret over and Herbology to clean up after and Astronomy to prepare for. On Friday afternoon when lessons let out Sirius dragged the other three up to the dormitory despite James's protestations that he wanted to go out and watch the firsties try to tackle the Whomping Willow.

'Don't be selfish, Potter!' Sirius scolded as he herded his friends inside and dragged Peter's trunk to barricade the door. 'We've got work to do.'

'Work?' James echoed incredulously. 'You don't mean that History of Magic paper, do you? Because if you do I'm taking you straight to the hospital wing to have your head examined.'

Sirius favoured this remark with a derisive snort and began rummaging in his cupboard, pulling out quills and parchment and a goodly assortment of sweets. 'We've been putting it off long enough,' he said; 'and I don't mean that infernal essay.' He got down on his hands and knees, reaching under his bed to pull out the books he had borrowed from the library on Wednesday.

Remus felt his throat constrict as the heap grew. 'Sirius, I've told you,' he said quietly. 'You won't find anything.'

'Maybe not,' Sirius allowed, shuffling on his knees into the midst of the room and commencing to sort the books into four piles. 'But one of us will. Now, we've got Defence texts here, magical maladies here, Dark creatures in general on the left, and werewolves specifically down at the end. I've already established that this one—' He brandished _The Werewolf Elucidated_. '—is interesting but useless, but the rest of these are fair game. Of course, a lot of them will only have a chapter or two on the subject, but it behoves us to check anyhow. Peter? Why don't you start with the Defence books?'

Peter was looking at the volumes with distinct discomfort on his face. To accept that he had not lost his friend in learning the truth was one thing, but Remus was not at all sure the younger boy was ready to cope with reading about the various ways to guard against and dispatch with werewolves.

'No, I'll take those,' James said, flopping down upon crossed legs and dragging the books towards him. 'Peter, you look through the ones on magical maladies. We're just looking for information on werewolves, mind you.'

Peter sat down, somewhat relieved. Remus wanted to shoot James a small grateful smile, but the tousled head was already bent low over the third year textbook, searching the table of contents for the appropriate chapter. Instead he found his gaze locked with Sirius's.

'Just thumb through these ones and mark the applicable chapters, Remus,' he said, nodding at the books on Dark creatures and part-humans. 'One of us can read them if you don't want to.'

'I've told you, Sirius,' Remus murmured; 'there's nothing in any of these books that is going to help.'

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'You're persistent, Lupin; I'll give you that,' he said. 'But have you _ever _known me to take "no" for an answer? There's got to be something: there's _got _to be. We'll find it.'

It was useless to protest, for Remus knew that he could not convince his stubborn and dedicated companion with mere words. So he sat down to the unpleasant task of sifting through diatribes on the evils of part-humans to find the passages on werewolves. James worked quietly, his brow furrowing ever deeper as he read. Peter seemed to be doing well enough with the first book he looked at, but the second had rather graphic illustrations that elicited frequent noises of horror and disgust. As for Sirius, he tore into a heavy tome entitled _Man and Beast: Tracking the Werewolf in Scandinavia_ with the kind of determination Remus had only ever seen him expend upon his motorcycle books.

Whatever it was that Sirius believed they would find, they had not discovered it by suppertime. They descended for a silent and hasty meal before returning to the dormitory where they laboured on until nearly two in the morning. Exhaustion finally sent them to their beds, though it was a long while before Remus fell asleep.

When he awoke the next morning he found James and Peter gone – presumably to breakfast – and Sirius once more sprawled in the midst of the dormitory floor, still reading. Remus picked up his robes and shuffled to the end of the bed, leaning forward to look at the page Sirius was studying.

'Morning,' Sirius said absently, not even pausing to glance up. 'Sleep well?'

'More or less,' Remus prevaricated quietly. 'Sirius…'

'I know. You don't think I'll find anything.' There was a certain heaviness in Sirius's voice now, but Remus could not tell if it was exasperation with him or frustration at the lack of progress. 'It says here that a werewolf has three hundred and eighteen bones, but an adult human only has two hundred and six.' He raised his head, brows knit with worry. 'Do you grow more bones, or do the ones you have break?'

Remus closed his eyes, hoping to hide his mortification. It was precisely this kind of question that he had feared when Sirius embarked on this venture. 'I think they break,' he whispered. 'That's what it feels like, anyhow.'

'Y-you can _feel _it?' Sirius faltered.

'Only part of it,' Remus said hastily. 'It doesn't last long – the part I can remember, I mean. Once the wolf-mind takes over I—' He bit down on his tongue. Once again he had confessed to something he would have never wanted to articulate. He forced himself to look at Sirius, to search for signs of revulsion.

Instead he saw only sadness and a sort of pained compassion. 'Don't you see why we have to help you?' he asked. 'We can't just stand by and let this _happen_.'

Remus moved to sit down with his back against his trunk. He tugged his nightshirt down to his ankles and draped his robes over his lap. 'I understand that you want to help,' he said. 'But my parents have already looked for answers. When I was little they would take me to the Continent, looking for Healers who could help. I spent a summer in a sanatorium in France. We went to Germany and Romania and Italy. All those folk cures that you're going to find – we've tried them. They don't work.'

'Maybe there's something else,' Sirius said. The steely determination in his voice was flagging a little. 'Something you haven't tried. Maybe there's some other way to make it easier, even if we can't cure you. Maybe we can work out a way to keep you from hurting yourself.' He looked at the books. 'Something must be wrong if you're hurting yourself: none of these say a thing about that.'

'Do any of them mention werewolves who behave responsibly?' Remus asked. 'Ones who are locked away so they can't hurt anyone else?'

'Well, no…' Sirius said, a little surprised. 'Now that you mention it they don't really.'

'There you are, then,' said Remus. 'I think… from what I understand, if I were outside when I transformed the wolf would hunt. It wouldn't want to hurt itself. It's only because it's trapped and angry and separated from its prey that it… does what it does.' He felt his cheeks grow crimson with shame. What would Sirius think of him, too weak even to keep the wolf from ripping into its own flesh?

'Why _can't_ you transform outside, then?' Sirius demanded. 'Why do you have to be locked up in some old house? We're all meant to be indoors after lights-out anyhow: you couldn't get into the castle.'

Remus stared at him, unable to believe that such naivety could exist. 'How many times have we snuck out of the castle after lights-out?' he said. 'And what about the teachers? Or Hagrid? Or the people in the village? Sirius, the wolf is a hunter. It will go after its prey wherever it is. A – a w-wolf pack's territory can be as big as a thousand square miles!'

'Yeah, but that's a true wolf, isn't it?' Sirius said. The protestation was feeble, and he chaffed his hand over his jaw. 'All right,' he said before Remus could argue with him further. 'So you can't just run free. But what about an enclosure with a fence or something?'

'Wolves dig,' Remus whispered. 'Just like dogs.'

'A—a bigger place to transform?' Sirius said. 'Somewhere with more to do?'

'We tried that,' Remus said. 'That's why Dumbledore gave me a whole house; to keep the wolf busy. It helped a little, but only a little.'

There was a long silence, during which Remus squirmed uncomfortably. Sirius seemed oblivious to the awkwardness of the hush. His teeth were set and his grey eyes were absent, as if he had lost himself in deepest contemplation. Finally he sighed.

'There has to be something,' he murmured. 'A charm or a potion or _something_.'

'That's false hope,' Remus whispered. 'It's just what my parents went through. And all those years, and all that money wasted, and nothing has changed. Sirius, I just want to spare you that. It isn't worth it.'

Suddenly the book was on the floor and Sirius was up on his knees, gripping the other boy's thin shoulders and shaking him.

'Don't you say that!' he cried. 'Don't you ever say that you're not worth it! You're my _friend_, Remus, and this is what friends do: they help each other! Why don't you think you deserve that?'

Remus opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His vision was blurring with brewing tears, and all that he could see clearly were Sirius's eyes, afire with passion and determination.

At that moment the door opened and James began to back into the room. Sirius hastily loosed his hold on Remus and ambled to his feet, affecting a grin as he moved to relieve his friend of the tray he carried.

'How'd you get all this past the Prefects?' he asked cheerfully.

'Easy,' said James, holding the door for Peter – who was carrying a large pitcher of pumpkin juice and a bottle of milk. 'Most of the Prefects are still abed, lazy upper years that they are, and the ones who aren't are supervising the firsties in the Great Hall. _We_ went right to the source.'

For a few minutes there was nothing but amicable banter as they shared round the breakfast dishes. Remus would not have thought himself capable of mustering any appetite at all, but as soon as he began to eat he discovered that he was mistaken. He was ravenous, and he ate with brisk efficiency.

As the meal progressed, James and Sirius both resumed thumbing through the books. 'Here's something,' James said. 'An old Danish legend says that you can cure a werewolf by scolding him.'

'Scolding him for being a werewolf?' asked Sirius, his mouth full of toast and marmalade.

'Doesn't say,' James answered. He grinned at Remus. 'We can discount that one, can't we? I mean, surely you've been scolded by McGonagall once or twice, haven't you?'

'Once or twice,' Remus agreed, smiling a little. James could always be trusted to cheer him up. 'Not for being a werewolf, of course, but certainly for my performance in Transfiguration.'

'So once, then,' Sirius said.

'Well, let's try it anyhow,' said James. He raised a chastising finger and wagged it. 'You naughty werewolf, you!' he admonished. 'You ought to know better than to change into a wolf every full moon! Why don't you act your age and just stay human like the rest of us? After all we've done for you, it's such a disappointment when you can't even stop running around on all fours and savaging the furniture. Why, when I was your age…'

Peter was giggling, but Remus hardly noticed. There was a part of him that knew that James was only joking, but the words struck home with the force of poisoned barbs. _Just stay human like the rest of us... after all we've done for you…_

'Stop!' Sirius cried, swatting at James and missing his mark because his eyes were locked on Remus. 'Stop it, you berk: he doesn't understand you're teasing!'

'N-no, I do,' Remus protested softly, scrubbing his face with his hands. 'I do, James, truly. It's only…'

'It's only that he's so used to running himself down that he can't tell when you mean it and when you don't,' Sirius said succinctly. 'You know it's not his fault, James, so don't go making jokes about how it is. Some things just aren't funny.'

'I thought it was funny,' Peter protested softly. 'You sounded just like my mum telling me and Mary off for quarrelling.'

'That's what I was trying for,' James admitted. 'But I didn't mean a word of it, Remus. I know it's not your fault, and I know scolding won't work.' He frowned pensively. 'On the other hand, maybe you're meant to scold the _wolf_. You know, at the full moon.'

A shiver of dread ran down Remus's spine. 'That's impossible,' he said. 'You wouldn't get two words in before…'

Peter's eyes went very wide and James blanched. Sirius snorted. 'What do the Danes know about werewolves, anyway?' he said derisively. 'I think we can readily dismiss that theory as a load of old cobblers.'

'Pity,' James said; 'because some of these other treatments sound awful.'

'They are,' Remus whispered, hugging his arms to his ribs. 'And none of them work.'

'If you're going into this thing with the attitude that none of them work we shan't get very far,' James pointed out. 'How do you know 'til you try?'

'What he means, James, is that he's already tried,' Sirius said. 'His parents took him 'round the Continent looking for a cure.'

'So you've tried them?' James asked. '_All _of them?'

Remus released his hold on his torso, fidgeting awkwardly. 'The ones that didn't look likely to kill me,' he said. 'Exorcising charms, wolfsbane poultices, sleep deprivation—'

'Sleep deprivation?' Sirius said skeptically. 'What's the rationale behind that?'

'B-because a werewolf is exhausted after the transformation…' said Remus. 'They thought that if they wore me out before I might be too weak to transform.' Of course this had not proved to be the case, but the change that month had very nearly killed him.

'What about this one?' James asked, consulting the book again. 'Supposedly rubbing opium on the nostrils every night before bed for a month should do the trick.'

'I had very interesting dreams,' Remus admitted, smiling a little.

'I'll bet,' Sirius chuckled.

James was still reading, but his lips were growing rather white. 'Some of these sound awful,' he murmured. 'Bloodletting, flogging, purgatives…'

Remus stared down at his lap. 'They don't work,' he whispered. 'None of them work.' Beside him he could feel Sirius stiffening in horror.

'Oh, lore!' James exclaimed. 'Listen to this. In Sicily they used to try to cure werewolves by driving nails through the palms of their hands. That's _barbaric_!'

Remus's fingers closed convulsively, balling into fists. Sometimes he could still feel the columns of anguish shooting down into his palms, slicing through sinew and scraping against bone while calloused hands held his thumbs and his wrists and he writhed in his father's arms. They had healed him straight away afterwards, of course, and wounds inflicted by iron responded beautifully to dittany, but the memory lingered as inexorable as any scar.

'Stop it,' Sirius said. 'Obviously there isn't an outright cure. I mean, if there were then everyone would use it, wouldn't they? And there'd be no more werewolves. What we need to do is work out some way to make it easier: some way to be sure that Remus doesn't hurt himself.'

'Remus hurts himself?' Peter's mouth formed a ring of dismay as he looked wide-eyed at his friend.

James frowned, clearly puzzled. 'Of course he does,' he said. 'How else do you think he gets those wounds?'

Remus drew up his knees and put his head in his hands. This was exactly what he had feared when Sirius first proposed to start looking through the books. No, he thought bitterly, it was worse. To have his friends know the things that had been done to him in the name of a cure was bad enough, but to listen to them trying to explain to Peter the savage nature of the transformation was well-nigh unbearable.

'I thought that the wolf did that…' Peter said wretchedly.

There was a moment of astonished silence. Peeking from between his fingers Remus could see Sirius and James looking at one another with horrified discomfiture.

'Well, yes,' Sirius said at last, his voice a little strangled. 'The wolf does it. But I mean, it's sort of Remus too, isn't it? They're… they've only got one body…'

'Is the wolf you, Remus?' James asked. 'I mean, is it or isn't it?'

'I don't know,' Remus mumbled, burrowing deeper against his knees and wishing with all his heart that he were anywhere but here. 'It is, I suppose – but it isn't. I mean, it's not the me I want to be. It's not the me I'd choose to be. I… I don't remember, not really. I don't remember what it's like when I'm transformed. Just flashes, feelings – not proper memories.'

He knew that he was trembling, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was unused to speaking about the wolf at all, and to do it in front of his friends, after such a long year of silence and deception, was more than he could cope with. He pulled himself still more tightly into a ball, rocking a little.

Suddenly he became aware of a warm mass to his left. A long, strong arm curled around his shoulders. From the right another body drew near, and one hand traced consoling circles on his back while the other plucked at his sleeve. There was a shuffling sound and someone reached to lay a palm across the toes of his slippers.

'It's all right,' Sirius said softly. 'We've all got memories we could do without; sometimes it's better to forget.'

'It doesn't matter to us,' said James. 'Whether the wolf is really you or not. Either way we only want to stop it hurting itself. We only want to help you.'

'I don't mind, Remus,' Peter piped up in a voice that was clearly trying to convince the speaker as well as the listener. 'I know you wouldn't do any of it if you had a choice. You're my friend.'

Remus raised his head unsteadily, looking from one earnest face to the next and the next. Somehow he managed a tiny, tremulous smile. 'I know,' he whispered, raking the hair out of his eyes and trying to straighten his back a little. 'But can we please leave these books alone for a while? Please?'

'Maybe a day or two,' Sirius conceded. 'But we're looking for a way to help you, do you hear me?'

'Though perhaps we can let up a little on the tactless questions,' said James gravely.

'All right,' said Remus, his pulse levelling off a little. 'I do appreciate it, truly.'

'What do you propose we do, then?' Sirius asked. 'Seeing that you've just derailed my plans for the day.'

'Well,' Remus said, smiling in spite of himself. 'There's always that History of Magic essay.'

_~discidium~_

Sirius Black's thirteenth birthday was rapidly approaching, and Remus found himself distracted from werewolf research by the question of a gift. He had no pocket money, and even if he had he did not know what he might possibly purchase for Sirius. If he'd had access to the Muggle shops at home there would have been a plethora of options, but the owl-order services that Sirius and James and even Peter patronized were of course wizarding by nature. Sirius was well-stocked with the tools of mischief, and he had plenty of sweets.

Remus considered making a gift, but he could think of nothing that Sirius would appreciate or enjoy. He didn't need study sheets; he wouldn't want handicrafts, and Remus found his imagination failing him. Yet he wanted to do something special for Sirius's birthday, and he was running out of time.

On Sunday afternoon when Peter and Sirius were on a pastry run, James raised the very question that had been plaguing Remus.

'Well, what are we going to do about Sirius's birthday?' he asked.

'I'm afraid I've no idea,' said Remus. 'I don't know what he wants.'

'Aside from a racing broom, you mean?' said James. 'Don't think I haven't thought about it, but I've got a niggling feeling he's got one coming anyhow. I was really hoping he'd let something slip to you.'

Remus shook his head. 'Nothing,' he said. 'He hasn't even mentioned that it's coming up. I don't… I don't think his family does much to mark birthdays.'

'They certainly didn't last year,' James snorted. 'But I mean, they were angry about the Gryffindor business then. Maybe this year will be different? I hope so, anyhow. I'll be having my birthday at school this year, and Mum and Dad do tend to go a little too far with it.'

'Your birthday!' Remus grinned and snapped his fingers. 'That's it! Last year when we were deciding what to do for your birthday Sirius said you would prefer a big dramatic jape to a present. I imagine the same holds true for him, don't you?'

A gleefully wicked smile spread across the other boy's narrow face. 'Absolutely!' he said. 'Brilliant. Have you got a plan?'

'Hardly,' Remus said with a self-deprecating smile. 'I only just thought of it.'

'Well, we'll work on it,' James said. 'We'll need to be clever, of course. And it has to be something believable, so that he doesn't cotton on right away. If only we could…' He sighed and shook his head. 'It's a pity we haven't any Prefects in our pocket.'

'Why would we need Prefects?' asked Remus.

'Well, one Prefect, anyway.' James wrinkled his nose. 'Never mind. It's impossible.'

'I don't know,' Remus said, venturing a sly smile. 'I can think of one Prefect who might be persuaded to participate in a scheme to get the better of Sirius Black, can't you?'

James offered him a blank look upon which realization dawned with gratifying glory. 'Oh, you're evil, Lupin, you know that?' he said gleefully.

_~discidium~_

James goaded Sirius into acting out in Transfiguration on Monday, which took very little doing. The moment Sirius was out the portrait-hole on his way to detention that evening, the other three boys converged on Dorcas Meadowes.

'What do you want?' she said, looking up from the long roll of parchment over which she had been labouring. A heap of advanced Dark Arts textbooks marked as belonging in the Restricted Section stood at her elbow and underneath her papers was spread a large map of Siberia.

'Is that any way to talk to lower years?' James said indignantly. 'After all, we might be taken ill and need your help, or be here to report some grave injustice, or something. You're our Prefect, Meadowes. You're here to protect us, not snipe.'

'I'm a very _busy_ Prefect, Potter, with a Defence essay that's due on Thursday and no time to waste with the school scoundrels.' Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the other two boys. 'Where's your evil twin?'

'How kind of you to refer to me as the good one.' James offered an elegant bow. 'As a matter of fact my evil twin is in detention this evening, and I have a favour to ask of you.'

'We have a favour to ask,' Peter piped up. He had been filled in on the sly during History of Magic, while Sirius had been napping behind his textbook. He was fairly bursting with excitement, and Remus wondered whether he would be able to keep the secret until Wednesday.

Dorcas adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses and narrowed her eyes into suspicious slits. 'A favour?' she echoed warily.

'Well, yes,' James said. 'I know I'm sometimes something of an irritant—'

'You're a thorn in my side,' said Meadowes frankly. 'And your partner in crime doubly so. You're cheeky and insolent and you have a total disregard for authority. And between the two of you you've lost Gryffindor more points than the rest of your year put together.'

'In all fairness, we earn points as well,' James argued. 'We're quite gifted academically you know.'

'I earned five points last week,' Peter said happily.

'Very nice, I'm sure,' said Dorcas. 'Who are you again?'

'P-Peter Pettigrew,' stammered the smaller boy, reddening a little. He pointed at James. 'He's my friend.'

'The thing is,' said James; 'I need you to let bygones be bygones and help me out. You see, Sirius has a birthday coming up, and—'

'I shan't spring him from detention, if that's what you're asking,' said Meadowes. 'Nor will I promise him amnesty for the day. If he steps out of line, I'll discharge my duties with pleasure, as I've done many times before.'

'Actually…' James began, then halted, frowning. 'Hang on. _With pleasure_? You like coming down on us like an avenging demon?'

Remus could not help but shake his head. James was going about the matter all wrong, and quite differently from the way they had discussed. 'Miss Meadowes,' he said quietly, edging forward so that he was standing almost beside James; 'I think we're failing to present our case the way we ought to. You see…' He glanced at James, who was grinning encouragingly at him. 'Well, it's Sirius's thirteenth birthday on Wednesday and we'd really like to… that is… uh…'

She was watching him intently, and his courage failed him. He was not at all certain that he was phrasing the thing properly himself, and after all it had been agreed that James would do the talking.

'We'd like to take him for a ride,' James concluded.

Dorcas pursed her lips. 'On a Thestral, I suppose? Or perhaps you think I ought to help you bring in a dragon.'

'He means we're going to play a prank on Sirius, and we need your help,' Remus explained. 'It wouldn't work without a Prefect, and we thought – I thought – perhaps you might like to get the better of him. It isn't anything dangerous or against school rules, I promise.'

Meadowes frowned. 'A prank? You want me to help you play a prank on Sirius Black?'

'Well…' James hedged, looking rather uncomfortable.

'Yes,' said Remus in his most matter-of-fact voice. 'Just think how annoyed he'll be when he realizes that you helped put one over on him.'

Dorcas's lips twitched, and for a moment Remus expected her to lash out with a stinging reprimand. Instead a slow, contented smile spread across the Prefect's face. 'I'm listening,' she said. 'Not consenting, mind you,' she added, raising her index finger when James looked ready to burst into applause. 'Just listening.'

'Right; fair enough,' said James. He looked around to be sure that no one else was listening, but all the other people in the common room were engaged in their own conversations or engrossed in their homework. 'Well, it's like this…'

_~discidium~_

The following evening was the Hallowe'en feast, and this year Remus was not alone at the table. Sitting with his friends and laughing together, he felt happier than he could ever remember being. The transformation and the werewolf textbooks seemed a thing of the past, and tomorrow's intended antics still seemed a long way off. Remus was content to revel in the present, in scrumptious food and wonderful companionship. The evening's festivities carried back to Gryffindor Tower, and indeed up into the boys' dormitory. James at last broke it up just before midnight, and they all went to bed satiated, cheerful and contented.

The following morning, Remus found himself being prodded awake by an arm snaking between his right-hand hangings. He crept out of bed and followed James around to rouse Peter. Then the three of them moved to Sirius's bed, drawing back the curtains with care. Sirius was still fast asleep, lying on his stomach with one knee bent and his right forearm flung up over his face. James put his forefingers between his lips and let out a piercing whistle, and the three boys launched into a boisterous chorus of '_Happy Birthday'_.

Sirius awoke with a snort, rolling onto his hip and looking wildly about. He scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and was grinning before they reached the last bars of the song.

'Why, thank you,' he said, bobbing his shoulders in an approximation of a bow. 'You're awfully good kids to remember.'

'Kids?' James said, affecting a deeply wounded expression. '_Kids_?'

'Well, I'm thirteen now, aren't I?' said Sirius. 'Which makes me a strapping adolescent, while you three are mere children of twelve. I trust you shall lean upon my wisdom and respect the dignity of my years from here on out.' He turned his attention to the foot of his bed, which was crowded with several brightly wrapped parcels. 'Ooh, prezzies,' he said eagerly, bouncing down the mattress towards them.

'That one in the blue paper is from the three of us,' James announced, pointing at a gaudily wrapped box. This too was part of the plan: for Sirius to be caught unawares he had to think that his friends had already marked the day.

Sirius tore into the paper, revealing a basket of sweets that James had ordered from the village. He favoured each of his friends with a grin and eager thanks, and then tossed Peter a packet of Every-Flavour Beans to share around while he went for the next one.

This was a broad, flat box wrapped in silver paper with a black organza ribbon, and Sirius opened it gingerly. When he saw the embossing on the box inside he relaxed visibly, whipping off the cover and pushing back layers of tissue to pull out a new winter cloak with ornate silver fastenings.

'From Mum and Dad,' he said. 'Boring, but at least it's not embarrassing.'

'Oh, you'll be ever so _pretty_ this year,' James said, flipping the collar wrong side out. 'Look: hand-stitched.'

'By some poor sod in Diagon Alley,' Sirius clarified. 'My mother wouldn't know a needle from a nosegay.' He reached for the next package, this one covered in green paper. He held it up to his ear, shaking it curiously.

'Just open it,' snorted James, fishing for another bean and tossing it into the air so that he could catch it on his tongue. 'Ugh,' he said, wrinkling his nose. 'Pineapple. I hate pineapple.'

'I've got earthworm, I think,' Peter said, munching contentedly on his.

Sirius was peeling the paper from his rattling gift. He opened it up and poured half a dozen shiny steel rings into his lap. They looked rather like washers, but they were thicker and seemed to be made of several pieces fitted together. Sirius let out a yelp of glee and slipped one around the first knuckle of his thumb, using his index finger to flick it. The outer part of the ring spun with a low whirring noise.

'What the devil are those?' asked James, staring.

'Ball bearings!' Sirius cried. 'Muggles use them in wheels and machines and things; they're ever such fun. I had a few when I was younger, but Mum found them and threw them down the storm drain. Here, try it!'

James picked one up and spun it. He shrugged, clearly nonplussed. 'What's the attraction?'

'They're heavy!' Sirius enthused. 'And they're cold and they move so smoothly. I could fiddle with them for hours.' Deftly he donned four more, one on the second knuckle of each finger. Then he began running his hand up and down his calf so that the bearings rolled against his shinbone. 'I wonder where Regulus got them, and how he knew what to ask for,' he mused. 'I'll just bet you he had help from the house-elves. They'd lick a light socket if he asked them to.'

'That's because he treats them with a little courtesy,' James said rather pointedly. He watched for another minute as Sirius continued to run the bearings over his leg. 'Uh… are you _actually_ planning to fiddle with those things for hours, or are you going to open your other gifts? Because that great long one looks interesting.'

Sirius rolled his eyes, depositing the ball bearings back in their box and reaching, in a typically contrary gesture, for the smaller of the two remaining gifts. He hefted it onto his lap, grinning at the paper, which was printed with red balloons. There was an envelope taped to it, and he tore into that, yanking out the note within.

'Drommie!' he cried. 'I knew it!' Tossing the note aside unread, he tore off the paper, revealing a pair of heavy hardback books. The jackets were white with a mosaic of brightly coloured squares, each one containing a line drawing of a Muggle machine. They were entitled _The Way Things Work: An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Technology_.

'_Brilliant_!' Sirius breathed, taking in the title with a swift glance before opening Volume One to a random page. He whistled softly. 'Would you look at that,' he said, clearly impressed. 'It's the inside of a faucet.'

The other boys leaned forward to look at the annotated diagrams. 'Fascinating,' James said dryly.

'It is fascinating!' Sirius said happily, thumbing along to another page. 'It's fascinating. Good old Drommie: she knows me, all right. Probably sent Tonks off to find something I'd like.'

'Don't Muggles know how to spell _encyclopaedia?_' James asked. 'They've left out the first 'a'.'

'That's how it's spelled in America,' Remus said. 'They don't hold much with extra vowels over there.'

'What's an Atomic clock?' Peter asked, craning his neck to look at the cover of Volume Two.

'I don't know,' Sirius said; 'but I mean to find out. Say… I wonder if there's a page about motorbikes.'

'Would you _please_ open that big one?' James begged. 'It's from your uncle, isn't it?'

Sirius closed the book so quickly that he caught his thumb in the spine. 'Uncle Alphard? Really?' _The Way Things Work_ was cast unceremoniously aside as Sirius dragged the large, oblong parcel towards him. It was wrapped in heavy brown paper and bore a stamp from British Customs and Excise, Owl Office. Sirius's hands trembled a little as he attacked the wrapping, peeling back the layers of paper and uncurling the cardboard tubing that gave the parcel its shape. As the broomstick came into view, Sirius let out a low, appreciative whistle.

'Well?' James asked eagerly. 'What is it? What sort?'

'It's a Comet,' Sirius said, drawing it out and caressing the pommel of the handle, on which the broom's name was engraved. 'A 230.'

'One model better than mine,' James said, grinning happily. 'You'll be a worthy opponent at last, Black.'

'Absolutely,' Sirius breathed, running his hand along the shaft and stroking the aerodynamic bundle of twigs. There was a dreamy and rather misty-eyed look on his face. 'I thought for sure Uncle Alphard forgot that he promised,' he said reverently, studying the broom in intimate detail. Then suddenly he had thrust it upon James and he was scrambling for the cupboard to dig out his robes. 'Everybody hurry up and get dressed!' he cried. 'I've got to get outside and try it!'

'You haven't time for that,' James pointed out. 'We need to grab some breakfast and get to Defence Against the Dark Arts. After all, you don't want detention tonight.'

'Damn it!' Sirius cried, stamping one bare foot indignantly. 'Why didn't you wake me earlier?'

'We woke you the minute we were up ourselves,' James said. 'And I did try to get you to hurry up and open it.' He shrugged his shoulders with a long-suffering sigh. 'Why does no one ever listen to me?'

'Well if you'd told me I was getting a _broomstick_…' Sirius began.

'And how could I possibly know that?' James asked. 'It's from your uncle. I had nothing to do with it. It was only a hunch, and I wasn't about to get your hopes up over a hunch.'

Sirius cast a long admiring and somewhat wistful glance at the broom, and then began to dress for the day. 'Come on then, and hurry up. There'll be no mischief-making today, do you hear? The minute lessons let out for the day I want to try that beauty out.'

'Agreed,' James said, nodding firmly. 'No mischief today.'

'None at all,' said Peter in turn.

Remus was preoccupied with gathering his things so that he could change in the cover of his bed, and he did not affirm the pledge, but Sirius did not seem to feel it necessary to extract a promise from him. Less than ten minutes later the four of them were on their way down to the Great Hall. Remus hung back a pace, tugging at James's sleeve.

'What is it?' James murmured as Sirius went running to share news of his birthday gift with Eldritch McKinnon.

'Perhaps we should call it off,' Remus said. 'It seems a little cruel now: he's so anxious to get outdoors.'

'That'll make it all the more effective,' James said. 'I was counting on it, as a matter of fact: if he hadn't got the broom we'd have no stakes to play with.'

'But…'

'Relax and enjoy it!' cried James. 'He will, once it's over and done. And anyway we've already arranged the whole thing with Meadowes. She'll look a right fool if we don't go through with it: it would be positively ungentlemanly.'

'I just don't know,' Remus sighed.

'I do. Sirius thrives on suspense. He'll love it, I promise.'

James strode off down the corridor after the others, leaving Remus no choice but to follow, hoping desperately that his friend was right.


	62. Persecuted by Prefects

_Note: Sorry that the post is so late. I'm seriously insecure about this chapter, and it took about four times as long to edit as most of the others. If you like it, please do let me know... because I've clearly got issues._

_In other news, the Reviewer Appreciation One-Shot is posted! It is entitled 'More Than Manners Will', and can be reached from my profile page. I am now taking suggestions for 'Missing Moments' to be included in the next poll: just dash off a PM or leave a postscript in your review._

**Chapter Sixty-Two: Persecuted by Prefects**

James and Remus caught up to Sirius and Peter at the portrait-hole, and the four of them followed the current of Gryffindors migrating towards the Great Hall. They were scarcely through the doors when a slender, patrician figure in Slytherin robes descended upon them.

'Sirius…' Narcissa Black began.

'If you're here to remind me to write and thank Mum for the cloak, don't bother,' Sirius sneered. 'She doesn't expect it and I'm not going to do it; everyone's happy.'

'I don't care what you write home about,' Narcissa said stiffly. 'I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.'

Sirius squinted at her, his whole stance radiating suspicion. 'You did?' he said.

'Yes,' said Narcissa. 'Happy Birthday.'

'Thanks…' Sirius did not seem quite comfortable with this overture of friendship, but when Narcissa offered a small smile his expression brightened. 'I don't suppose you went one step further and procured a present?' he asked.

'I'll bring you back a Butterbeer on the next Hogsmeade weekend,' Narcissa offered pertly.

'Don't bother,' Sirius said. 'It'd only be cold by the time you got it back to the castle.'

The Slytherin Prefect rolled her eyes. 'There's this wonderful invention called the Warming Charm,' she pointed out. 'Any witch worth her salt can cast one.'

Sirius nodded sagely. 'Like I said, it'd be cold by the time you got it back to the castle.' He crossed his arms, looking at her appraisingly. 'What is it you _really _want?'

Narcissa paled a little, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the Slytherin table to be sure none of her housemates were looking at her. 'I just wondered…' she said hesitantly. 'I wondered if maybe you had presents or cards from… anyone _else_, you know?'

'Of course I did,' Sirius said with a haughty toss of his head. 'My friends bought me a dirty great basket of sweets. And there was the cloak from Mum and Dad. And Uncle Alphard sent me a racing broom. Frightfully expensive. Top-of-the-line Comet. What did he give you for your birthday again? A vial of jasmine perfume, wasn't it? Dear me. Cissy mustn't be very popular.'

'It comes from Florence and it has an ambergris base,' Narcissa sniffed. '_Not_ that I'd expect you to know what that is. Suffice it to say it was also _frightfully_ expensive, and much more useful than a silly old broomstick. But anyway that's not what I meant.'

'Andromeda sent me a brilliant gift, if that's what you're asking,' Sirius said. 'If you tell my mother I'll turn you into a ferret.'

'Why would you think I'd tell your mother?' snapped Narcissa.

'Precedent?' Sirius bit back. 'Why do you care what Drommie sent me, anyhow? It's no business of yours!'

'I just wondered if she sent a letter as well,' Narcissa blurted out. Realizing what she had said she pressed her fingertips to her lips and looked around again uneasily. She leaned in nearer to Sirius and added in an awkward whisper, 'I wondered if you knew how she's doing.'

Remus realized then that this was Narcissa's real motivation for approaching Sirius. She was not especially interested in his gifts, nor indeed in the fact that it was his birthday. She was anxious for news of her sister, and Sirius was the only person she could ask. Andromeda had been cut off from the family, and Remus could not imagine Narcissa Black defying her parents' wishes and making contact with the outcast blood-traitor. Yet obviously she still cared about Drommie – though she was equally obviously loath to admit it.

Sirius appeared to have reached the same conclusion, but where it moved Remus to pity it roused him to scorn. He curled his lip and tossed his head. 'I can't see why you'd care about that,' he said nastily. 'After all, I seem to recall that you were the one who said she was a Mudblood's harlot and deserved whatever she got.'

Narcissa's jaw dropped with a soft popping sound, and her creamy complexion faded into a horrible greyish patina. For a moment she seemed incapable of speech. Then her teeth clicked together and her blue eyes flashed like ice. 'Very well,' she said tersely. 'If you are going to be rude about it, you horrid little boy, then I've nothing more to say to you.'

She turned on her heels and swept away back to the Slytherin table, where she took her place among the Prefects, smiling fawningly at Lucius Malfoy as she helped herself to the kippers.

James was staring at Sirius in horror. 'I can't believe you'd say something like that about your cousin,' he said.

'I didn't say it; Cissy said it,' Sirius retorted. 'I only threw it back in her face, which is no more than she deserved. All the things she said when Drommie was cut off – serves her right.'

'Well, I don't think that sort of thing needs repeating,' said James, rather primly. 'What if Evans or Boothby or someone heard you using a word like that? They wouldn't understand you were only trying to make that nasty girl feel guilty; they'd think you meant it!'

'Aw, leave it out, James,' Sirius groaned. 'So I said a dirty word. So what?'

'Please don't fight,' Peter said softly. 'Can't we just sit down and enjoy our breakfast?'

James's expression brightened at once. 'Absolutely,' he said. 'Capital idea.' He grinned at Sirius. 'C'mon, Black. Just because you're an insolent adolescent now doesn't mean you get to start cutting out the morning meal.'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Sirius said, strolling towards his customary seat.

The others did the same, and as he clambered over the bench Peter nudged James with his elbow, looking up with an expression of querying excitement. James nodded surreptitiously and gestured with his left hand for silence.

Sirius did not notice, being absorbed in filling his plate. 'Narcissa needs bringing down a peg or two,' he said as he speared several rashers of bacon and reached for the milk. 'I think the Second Year Boys in the Third Dormitory ought to cook up some kind of a prank to put her in her place.'

'I don't know, Sirius,' Remus said quietly, buttering his toast. 'She was only looking for news of her sister. It isn't as if she was making an unreasonable demand.'

'I'm the one who had to sit there and listen to them all tearing Drommie down,' Sirius said. 'I'll decide what's unreasonable, thank you. What do you say, James? Prank Narcissa? We could call it a birthday present.'

'You've had your birthday present,' James said; 'and I think I've made it perfectly clear that I'm not going to get dragged into your cousins' private affairs anymore.'

Sirius thrust out his lip in a convincing pout. 'Well, if you want to be mean about it…'

At the head of the table, Dorcas Meadowes got up from her seat. Peter made a tiny noise of excitement that he had the good sense to muffle behind a mouthful of porridge. James ducked low over his plate so that Sirius could not see his eyes.

'Sirius Black,' the Prefect said grimly, coming up behind him and crossing her arms disapprovingly.

'Well, well, well. Dorcas Meadowes.' Sirius flashed his most winning smile. 'How can I help you this morning?'

She frowned at him. 'I just wanted to say that I know what you're up to, young man, and if you don't call it off right this minute I'll have you in detention so quickly that your head will spin.'

Sirius looked up at her in mild surprise. 'What I'm up do? Why, Dorcas, I'm shocked. Who says I'm up to anything?'

She squinted at him through her spectacles. 'Who needs to say it?' she countered. 'You had best think twice about doing it, that's all.' She gave Sirius a last long, inscrutable look before striding off.

The other three boys sat in silence, waiting for Sirius to speak. He held off until he was certain that Meadowes was out of earshot, and then hunched in his seat, a playfully paranoid light in his eyes. 'She's got ears everywhere, that one,' he said. 'I suppose pranking Narcissa is off, then.'

'What makes you think she was talking about Narcissa?' asked James lazily. 'At any given time we've got at least three ideas on the go. Maybe she's cottoned on to our plans for Binns.'

'We haven't any plans for Binns!' Sirius protested. Remus raised an eyebrow and James snorted. 'Well, no firm plans, anyhow. And let Binns worry about it if we did. Prefects haven't any authority in the classrooms. Do they?' He twisted on the bench, looking urgently at Remus. '_Do they_?'

'I'm not sure,' said Remus, managing what he was fairly certain was a perfectly straight face. 'Whatever she was talking about, she certainly sounded as if she meant it.'

'Well, we're staying out of trouble today,' Sirius said resolutely. 'The minute lessons are finished I'm going out to try my broomstick, and I plan to be out there all night! I haven't any time for detention.'

'Certainly not,' James said solemnly. Peter covered his mouth with one hand, trying to disguise an excited titter as a cough.

'What's wrong with you?' Sirius asked, eyeing him uncertainly.

'Bit of toast went down the wrong way,' Peter supplied with a suitably sheepish smile. 'No trouble today, right, Sirius?'

'That's right!' Sirius said fiercely.

'Well, unless we're provoked,' James amended.

'No!' Sirius whipped around again, brandishing his index finger and very nearly upsetting the dish of clotted cream. 'No trouble at all, Potter, and don't you tempt me, either. You know I've got no impulse control.'

James held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. 'All right, all right,' he said. 'Not even if we're provoked. Not even if Mulciber comes out of the woodwork raging for revenge. No trouble today.'

'And don't you forget it!' Sirius said, but he was grinning again as he climbed off the bench and slung his book bag over his shoulder. 'Should be an interesting little experiment.'

_~discidium~_

Staying out of trouble was easy in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Meyrigg, having finished with Red Caps, was moving on to water demons, and the lecture was very interesting. The idea that the energetic young teacher was patronizing her pupils had lost all credibility: the lessons were engaging and the practical days were challenging. By prior arrangement no one tried to tempt Sirius, and the class progressed peaceably until ten minutes before its end, when there was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' Professor Meyrigg said in her melodious Welsh voice. James flashed the tiniest of smiles at Remus as the door opened and Dorcas Meadowes came in.

'I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor,' she said, coming up to the dais and surveying the class with a stern gaze that lingered for a good five seconds on Sirius. 'A letter came through by urgent owl post, and Professor McGonagall wanted me to deliver it to the receiving party.' She brandished a slender roll of parchment with a wax seal.

'Proceed, Dorcas, certainly,' said Meyrigg, turning her attention back onto her pupils. 'Now, then. When suspecting an infestation of Peg-o'-the-Wells, what is the first thing you ought to look for? Elsie.'

Remus didn't listen to the answer, for he was watching Sirius's face as Dorcas bore down upon him, thrusting the parchment into his hand. He looked at it uneasily, doubtless wondering whether it was some unpleasant missive from home. Before he could ask whatever question was lingering on his lips, Dorcas was halfway back to the door. Shaking his head, Sirius broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. Surprise and then amusement appeared upon his face, and he snorted softly before returning to his lackadaisical note-taking.

'I think Meadowes must be under her quota for punishments assigned this quarter,' Sirius said as the class rose and began to file out.

'You mean it's not a letter from your mum?' James asked in a convincing counterfeit of surprise.

'Nope,' Sirius said, tossing the parchment to his friend.

James frowned studiously at it. '_Don't even think about it, Black. I'm watching you._ Huh. I don't recognize the handwriting.'

'It's Meadowes's, obviously,' snorted Sirius. 'She's winding me up, trying to get me to act out just to prove I'm not scared of her warnings. Well, it won't work. With the proper motivation I can keep myself very nicely out of trouble, thank you.'

'Would you listen to that?' James said, jerking his head for Remus and Peter. 'With the proper _motivation_. Doesn't he just sound like a Prefect himself?'

'Give over, Potter! I do not,' Sirius said, elbowing James in the ribs.

'Prove it, then,' said James with a wicked grin. 'Pull one in History of Magic.'

'Not today,' said Sirius firmly. 'Tomorrow.'

'We haven't got History of Magic tomorrow,' Peter pointed out.

'Potions, then,' Sirius said. 'I'll pull a proper prank in Potions. It's more fun winding Slughorn up anyhow. Half the time I don't know if Binns can tell the difference between a jape and an oral presentation.'

'Somebody's scared of Meadowes…' James said in a singsong voice, strolling from the classroom and down the corridor.

'I'm not scared!' Sirius protested indignantly, hurrying after him with Remus and Peter behind. 'I'm focusing on other priorities today. Just like we all did for Remus.'

'Only that was selfless altruism in aid of a friend,' said James; 'where this is be-a-good-ickle-boy-and-keep-your-nose-clean in aid of a couple hours of flying practice.' He grinned, turning to tweak Sirius by the nose. 'Admit it; you're a _little bit _scared of Meadowes!'

'Absolutely not!' said Sirius.

'Then prove it,' James said, leaning against the door of Professor Binns's classroom and ushering the others inside. 'Just a little, quiet prank.'

'All right then,' Sirius said defiantly. 'What do you suggest?'

'Well, personally, I find Charlotte White's pigtails irresistible,' James said, gesturing at the girl's long plaits. 'But to each his own.'

'I don't know if this is such a good idea,' Peter piped up, right on cue. 'I mean, Meadowes looked like she meant business, Sirius, and she already isn't fond of you.'

'Not fond of me?' Sirius tossed his head airily. 'Pish. She's madly in love with me, and she just won't admit it.'

'I'm really not sure that's true, Sirius,' Remus said mildly. 'She calls you "_the thorn in my side_", you know.'

'Well, she should talk to my grandmother then,' Sirius snorted. He spied an empty place behind Betta MacFusty. 'Charlotte White's pigtails it is,' he hissed as he moved to take it.

Sirius waited until the midst of the lecture, when most of the class was beginning to nod off to the soporific account of the Second War of the Giants in 1815. Then, leaning back in his chair he slipped his wand from out of his robes.

James reached across the aisle and poked him in the ribs. 'Not yet,' he mouthed quietly. 'Wait.'

Sirius cast him a querying glance, but obliged. Only fifteen minutes remained in the lesson when James cleared his throat and nodded his approval.

Sirius's lips moved, mouthing an incantation, and the tips of Charlotte's braids began to levitate, creeping up her back. Peter pressed his lips together, his eyes shining with unuttered laughter. Higher the plaits rose, until the ribbons were level with the back of the girl's head. Charlotte seemed oblivious to what was happening, leaning forward against her elbow and watching the hypnotic swaying of her quill as she transcribed the teacher's droning words.

Still Sirius continued, and the braids lifted up beyond the crown of her head, rising like twin columns into the air. The result was comical and increasingly bizarre, and Remus found himself fighting the urge to laugh. James seemed similarly afflicted, but he also appeared to be waiting breathlessly – no doubt in the hope that the timing would come out to greatest effect.

As the plaits drew near their maximum height, they began to tug gently on the hairs at the nape of the girl's neck. At last aware of the crawling sensation, Charlotte raised an instinctive hand to brush at the base of her skull. Her fingers settled on the bump of one inverted braid and she stiffened, her hand flying up the length of twined hair. She let out a yelp of alarm that was muted somewhat by a knock at the door.

Swift as lightning Sirius secreted his wand away. The braids flopped down, slapping against Charlotte's back. She twisted in her seat, confused and indignant and looking for her assailant, but like everyone else Sirius was watching the door as another knock sounded. Professor Binns, eternally oblivious, kept right on with his lecture.

After the third knock the caller obviously tired of waiting. The door opened, and a Prefect came in. It was Prewett, in fifth year. Remus looked sidelong at James, who was watching impassively.

'Pardon me, Professor,' Prewett said. When Binns did not answer, he cleared his throat and tried again. 'Professor?'

Binns turned away from his lectern, squinting at the intruder. 'Ah, Francis!' he said, almost cordially. 'How can I help you?'

'It's Fabian, sir,' the Prefect said reflexively, clearly not hopeful that the teacher would remember. 'I just wanted to look in. Dorcas Meadowes was wondering whether you'd had any disruptions in your lessons today.'

'Disruptions?' Binns's wrinkled old face seemed to shrivel under the effort of recollection. 'No disruptions, no. Why? Should I have done?'

'No, sir, I don't think so,' Fabian said. 'Only Dorcas was concerned, and as she's got Transfiguration just now I told her I'd check in.'

There was a muffled snort that Remus rather thought came from James, but no one else seemed to notice it. Sirius's brows were furrowed into two dark lines, and the corners of his mouth were tight. As Prewett thanked Professor Binns and left the room the lecture continued. Charlotte White was still feeling her plaits, a bewildered expression on her face, but Sirius did not dare to resume his teasing.

'She's out to get me,' he whispered as the four boys left the classroom. His grey eyes were glassy with mistrust. 'She knew I was going to prank somebody in History of Magic! How did she know I was going to prank somebody in History of Magic? She couldn't have known. I only decided just before class began. How did Meadowes know what I was going to do?'

'Don't be daft,' James snorted. 'It was just a coincidence.'

'I don't believe in coincidences!' Sirius said, gesticulating broadly. 'Meadowes _knew_. And she knew in time to recruit Prewett to check up on me.'

'Why would she do that?' asked Peter.

'Isn't it obvious?' Sirius asked. 'She's determined to get me into trouble. I'll just bet she knows I've got other plans. James, is Meadowes friendly with McKinnon?'

'I doubt it,' James said. 'Meadowes isn't big on Quidditch, and Eldritch hasn't got the time of day for anyone who isn't big on Quidditch. Just relax. She's not out to get you.'

Sirius frowned, looking to Remus for confirmation. 'James is right,' Remus said. 'Think about it. Does it really make sense that she'd disrupt two lessons just to catch you making trouble?'

'I suppose not…' Sirius said reluctantly. He frowned. 'Still, it's suspicious, isn't it?'

'Not especially,' said James. 'After all, Prefects do love to flaunt their badges, don't they? Maybe she's just feeling the need to assert her authority.'

'Then why am I her target?' Sirius asked.

'You might not be,' said Peter. 'Maybe she checked on lots of other classes.' They were in the Entrance Hall now, and he sniffed the air eagerly. 'Steak and kidney pie!' he exclaimed, hurrying for the Great Hall.

'Pity,' Sirius said. 'I was really hoping for roast chicken. Don't they know whose birthday it is?'

James chuckled. 'Do you really expect the Hogwarts house-elves to cook your favourite foods just because it's your birthday?'

'Why should they?' Sirius asked, shrugging. 'The ones at home never do.'

He brushed past Remus, leaving James standing puzzled at the head of the great marble staircase. 'They don't?' he said softly, looking at Remus with anxious eyes. 'I mean, I know he's not chummy with them, but you'd think his mum would make them do that at least.'

'We're talking about _his_ mum, James, not your mum,' Remus pointed out.

James grimaced.

'It isn't too late to call it off, you know,' said Remus, seeing an opportunity to make his point again. 'I'll talk to Dorcas if you like. We could just skip right to the end.'

'Skip right to the end?' James scoffed. 'Never! He's just starting to get worked up over it. If we skip to the end we'll ruin the fun.' He clapped Remus on the shoulder and offered a conspiratorial smile. 'Sirius is sinking his teeth into the puzzle: we can't stop now. You know how he loves a good mystery.'

'Well, yes,' Remus allowed. 'But—'

'C'mon: he'll get suspicious if we hang back too long!' James said. 'There's only so much one can gossip about house-elves.'

'What were you two doing, lurking in the doorway?' Sirius asked as they took their seats.

'Gossiping about house-elves,' said James with a sunny smile. 'Between you and me, I think Melly's sweet on somebody.'

'Yuck,' Sirius snorted. 'You watch out, Potter. The last thing you want is a miniature house-elf underfoot.'

'I think a baby house-elf would be cute,' said Peter, setting down his utensils and trying to measure with his hands. 'How big are they?'

Sirius cocked his head to one side as he helped himself to the mashed potatoes. 'You know, Pettigrew, sometimes you sound like a girl.'

'A fourth year girl,' James agreed sagely. He elbowed Peter, grinning. 'They're about the size of bunch of radishes,' he said. 'Baby house-elves, I mean.'

'Oh,' Peter said, looking pleased by the image. He resumed his meal contentedly.

'Frankly, if Kreacher ever feels the need to procreate I'm moving in with Alphard,' Sirius said as he tore into a crusty roll and slathered it liberally with butter. 'Better yet Drommie, if only I could find her.'

'You haven't read her letter,' Remus said. 'Perhaps she's left you her address.'

'Not a chance,' Sirius snorted. 'She's too clever for that. What I know I can be made to admit I know – at least in theory. She's taking enough of a risk writing me. Which reminds me, James, can I borrow Ronan sometime? I'd like to send a note to thank her and Tonks for the books.'

'Sirius Black writes thank-you notes?' James chortled. 'This is a new and disturbing side of you, my friend.'

Sirius offered up a toothy grin. 'You do realize I'm only trying to spook you,' he said.

'Why would you want Ronan anyhow?' asked James. 'I guarantee Hermes is faster.'

'But more conspicuous,' Remus said quietly. He recalled Mr Black's parting warning about using Hermes to contact the wrong sort of people, but he did not think that Sirius would want to confess to that, given James's response to the encounter with Narcissa.

Sirius reached to squeeze his arm under the table; a tiny gesture of thanks. James nodded thoughtfully.

'Fair point,' he said. 'Sure: I don't mind if you use him. Just remember to give him some treats when you're through.'

'But of course,' Sirius said. 'There has to be some benefit in working for me. Aside, of course, from the sheer joy of it.'

He smirked and took a large forkful of pie, nearly choking on it as a familiar figure came striding down the length of the Gryffindor table.

'M-Meadowes!' he yelped, stiffening and hastily brushing the crumbs of pastry from his robes.

Dorcas arched an eyebrow, unable to quite contain her smile. 'Black,' she said coolly. 'Aren't we looking a little guilty this afternoon?'

'We aren't,' Sirius protested. 'I mean, I'm not. That is, of course, none of us are…'

'Save it for Professor McGonagall,' said Meadowes. 'I'm not interested in your excuses.' She frowned ominously. 'Best finish your dinner and run along to Transfiguration,' she advised.

She walked away, leaving Sirius sputtering and pointing after her. 'D'you see?' he said. 'D'you see? She's out to get me! She is, she is.'

'I don't think so,' Peter said stoutly. 'I think she's just being silly.'

'It's all in your head, Sirius,' James agreed. 'Dorcas Meadowes is not out to get you.'

'B-but… but…' Sirius's mouth worked frenetically, making him look rather like a guppy out of water.

Remus patted his elbow. 'Just eat your lunch, Sirius,' he said. 'We don't want to be late for Professor McGonagall's class.'

'Professor McGonagall!' Sirius exclaimed. 'Do you suppose she's in on it, too?'

'In on what?' James asked innocently. Sirius cast him a look of disgruntled disbelief. 'I mean it: if you've concocted some wild conspiracy, you owe us an explanation of your theory at least.'

'Meadowes…' Sirius said. 'She's spying on me. And she's got Prewett under her thumb, and McGonagall… well, McGonagall…'

'Is quite happy eating her… what's she eating, Peter?' asked James.

'Bread pudding,' Peter said, glancing briefly at the staff table. 'With caramel sauce.'

'Her bread pudding with caramel sauce,' finished James. 'Come along, Sirius. Just because you're now a paranoid teen doesn't mean you need to act like one. Cling a little longer to your youth, my friend.'

'Spoken with all the wisdom of your twelve years, no doubt,' Sirius said, smiling.

Remus felt himself breathing a little easier. Sometimes it was difficult to tell when Sirius was actually upset and when he was merely being dramatic. Watching him tuck back into his meal, Remus began to suspect that the latter was true.

_~discidium~_

That suspicion died a swift death when the four boys reached Professor McGonagall's classroom. Sirius blanched and Peter's eyes went wide, and Remus stared in disbelief. Seated on a chair to the side of Professor McGonagall's desk was Dorcas Meadowes.

Remus looked at James, at the same moment that James turned to look at Remus. From the startled expression behind the spectacles Remus knew that this was not part of the plan. Half a pace in front of them, Sirius was gawking like a man confronted by some horrible spectre of doom.

It was Peter who recovered his wits first, perhaps thinking as Remus had been inclined to that this was some modification to their strategy made by James. He prodded Sirius in the back. 'Go and sit down,' he prompted. Sirius, startled out of his stupor, stumbled to his customary desk, landing heavily in the chair and still staring at Meadowes.

'She…' he began hoarsely as Remus sat beside him.

'Hush,' said Remus soothingly. 'You haven't made any trouble today – well, not _much_ trouble, anyhow.'

'But _what is she doing here_?' Sirius hissed. 'Hasn't she got lessons?'

'Wednesday nights is NEWTs Astronomy,' James mumbled. 'She'll be up until four in the morning. Feel privileged, Black: she's giving up her afternoon nap just to make you feel uncomfortable.'

Professor McGonagall had a different explanation, of course. 'Miss Meadowes will be sitting in on today's lesson,' she announced at the start of the lecture. 'She has expressed an interest in pursuing a career in education following her NEWTs, and therefore she has asked for an opportunity to observe. Please make her welcome.'

There was a smattering of unenthusiastic applause and Dorcas smiled pleasantly, her eyes lingering just a little longer on Sirius than on anyone else. He sank lower in his seat, trying to hide behind his quill.

It was just as well that Sirius was preoccupied with presenting a picture of academic industry, for James spent most of the lesson grinning like a fool and shaking his head. Clearly Dorcas was surpassing herself in her enthusiasm to aid in the cause of getting one over on Sirius Black. She had mastered him to the point where she had only to glance in his direction to set him squirming.

When the class was dismissed, Professor McGonagall called Sirius to the front of the room. He went reluctantly, shooting anxious glances at Dorcas. James and Remus lingered behind, but Peter had to be dispatched on his errand.

'Just tell them what we need and where to bring it,' James whispered, turned carefully so that Sirius could not see.

'What if they won't do it?' Peter asked.

'Don't be silly: of course they'll do it. Just be polite and say please and thank you and they'll be tripping over themselves to do it. Remember, Classroom Eight.'

'Classroom Eight,' Peter repeated. He smiled enormously. 'I won't let you down, James; I promise.'

'You couldn't possibly,' James assured him, glancing furtively at Sirius and McGonagall. 'Now run along!'

He turned around and resumed his stance of patient waiting. Sirius was nodding emphatically, and as McGonagall turned to clear her desk he came back towards his friends, looking rather dazed.

'Well?' asked James. 'What did she want?'

'She wanted to wish me a happy birthday,' Sirius said, looking rather perplexed. 'And to remind me that broomsticks are not to be used for flying to the top of the Astronomy Tower.'

'That's a useful rule to remember,' James said. 'Though I'm a little disturbed that she's still talking about that bit of youthful exuberance: after all, you were a mere _child _of eleven when we did that, and you're now a grown man of thirteen.'

'But how did she know I got a broomstick?' Sirius asked worriedly.

'I'm sure she probably saw it arrive,' said Remus. 'After all, a parcel like that couldn't hold much other than a broomstick, could it?'

'It could fit a beach umbrella,' James supplied.

Sirius snorted, not quite laughing. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Dorcas Meadowes came up behind him.

'Black,' she said; 'I want two hundred lines by suppertime. _I must not play with my classmates' hair_.'

'_What_?' Sirius yelped, whirling around with eyes wide. 'How… how'd you… Prewett didn't… White wouldn't… _how did you know_?'

Meadowes smiled. 'I didn't know for certain 'til just this minute,' she said. 'Two hundred lines, Black. By supper. Or you'll be in detention for a week.'

'You can't give me a week's detention for playing with Charlotte White's hair!' Sirius protested.

'I think you'll find I can,' said Dorcas silkily. 'Unless of course you deliver two hundred lines by supper.'

She strode out of the room, leaving Sirius sputtering in her wake.

'Come on, mate,' James said, clapping him on the shoulder. 'Up to the library with you: if you hurry you'll finish in time, and then after supper we can go out for a quick spin on our Comets.'

'_No_!' Sirius cried, slamming his fist on the nearest desktop.

At the front of the room, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. 'Move along, gentlemen, please,' she said. 'My first year Hufflepuffs will be arriving shortly.'

Remus and James each took an elbow, hustling Sirius out into the corridor.

'She can't do that!' he cried as soon as they were away from the classroom. 'Meadowes can't set me a week's detention for that! I didn't hurt anybody: White didn't even know I was doing it until the last moment. It's not worth a week's detention!'

'Maybe not,' said James; 'but I'm pretty sure she _can_ set you a week's detention for refusing to take your set punishment. Can't she, Remus?'

'I think she can,' Remus said softly. He was watching Sirius's face, trying desperately to gauge whether the whole scenario had gone too far. He saw only indignant anger, which made it impossible to tell whether there was genuine anxiety beneath it.

'So I have to spend the afternoon writing lines?' Sirius roared. 'That's just… she's got it in for me! You've both seen her all day, dogging my steps like Jack the Ripper! It's not fair!'

'Oh, be a man and write your lines,' James said. 'Remus will sit with you while you do it – won't you, Remus?'

'Of course I will,' Remus said.

'And what about you?' demanded Sirius, hands on his hips and fire in his eyes.

James shrugged his shoulders. 'I've got Quidditch practice,' he said. 'I'll be busy until suppertime. Toodle-pip.'

He wandered off, whistling. Sirius stared after him, mouth agape.

'Of all the nerve,' he mumbled when he rediscovered his larynx. 'Of all the bloody nerve. Quidditch practice. After _he_ goaded me into going after White, and _I_ got set two hundred lines – on my _birthday_, no less… where's Peter?'

'I think he went to the loo,' Remus said. 'Or maybe the kitchens. He likes an afternoon snack.'

'Isn't that just typical of him,' sighed Sirius. His shoulders slumped and he drew his hand across his eyes. 'I was really looking forward to trying that broomstick, you know.'

In that moment Remus very nearly relented. He could not bear to see Sirius distressed, and to watch him fretting over nothing was painful to see. The only thing that stopped his confession was the hope that James was right and that Sirius would find the whole thing uproariously funny in the end – and fear that he would not.

'You still can,' he promised. 'You'll finish your lines in time. I'll help you.'

'My lines…' Sirius slammed the heel of his hand against his forehead. 'Sod it, I've forgotten what I'm meant to write.'

'_I must not play with my classmates' hair_,' Remus recited.

A small, rueful smile appeared on Sirius's lips. 'Where would I be without that memory of yours?' he asked.

'Chasing after Meadowes to ask for a written prompt?' Remus offered, daring to joke.

Sirius snorted.

_~discidium~_

Wednesday afternoons were long for the Gryffindor second years, but not long enough for one hand to churn out two hundred lines. Remus's offer to take half was rebuffed, as James had predicted it would be, on the grounds that Meadowes would notice two different hands at work and exact some additional punishment. So while Sirius toiled over his roll of parchment Remus set to work on the previous day's Charms questions. By the time supper rolled around, Sirius had one hundred and eighty-seven lines completed, each one more hastily scrawled than the one before.

'We need to go now,' Remus said quietly as the hour struck. 'Madam Pince is starting to give us ugly looks.'

'But I'm not finished…' Sirius moaned, sucking on his ink-stained fingers.

'Well… perhaps Dorcas will accept a hundred and eighty-seven lines,' Remus said. 'You could always try charming her.'

'Dorcas Meadowes is impervious to my charms,' Sirius muttered disconsolately, but he got to his feet and picked up his satchel and the length of parchment. 'Come on,' he said. 'If I'm headed to the gallows at least I've got one friend to go with me.'

Remus walked a careful pace behind Sirius so that the other boy would not see him struggling with his conscience. The entire set-up had been meant as a joke, but Sirius seemed to be taking it very much to heart. He had certainly been put through his paces today, from bemusement to paranoia to panic – and now resignation. Knowing that the end of the jape was in sight was small comfort.

When they reached the Great Hall, there was no sign of Dorcas. Fabian Prewett saw them enter, and got up to greet them.

'Meadowes was detained,' he said. 'She's down in Classroom Eight: she wants you to go there at once and hand off your lines.'

'What's she doing in Classroom Eight?' Sirius asked, frowning in puzzlement.

Prewett shrugged. 'I don't question senior Prefects,' he said; 'and I don't get set two hundred lines on a regular basis. Funny how that works out.'

'All right, all right, enough of the smart remarks,' Sirius grumbled. 'You may be a Prefect, but you still sleep in the same tower I do. I'm sure you don't fancy waking up with toads in your bed one of these nights.'

Fabian snorted and waved him off.

'You don't need to come,' Sirius said as Remus moved to follow him. 'Go and sit down with Potter and Pettigrew and enjoy your supper.'

'I'd rather not,' Remus said. 'Maybe I can help you reason with Dorcas.'

'Reason? With Meadowes the Ripper? Not bloody likely,' Sirius muttered, but he grinned feebly and hefted his satchel back onto his shoulder.

The walk to Classroom Eight was a quiet one. Remus did not trust himself to speak, and Sirius did not seem to be in the mood for conversation. The door to the room was ajar, and Sirius drew a deep breath before pushing it open and hurrying into the room.

'I did my best,' he said hastily, holding out the parchment. 'I did my best, but I only managed a hundred and eighty-seven. Couldn't you just forget the last thirteen, on account of it being my thirteenth birthd—'

He froze, his face a mask of horror. For at the front of the classroom stood Dorcas Meadowes, hands on her hips and an uncompromising gleam in her eyes. And on the desk in front of her lay the purloined Cleansweep Two that Sirius had used while helping James to train for his first match.

'I'm waiting for an explanation,' Dorcas said sternly.

'I… I…'

'Stealing school property is a serious offence,' added Meadowes.

Consternation and astonishment appeared to be throttling Sirius. 'But… I…' he choked.

'Never mind detention: this kind of behaviour could be grounds for expulsion!' added Dorcas severely. 'Well?' she said. 'I'm waiting!'

'I didn't steal it,' Sirius protested. 'I was only borrowing it. I don't even need it anymore. I…'

'Well,' said Meadowes, rounding the desk and bearing down upon him. 'I suppose that makes it all right, then, doesn't it? I shan't have to tell the Headmaster or Professor McGonagall after all, shall I? Seeing as you didn't _steal_ it; you were only _borrowing_ it; and it will be back in the broom shed before breakfast tomorrow.'

'You needn't be sarcastic,' Sirius said stiffly, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw defiantly. 'You go ahead and tell Dumbledore, but you needn't mock me.'

'I'm not mocking,' said Dorcas. 'Of course, I've one other condition: I get a piece of your cake.'

'A piece of my…'

'Happy Birthday!' Peter cried, bounding out from behind the door.

'You were meant to wait!' James laughed.

'I know,' Peter said; 'but I just couldn't anymore. Happy Birthday, Sirius! We got you!'

The expression on Sirius's face was incredible to behold. Astonishment and annoyance mingled with tremendous relief and gleeful comprehension. Sirius looked from Peter to James, to Remus – who was smiling now – and last of all to Dorcas, who was looking very smug indeed.

'You mean this whole thing was a put on?' he said. 'You… you…' He marched over to James, wagging his finger furiously. 'You got Meadows to ride me all day! You planned all of it!'

'Hey, going to Meadowes was Remus's idea,' said James with mock defensiveness. 'And we didn't plan _all_ of it. I had no idea she was going to turn up in Transfiguration.'

'Yes, well, I couldn't resist,' said Dorcas, preening a little. 'Professor McGonagall's been offering to let me sit in on a class since my career counselling appointment. It seemed like a golden opportunity.'

'You…' Sirius sputtered. 'Outsmarted by a _Prefect_…'

'Yes, yes, it's all very shocking, I'm sure,' said Dorcas. 'Now what about my slice of cake? I've got a House full of rowdy under-years to supervise and I'd really rather not stay here while you three explain yourselves.'

'Right this way, ma'am,' said James, bowing low and gesturing broadly to three desks rammed together and laden with an assortment of food – including a whole roast chicken and a brightly decorated cake.

'Meadowes,' Sirius said, turning to Remus. 'You got _Meadowes_ to join in a prank?'

'A harmless prank,' Peter said.

'A _mostly_ harmless prank,' amended Dorcas, taking a plate and fork from James and licking a finger made sticky with frosting. 'I meant what I said about that broom: it's to be back wherever you got it by breakfast tomorrow. And I'm not giving you a pass on those thirteen lines, either. You can hand the finished roll in to me in the morning.' She winked at James. 'Ta, chaps,' she said. 'Happy Birthday, evil twin.'

With the Prefect gone, the four boys were occupied with enjoying the supper Peter had procured. Sirius laid claim to both drumsticks and perched on a desk with a plate in his lap.

'How did you manage to convince her to go along with all this?' he asked, grinning enormously.

'Remus pointed out that it would annoy you,' said James.

'You aren't angry, are you?' Remus whispered. 'I… I really did think you might prefer a prank to a fancy present…'

'_Prefer_ it?' Sirius said. 'I would've been heartbroken if you hadn't pranked me! Why d'you think I wanted to keep out of detention? I was hoping the lot of you would have something waiting in the dormitory.' He tore into his chicken leg. 'I wasn't expecting this.'

'It went off rather well, if I do say so myself,' James agreed. 'And Meadowes was brilliant! We really ought to make her an honorary… damn! You see? _This_ is why we need a name for our group. We can't very well make Dorcas Meadowes an honorary Second Year Boy in the Third Dormitory, now can we?'

'The bigger question is: why would we want to?' Sirius said. He shook his head ruefully. 'Dorcas Meadowes. Bested by _Dorcas Meadowes_. You'll pay for this, you lot. I swear that you'll pay!'

'Some other time,' James said as Peter cut up the rest of the cake. 'For now just eat up so that we can get you out on that broomstick of yours.'

'What about the Cleansweep?' asked Sirius, glancing over his shoulder at the old school broom.

'That's for Peter and Remus to take care of,' said James.

'Our gift to you,' Remus explained.

'I hope we don't get caught,' added Peter.

Finally, Sirius began to laugh.


	63. Mulciber's Revenge

_Note: The new Missing Moments poll is live! Thank you to everyone who contributed. We've got nine to choose from this time, so you may pick up to __**three**__ favourites. The winner will be written up for posting on New Year's Eve._

_And to all my American readers: a very happy Thanksgiving weekend!_

**Chapter Sixty-Three: Mulciber's Revenge**

The first week of November was uneventful, at least as far as Remus was concerned. Informal Quidditch practices were resumed; on his new broom Sirius posed much more of a challenge for James and Betta MacFusty, and on Saturday Eldritch McKinnon came out to join them as well. The days were grey and chilly, and Remus found it difficult to manage a book with gloved hands. Eventually he gave up on bringing his homework along when he went outdoors with his friends. Since the airborne acrobatics never seemed to hold his interest for long, he took to watching the people on the ground. This swiftly proved to be a fascinating diversion.

There were the firsties; small bundles of energy in their black cloaks, running around after one another with childlike abandon. Many of the boys still engaged in the game of trying to touch the trunk of the Whomping Willow, and the girls could usually be seen with skipping ropes or hoops Conjured by obliging upper-years. The second years fell into two categories: those who joined in the play of the younger ones, and those who felt that the dignity of their seniority demanded more sedate behaviour. These could be seen, much like the third years, gathered in small groups to talk or clustered around games of Gobstones.

The fourth years liked to lounge on the dying grass, either gossiping or making some effort to study. They were still for the most part segregated by gender: boys in their groups and girls in theirs. Yet now and again there would be a fit of whispering and laughter, and some brave soul would cross the No Man's Land between the knots to make an overture to the object of a crush. More often than not, these encounters ended before they began, with the goaded youth running back to his or her friends before even speaking to the intended target.

Among the fifth years, who seemed to prefer standing in tightly-knit circles, these advances proved more fruitful. Though the conversations between such couples seemed a little awkward, they were at least able to make contact. As for the sixth years, they were often seen paired off, walking arm and arm together or sitting against a tree with arms entwined.

The seventh years were seldom seen outside. There was a small delegation of Hufflepuff boys who liked to run rounds about the outside of the Quidditch pitch, with the stolid determination of aspiring athletes, and a study group composed chiefly of Ravenclaws convened by the lake to work on their Charms for the NEWTs. Aside from them, the senior students appeared to pass their afternoons inside the castle. Remus supposed that with the decisive exams of their careers looming ahead, seventh years had very little leisure time.

Conversely, he found that second years had it in abundance. Perhaps he was merely reaping the benefits of having missed only two days' lessons after the last full moon, or the course load was lighter this year than last, but whatever the reason he found himself with great blocks of free time. He would have enjoyed them, too, save that Sirius seemed to use every moment not occupied with lessons or flying buried in the stacks of werewolf texts that still littered the dormitory.

He kept the uncomfortable questions at a minimum, but time and again Remus caught Sirius staring up at him, eyes wide with anxiety or dismay. Remus did not need to know what he was reading; he could well imagine. Accounts of the physical changes inherent in the transformation were surely horrifying enough. Added to that, of course, were the lurid descriptions of theoretic cures – to which he had confessed to being subjected. And although Sirius was searching for some way to help him, Remus knew the effort was pointless. There was nothing to be done.

On Sunday afternoon, James was reading the latest issue of _World Quidditch_, and Peter was drawing on a bit of spare parchment. Remus had his chess set on the bed, and was practicing quietly. Either James or Peter would have happily played with him if he'd asked them, he knew, but they were both content with their own activities and he was reluctant to bother them.

Sirius had finished with the books on Magizoology and Healing, and he was now working on the Defence texts. James had gone through them before, of course, but Sirius seemed determined to vet everything himself. He read these books with a furrowed brow, diligently reading page after page about the dangers that werewolves posed and the various ways to eliminate them.

Remus was startled when Sirius let out a single, barking guffaw of triumph.

'Remus, look at this!' he cried. 'I've found it!'

'Found what?' asked Remus, his voice trembling a little.

'The solution to your problem,' Sirius enthused. He squinted down at the book. 'It's so simple! There's a charm: the Homorphus Charm. It restores a transformed werewolf into human form.'

Remus felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. 'Sirius…' he began.

The older boy waved him off. 'No, I don't want to hear it. I know it's risky to be with you when you transform, but I could have my wand ready and cast the charm the moment you'd changed. We could do it every month: once James feels comfortable he can learn it too – why didn't you mention this, Potter?'

James had dropped his magazine. He was staring at Sirius with nauseated disbelief. 'Turn the page,' he said quietly.

'Oh,' said Sirius, doing just that. The colour drained from his face, ebbing with the tide of his enthusiasm and leaving only a sort of greyish despair. '_Oh…_' he whispered.

Remus was not certain what possessed him – morbid curiosity, perhaps, or a desire to face whatever it was that had so altered Sirius's mood. But he got to his feet and moved to perch on the edge of his friend's bed, leaning in to look at the book.

There was a photograph on the page; a picture of a man lying naked on the cobblestones. The scars on his back and the gauntness of his frame made it plain that he was a werewolf: the bite itself was visible on one thigh. Remus noticed this only in passing, however, for his attention was drawn from superficial defects by the glaring ones. The man looked as if his skeleton had been torn apart within his skin and put together wrong. His limbs were twisted, and one hand seemed to be on backwards. His thoracic spine deviated sharply to the left, bending at a forty degree angle before resuming its course to the tailbone. The neck was bent backward so that the base of his skull seemed fused to the flesh of his upper back. His jaw appeared to be entirely unhinged. The wretched creature writhed and twitched; even without the caption it would have been obvious that the werewolf was dying.

Remus tore his gaze away, focusing instead on Sirius. Grey eyes, wide with horror, were locked upon the page. Pallid lips fluttered soundlessly. His breathing was laboured and the hands gripping the book were white with the pressure they were exerting.

'That's enough,' Remus said quietly, prying Sirius's fingers loose and closing the book. Sirius stared up at him, desolation etched into his patrician features. 'That's enough,' Remus repeated.

'Who would do such a thing?' Sirius asked.

'Somebody who didn't want to be bitten, I should think,' James said. 'Obviously that werewolf wasn't being responsible. If they can't be bothered to take the proper precautions, there's no helping them.'

'How insensitive can you get?' Sirius yelped. 'You don't mean you actually think that man deserved that?'

'Maybe he did,' said James. 'What about the one who bit Remus? Wouldn't he deserve it?'

'Oh, no, James, you mustn't say that,' Remus murmured, hugging the heavy tome to his chest. 'It was an accident: he must have got loose somehow.'

'You feel sorry for the werewolf that bit you?' Sirius asked, quietly incredulous. 'You're not angry?'

Remus shook his head. 'No one would do something like that on purpose,' he said. 'It must have been an accident. You don't understand: when you're transformed you have no control over anything. Even the smell of a human drives a werewolf mad with hunger. If… if I ever got loose I would do the same thing.'

Peter made a tiny, terrified noise that he tried very hard to stifle. Remus resolutely refrained from looking in his direction, allowing his friend the fiction that he had not been heard. Peter was trying his best, he knew, but there were some things too horrible to hear.

'But you wouldn't get loose,' said Sirius. 'Because you're careful. You _do_ take precautions. You rip yourself to shreds so that you won't hurt anybody else!'

'If the werewolf who bit you got loose,' James added; 'he wasn't taking precautions.'

'He must have tried,' Remus argued. 'Maybe he was caught away from home and couldn't find somewhere safe in time. Maybe he was alone in the world, without anybody to make sure he was locked in safely. Maybe he was poor, and had to transform in a broken-down shed or something. Maybe… maybe he didn't even know how to use a wand, if he was bitten when he was little too. Werewolves… they're not ordinarily allowed to attend school, you know.'

He flicked his tongue against his lips. 'I'm very fortunate,' he said softly. 'I have parents who stood by me, and Headmaster Dumbledore let me come to Hogwarts. A-and I have you…'

'Fat lot of help we are,' Sirius snorted. 'We can't even find a way to keep you from hurting yourself.'

'You can't find a way because it isn't there to find,' said Remus. 'I've been saying that for weeks now. There's nothing in those books that will help me.'

'I'm starting to think he's right, Sirius,' said James.

'But that's not good enough!' Sirius cried, launching off the bed. 'There _has_ to be something! We just haven't found it.'

'We've been through all those books at least twice,' James pointed out. 'There's nothing in them.'

'Well, then we haven't found the right books,' said Sirius. He began to gather the scattered volumes, stacking them wrathfully. 'Peter, get over here and take some of these: we'll get 'em back to the library and we'll borrow some others.'

'Sirius…' Remus said again.

'Hush! Not a word. There are thousands and thousands of books in the library. One of them must have something that will help us!' Sirius declared. 'It's statistically impossible that there's nothing useful in there.'

'While I certainly admire your spunk,' said James; 'I'm really not sure that this represents the best use of our time.'

'And _World Quidditch_ does?' Sirius said scornfully. 'Bollocks, Potter. Get the door.'

It was pointless to argue once Sirius Black had made up his mind, and the truth was that Remus didn't want to. He could not turn back time to expunge the image of that photograph from his friend's mind, but distracting him might serve the same purpose. Remus did not want Sirius to look at him and think of that wretched, unfortunate werewolf, mutilated and dying in the wake of a forced transformation.

_~discidium_~

So it went on. Sirius continued to work his way through the library's collection of books on werewolves. He was more circumspect with his reactions to what he read, but all the same Remus could see the investigation taking its toll. Sirius wasn't sleeping as much as he normally did, choosing instead to sit up long into the night. He neglected his schoolwork almost entirely, which was perhaps not so much different than normal but nevertheless made Remus feel guilty. Sometimes when he thought no one was looking – while the others played chess on the dormitory floor, or at the dining table, or in History of Magic – Sirius would watch Remus with sad and thoughtful eyes. It was plain that his helplessness was weighing upon his mind, and the longer the fruitless search dragged on the heavier that burden became.

Remus wished that he knew some way to convince Sirius that the endeavour was pointless without breaking his spirit. He dreaded the day when his friend at last realized there was nothing to be done. He remembered his mother's face when they had boarded the ferry at Calais the summer he was nine, returning to England in defeat. Soft mouth thin with care, kind eyes hollow and vacant – despair in every breath. Father had stayed with Remus in the motorcar while Mother walked down to the prow of the boat. They had both thought that he would be unable to see, but Remus had known that she was weeping.

There had been no other journeys after that, no experimental treatments, no old rumoured 'cures'. The money was gone and the family's credit was stretched to its limit – but more importantly, the hope had been spent. There was nothing left after that but to try to settle into a routine of survival, resigned to the inevitable. For five years they had clung desperately to a dream. When it died, it had left them with nothing.

Remus was not certain that he could bear to go through that again.

There was a brief respite the following weekend, when a letter arrived from Andromeda in response to Sirius's note of thanks. The news contained within mystified the recipient.

'It says here that Drommie's going to have a baby,' Sirius said, one eyebrow cocked in an expression of perplexity.

'That's nice,' James said, helping himself to the scrambled eggs.

'That's wonderful!' Remus agreed.

'Boy or girl?' asked Peter.

'She won't know that until it's born, silly,' James said.

'Drommie's going to have a baby,' repeated Sirius. 'I don't understand. How can that be? She only just got married this summer.'

'Well,' said James philosophically; 'when a man and a woman love each other _very_ much…'

'I know where babies come from, Potter!' Sirius snapped. 'But I mean… don't people usually have them after a year or two? My parents had been married over a decade before I came along!'

'Yes, and mine had just about given up hope when Mum fell pregnant with me,' James said. 'But really, once you're married a baby could happen along any time.'

'Does she say when she's due?' asked Remus.

'May,' said Sirius, staring at the letter again as if he was still not quite certain that it was actually in his hand.

James whistled softly. 'Well, now. They really didn't waste any time getting out of the gate.'

'Do shut up!' Sirius said. 'That's my cousin you're talking about.'

'And your first cousin once removed as well,' James agreed. He grinned. 'Aw, Sirius is going to be a… hmm. What do you call it? It's not an _uncle_, exactly…'

Sirius got to his feet, crumpling the letter in his fist. 'This is stupid,' he said. 'It's ridiculous. Drommie can't have a baby. She can't.'

He started for the door. Remus looked questioningly at James, who nodded. 'Best go after him,' he said. 'See if he wants to talk it out.'

Remus scrabbled to his feet and hurried after his friend. He reached the Entrance Hall just in time to see the front door swing closed.

Sirius was ranging out across the grounds, long and wrathful strides bearing him away from the castle. Remus sped down the steps, the frosty air shocking his lungs. He broke into a run, moving as quickly as he dared. He never would have caught Sirius, except that the other boy stopped short just beyond the reach of the Whomping Willow, scuffing one foot against the dead grass.

'Sirius?' Remus said, huffing a little as he halted three paces from his friend.

Sirius was staring at the ground by the trunk of the tree, and Remus wondered whether he was thinking of the day that Andromeda and the Hufflepuff Beater had run afoul of the Willow while meandering back from a tryst behind Hagrid's hut.

'Do you want to talk about it?' Remus offered.

'No,' Sirius said firmly. He was still clutching the letter in his fist, and Remus could hear his teeth gritting against one another. He kept his peace, prepared to respect Sirius's answer, but the silence lasted no more than twelve seconds. 'Why would she want to have a kid?' he asked. 'What's the point?'

'Don't most married people want children?' asked Remus.

'Not Drommie!' Sirius said. 'I mean, isn't she scared?'

'Probably a little,' said Remus. 'But surely she's excited, too.'

'You'd think my mum and hers would put her off the whole idea,' Sirius said. 'And who's going to look after the baby? I really doubt Tonks can afford to pay a nanny, and the money Drommie finagled out of her parents won't last forever. She hasn't even got a house-elf to change the nappies and things.'

'Isn't Andromeda going to stay at home?' asked Remus. 'Or has she got a job?'

'A job?' Sirius asked. 'No, why would she have a job? Tonks does. She stays home. She's learning to cook, remember?'

'Well, then I expect she'll look after the baby.'

'Herself?' said Sirius. He had turned now, and he was looking at Remus with a puzzled expression. 'Changing nappies and giving bottles and things?'

'Well, yes,' said Remus, mildly surprised.

'And cuddling it and burping it and singing to it?'

'Yes…'

'And taking it for strolls in the pram, and teaching it to walk and reading stories to it?'

'Yes.'

'Drommie?' Sirius asked.

Remus swallowed painfully as he at last understood his friend's confusion. 'That's what mothers ordinarily do, Sirius,' he murmured.

'Oh. Oh, right. Of course it is.' Sirius cast his gaze about, clearly unable to look Remus in the eye any longer. He settled on the crumpled letter. 'But what if she mucks it up?'

'Do you think that she's going to muck it up?' asked Remus quietly.

'No…' Sirius said. 'But… I mean, how's she going to know how a proper mum behaves? If she knew your mum maybe…'

'Well, she's met other people's mothers. She had a little sister, too,' said Remus. 'And she knew you and Regulus when you were little. She's got practice with children, hasn't she?'

'I suppose,' said Sirius. He smiled a little. 'She was awfully good to Regulus and me when we were small.'

'There, you see?' said Remus. 'She'll be good with a baby of her own, too. I think Andromeda will be a wonderful mother.'

'I hope so,' Sirius said. He sighed and flopped down, cross-legged, in the grass. Remus knelt beside him, tucking his robes under his knees. Sirius went on. 'It's a little frightening, though, isn't it? I mean, only a few months ago she was still in school, and now she's going to have a baby? She isn't even twenty yet.'

'My parents were young when I was born,' Remus said. He meant it as reassurance, but the moment the words were out he realized they were anything but comforting. His parents had been young when they had their first child – much the same age as Andromeda and Ted Tonks, in fact – and it had turned out terribly. Instead of a healthy child they had wound up saddled with a werewolf. And their second baby… but he could not bear to think of that, and he certainly could not mention it to Sirius.

But the other boy was smiling a little. 'That's true,' he said. 'And your mum's super.' He smoothed the letter over his knee and folded it carefully. 'All right, then. Maybe it won't be so terrible.'

There was a silence, but it was a peaceful one. Remus watched his friend's face, taking comfort from the reconciled look upon it.

Presently Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. 'D'you ever want to have kids?' he asked.

'I've never really thought about it,' Remus admitted.

'I don't,' said Sirius. 'They'll only grow up uncomfortable and unhappy in a stuffy old house. Of course, everyone says that I've got to. It's expected. I'm the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, after all. Somebody needs to inherit when I'm dead.'

'That's a horrid thing to say,' Remus breathed. 'No one can force you to have children.'

'I imagine Mum thinks she can,' Sirius said bitterly. 'Just like she thinks she can force me to be her perfect little son. Just like she thought she could force me to be Sorted into Slytherin. Well, she was wrong about that!' He smirked defiantly. 'There are some things she just can't make me do.'

He looked down at the parchment in his hand. 'Just like there are things they couldn't make Drommie do. She was supposed to make a nice, pure-blood marriage with Uncle Cygnus's approval. She was supposed to have a brood of pure-blood boys. Now she's got herself a Muggle-born husband she picked for herself, and a little half-blood on the way.' His grin took on a wicked cast. 'What would you bet that it turns out to be a girl?'

'That's a fifty-fifty proposition,' Remus said, but he found himself smiling.

'Aw, you've no sense of fun,' Sirius ribbed. He tucked the letter into his pocket. 'I suppose James and Peter are inside, waiting to see if you've talked some sense into me?'

'Yes,' Remus confessed.

Sirius sighed melodramatically and climbed to his feet. 'Well, back inside, then,' he said. He hesitated. 'You won't tell the others what we talked about?' he asked.

'I'd never do that,' promised Remus as he rose.

'Of course not,' said Sirius. He shook his head wonderingly. 'Drommie's having a baby. I still can't believe it.'

'Well, you've seven months to get used to the idea,' said Remus. 'And you ought to write back and congratulate her.'

'So you're setting me homework now, are you?' Sirius asked with a roguish wink.

_~discidium~_

As the full moon drew near once again, Sirius's efforts to find some means of helping his friend intensified. He no longer spent afternoons flying with James. All of his free time was dedicated to combing the library for some book that might help. Despite his discomfiture, Remus could not help but feel touched by Sirius's dedication to the cause. His research skills were impressive as well. It was plain that he did in fact know how to go about seeking information, even if he never applied that knowledge to his essays. Unfortunately, of course, the information that he sought did not exist to be found.

On the Saturday before the full moon, Sirius was at last persuaded to take a brief hiatus from his ferocious hunt. Ravenclaw and Slytherin were facing off on the Quidditch pitch, and there was nothing that would deter Sirius from taking in the game. Though the day was cold and the pitch was covered in the first snow of the year, the four friends went out together to cheer on Slytherin's defeat. Unhappily it did not come to pass for the Slytherin Seeker made quick work of finding the Snitch. Nevertheless the match was a welcome interlude in what had proved to be an arduous month of searching for the impossible.

On Monday morning, Remus awoke with the customary pains in his joints. He did his best not to let on to the others, trudging through his daily routine with dogged determination. His appetite was suffering, but he managed a little soup at lunch and half of a roast beef sandwich that tasted like sawdust.

'What do you say we go out for some Quidditch practice this afternoon?' Sirius said as the four of them left the Great Hall.

'Yes, please!' James enthused.

'What about looking for a way to help Remus?' said Peter uncertainly.

Sirius's smile wavered. 'I… I'm sorry, Remus,' he said, turning to look earnestly at the brown-haired boy. 'I don't think I'll be able to find anything in time to make any difference this month.'

With moonrise less than thirty hours away, this pronouncement seemed almost laughably obvious, but Remus merely nodded sombrely. 'I know,' he said. 'I don't mind. I think you ought to go out and play: you've been working so hard, and you need to enjoy your broomstick.'

Sirius grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. 'You're a good friend, you know that?' he said.

'I don't know about that,' said Remus. He was suddenly overcome with a fit of timidity. 'I… I don't think I'll be able to go out and watch. It's quite cold today. I'd like to stay indoors, I think. If—if you don't mind?'

'Of course we don't,' James assured him. 'If you like we'll wait until you're feeling better.'

'Oh, no, please don't do that!' Remus exclaimed. 'You mustn't let me hold you back. I'll go to the library and do my schoolwork. It will be nice to have a little quiet time to study.'

Sirius chuckled ruefully. 'I suppose I'm not exactly conducive to quiet time, am I?'

'Not very,' Remus said frankly, smiling at his friend.

When Transfiguration let out, the boys hurried up to their dormitory to retrieve hats and gloves and broomsticks. Remus walked with the others down to the Entrance Hall, seeing them to the door and offering wishes for a pleasant practice. There was much laughter and jostling as the three boys tramped through the snow towards Hagrid's hut. Remus watched them go, and as he closed the heavy castle door he realized suddenly that he did not feel left out, despite his inability to participate. His friends were going where he could not follow; that was true. But now they knew the reason that he lingered behind, and they were happy to accommodate him. That was worth a dozen Quidditch sessions.

The entryway was bustling with students, all hurrying to various destinations. As he stepped away from the door Remus became aware of the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him intently. Looking around, he spied a sallow-faced figure in the gallery above, watching him with glittering black eyes.

Remus tried to turn up the corners of his mouth in an amicable smile, but the intensity of the other boy's stare made him uneasy. Then Severus moved, hurrying around to the head of the great marble stair and descending with quick, precise movements.

'Hello, Lupin,' he said, coming up beside Remus.

'Good afternoon, Severus,' said Remus politely. He tried again to smile, and this time proved somewhat more successful. 'How are you today?'

'Well enough, thank you,' said Snape. He spoke a little too brusquely to be considered courteous, but Remus could scarcely fault him for that. Severus had never made an overture of civility to him before, and he probably felt just as nervous as Remus did when approaching a distant acquaintance – especially one with whom he had a history of awkward encounters.

'Are you alone?' Remus asked. He regretted the question the moment it was past his lips. It sounded too much as if he was accusing the other boy of setting a trap for him.

Something flickered across Sev's face, but he nodded. 'As are you,' he said. 'Potter and Black run off and left you alone, have they?'

'They're practicing with their broomsticks,' said Remus. 'It's cold out: I'd rather stay indoors today.'

'Well, then,' said Snape with a queer lilt to his voice. 'Maybe you'd like to walk with me?'

This time Remus's smile was genuine. He understood that Severus was very much at the mercy of the other boys in his House, and he had hoped that despite the altercations between his group of friends and the Slytherins that the two of them might get along. He still looked back regretfully at their falling-out on the very first day at school: Severus had been one of the first children Remus had met on the Hogwarts Express. Remus had shared his sweets with him, and they had enjoyed companionable quiet while Lily Evans talked enthusiastically. The encounter with James and Sirius had spoilt that, and Remus still hoped that he might mend the rift.

'I'd like that very much,' he said. 'Thank you, Sev.'

'Severus,' the other boy corrected, starting down one of the auxiliary corridors. His rounded shoulders bobbed awkwardly as he walked, and Remus hurried after him.

'Severus,' he said. 'Yes, of course.'

'How long do you think Black and Potter will be outside?' asked Snape. It was a clumsy attempt at conversation, but Remus could well understand his reticence.

'They usually stay out until suppertime,' said Remus. 'Once they're up, they don't like to come down until they have to.'

'Potter's quite good, is he?' said Severus. 'Everyone says so.'

'I think he's good,' Remus said. 'Mind you, I don't know much about Quidditch. I didn't really have the opportunity to follow it when I was little.'

Snape stopped abruptly, turning to look at him. His expression was clearly meant to be inscrutable, but there was an undertone of something else to it – something that made Remus vaguely uneasy. 'Neither did I,' said Severus, his voice rough and rather strangled.

'S-Slytherin did very well on Saturday,' Remus said. He wasn't sure that he was comfortable in this situation any longer, but neither did he think there was a graceful way to excuse himself. 'That save your Keeper made right at the start was really wonderful.'

'I didn't see it,' said Severus coldly. Remus realized that he was not certain whether the other boy meant the play or the match. Snape looked around the windowless corridor, then started walking again. 'This way,' he said.

'Where are we going?' asked Remus, hastening after him and trying to ignore the mounting tenderness in his hips.

'For a walk, of course,' said Snape. Again there was a strange hesitation in his voice.

'I think… I think I ought to head up to the library,' Remus said. 'I've quite a lot of work to do.'

Severus whirled around again, fixing his dark eyes upon Remus's. 'You said you would walk with me,' he hissed, a hint of menace in his voice.

'Y-yes,' Remus stammered. 'But I don't think I want to anymore.'

Swift as an adder, Snape leaned forward, reaching to snatch Remus's wand from where it protruded from the pocket of his satchel. Remus felt a small sound of dismay tear itself from his throat and his eyes grew wide.

'The way I see it, you don't have a choice,' Severus said, tucking Remus's wand into his belt and levelling his own at the boy. 'I'll hex you. You know I'll do it.'

Remus's mouth was dry. He couldn't defend himself without his wand, nor could he run off without it. Even if he could bring himself to abandon it in Snape's hands, he did not think that he could get away before Severus could discharge some sort of curse – nor indeed that he could outrun anyone in his current state.

'What do you want?' he whispered, keeping his voice low in the hope that it would not falter.

'I want to go for a walk,' Snape said viciously, jabbing his wand in an unmistakeable threat. 'You go first. That way.'

He pointed with his left hand down the corridor. Remus, painfully aware of a sudden weakness in his knees, shuffled past him and started to walk.

'Where are we going?' he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

Snape was striding behind him, wand at the ready. There was a hard, almost savage expression on his face. 'That's none of your business,' he said. 'Keep your eyes in front and hurry up. Left up ahead.'

Seeing no alternative, Remus obeyed. Deeper and deeper into the castle they went, leaving the noise and the crowds far behind. Soon they were in a section of hallway that Remus had never seen before. The sconces were spaced more distantly here than elsewhere, and all of the doors were tightly closed.

All but one, Remus realized, as he rounded another corner at Snape's instruction. He was not at all surprised when the harsh voice ordered him over the threshold. He hesitated, apprehension and dread rippling through his body, but he felt Severus's wand prodding the small of his back, and he stumbled forward.

At once he was set upon, rough hands coming from both sides to seize him. Instinctively he struggled, trying to break free of the grasping fingers. A heavy fist connected with his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Someone seized a fistful of his hair.

'I see you managed it after all,' a reluctantly approving voice remarked. Through the haze of disorientation Remus realized that it was Mulciber. 'And Black and Potter?'

'Outdoors,' said Snape. 'Playing with their broomsticks.'

'Get him over to the chair and tie him to it,' ordered Mulciber.

Remus was dragged forward and deposited on a hard wooden chair. One of his assailants held him while the other muttered a charm. Conjured bonds snaked up his legs and down his arms and around his chest, lashing him to the piece of furniture. His vision was clearing and he recognized Rosier. The other Slytherin was older, a hulking gorilla of a boy with very heavy eyebrows. Phillip Avery and Rabastan Lestrange were standing off to one side, watching the proceedings with avid fascination.

'Y-you'll not get away with this,' said Remus with more bravado than he felt. 'My friends will notice I'm gone. They'll come for me.'

'I'm sure they will,' said Mulciber with a nasty grin. 'In fact, I'm counting on it.'

Now Remus understood. He had expected retaliation for the botched ambush, and this was it. He was bait for James and Sirius, to lure them off into a remote corner of the castle for some unknown purpose. Whatever Mulciber was planning it was obviously nasty, to judge from the look of smug satisfaction that Avery was wearing.

'They won't be stupid enough to fall for that,' Remus argued, though in his heart he knew that was not true. The moment Sirius realized one of his friends was in the hands of the Slytherins he would come charging in with wand ablaze. He wouldn't consider the probability of a trap, nor would he pause to work out a sensible strategy. James would not likely be much more level-headed. And Peter… well, the others would only dismiss his protestations as timidity, which was not entirely unfair.

'You're a very mouthy little kid,' Mulciber said. 'For someone who never talks, I mean. Perhaps while we're waiting we ought to teach you some manners.'

'He looks rather sickly,' Rabastan observed. 'D'you think he's catching?'

'What do you care?' demanded Rosier, wiping his hands on the front ofc his robes. 'I'm the one who touched him.'

'It's probably just a cold,' the big boy grunted, slapping the back of his hand heavily against Remus's forehead. 'He's hot.'

'Who asked you, Goyle?' Mulciber sneered. 'I don't care if he's got dragonpox: the minute Black realizes we've got one of his little mates he'll come running. Avery?'

'I'm ready,' said Phillip, stepping forward.

'Good. Wait until Black and Potter are back inside the castle, and _don't_ draw attention to yourself. The last thing we need is McGonagall bursting in on us.' Mulciber watched as the younger boy slipped from the room.

The remaining Slytherins fell silent. Rosier began to pace, and Rabastan to fidget. Mulciber wore a studiously calm expression, like a general loath to show any sign of weakness before his troops. The one called Goyle stood near Remus, a looming presence beside him. And Severus Snape shrunk into a corner by the door, stealing surreptitious glances at the prisoner when he thought no one was looking.

As time wore on, Remus's anxiety mounted. Sirius would be furious, and when he was angry he was not rational. He wished desperately that he had some means of warning his friends of the trap – but of course he did not. He tried to focus on what he might do or say when his friends arrived – as he knew they surely would. The conjured bonds were snug and very firm; he could not move at all. But his mouth was uncovered: he could shout a warning if it would do any good. He looked nervously at the massive youth beside him. Goyle looked like the type to thump him soundly on the head at the least outcry, but that was a risk he would simply have to take.

The minutes dragged by, and a niggling doubt began to creep into Remus's heart. What if Sirius and James did not come for him after all? What if they realized this was a trap and decided to forego any rescue attempt? How long would the Slytherins wait, and what would they do to him when they discovered their plan had failed yet again? He could scarcely blame Sirius or James if they put their own safety above that of a werewolf, and the part of him that wanted only to protect his friends almost hoped that they wouldn't come.

Yet he knew, with bone-deep conviction that warmed him from within and brought healing to some small corner of his heart, that they _would_ come for him. They would do whatever they had to in order to help him, as he would do for them. He was not alone.

Remus tried to prepare himself. It was better than dwelling on his mounting physical discomfort. His aching back was now stiff and cold. He knew that his fever was rising, for he had started to shiver. His feet felt heavy and swollen, and the joints of his hands were beginning to throb painfully. He wanted to curl up on a nice soft mattress, buried beneath a pile of blankets, and to sleep through the misery of the night before the transformation. Even standing and walking would have been better than this unnatural position, lashed to a rigid seat with nowhere even to rest his leaden head.

'This is ridiculous,' Mulciber said at last. 'What could possibly be taking so long? Useless bloody Avery.'

'You said he should wait until they came indoors,' Snape pointed out, a note of irritation in his voice. 'I've told you: they can spend hours out there, showing off.'

'Who do you think you are, talking back to me?' Mulciber snapped. 'I know what you said, and I know what I told Avery! I don't need to be reminded by an impertinent little half-blood.'

'Somebody's coming,' said Rabastan in a singsong voice.

Swiftly the Slytherins took up positions on either side of the door: Rosier and Lestrange on the left and Snape and Mulciber on the right. Goyle crouched down behind Remus's chair, prodding him in the ribs with one meaty finger.

'Any noise out of you and I'll break your nose,' he grunted.

Remus ran his tongue over his lips, raising his head despite the twinges that shot through the sinews of his neck. There was very little that he could do, but he might at least be able to give his friends a moment's warning.

As it turned out, such a warning was not needed. The door opened and Avery came sauntering in. Behind him, shoulder to shoulder and looking extremely guarded, were James and Sirius. When Remus realized they did not have their wands drawn his first impulse was to cry out. Then he realized that the reason they were not ready was because they were not armed: their wands were nowhere to be seen. Nor did they have with them their satchels or their broomsticks or anything else that might indicate they had come directly from the Entrance Hall.

Rabastan closed the door with a bang, and the two Gryffindors were instantly surrounded by a ring of armed Slytherins. Sirius, looking remarkably calm, craned his neck to look around Rosier.

'Are you all right, Remus?' he asked. 'Avery said they hadn't hurt you.'

Remus's ribs still thrummed where he had been punched, but he nodded his head. 'I'm fine,' he said softly. 'Y-you shouldn't have come.'

'Bollocks,' scoffed Sirius. 'Of course we had to come.' He surveyed the menacing faces around him. 'I imagine you'd like to hex us,' he said.

'They didn't bring their wands?' Mulciber asked Avery.

Phillip shook his head. 'I told 'em we'd hex their bookish little friend into next week if they brought them.'

'No wands,' James said impassively, holding out his empty hands. 'Now, what about letting Remus go?'

'Letting him go?' sneered Rosier. 'Why would we let him go? He was in on your little caper last time, wasn't he? He ought to pay.'

'Where's the fat one?' asked Rabastan with a savage gleam in his eyes. 'I want to hex the fat one.'

'Peter wasn't invited,' Sirius said. 'It's impolite to turn up where one isn't invited. Don't you agree, Remus?'

He sent a querying glance at his friend. For a moment Remus was puzzled, and then he remembered: last time, when he and Peter had not been 'invited', they had snuck in under the Invisibility Cloak. Sirius was trying to tell him that Peter was here somewhere, and he needed confirmation that Remus understood.

'Absolutely,' Remus said, enunciating with care. 'Most impolite.'

'Shut it,' growled Goyle, and pulling back one hammy hand he boxed Remus's left ear.

Sirius's composure melted instantly. Baring his teeth in a snarl of rage, he lunged at Goyle. His sudden movement caught Rosier off-guard, and he brushed past unhindered. He pulled back his fist to strike, but Goyle swatted at him, clipping Sirius on the side of the jaw and sending him reeling.

Mulciber turned, jabbing his wand towards Sirius as he staggered in an attempt to keep from falling. '_Locomotor Mortis!_' he cried.

Suddenly Sirius's legs snapped together, rigid and immobilized. He overbalanced and toppled to the ground. 'Sod you, Eustace!' he shouted, pushing himself up with his hands.

'How'd you like a Stunner to the skull?' Mulciber asked, curling his lip.

'Not very sporting, taking down an unarmed second year,' James remarked airily. He gestured broadly, effectively drawing the eyes of the Slytherins. 'Not that I'd expect anything better out of you. After all, Slytherins are notoriously poor sports. I seem to recall…'

He went on, relating some rather disjointed anecdote about a Slytherin alumnus playing for the Pride of Portree who had dispatched the opposing team's Seeker with an illegal curse, but Remus was not listening. He had his eyes on Sirius, who was using his arms to propel himself backwards. He seemed to bump up against something, though there was nothing to be seen. Surreptitiously he raised his right hand, fingers outstretched. Then, ostensibly out of thin air, the handle of his wand appeared. Sirius's hand closed on it, and he grinned enormously, drawing the rest of the wand out. There was an almost imperceptible shimmer as Peter fixed the overlapping edges of the Cloak.

'… and right in the middle of the match, as well!' James concluded. 'Not in the least bit sporting, you see. Typical Slytherin.'

'Typical Gryffindor,' said Mulciber scornfully. 'You talk too much. _Silencio_.'

James scowled, but did not waste any energy trying to speak. There was a brilliant shower of sparks from Sirius's wand, and while the Slytherins were momentarily distracted James shoved past Mulciber and reached out to snatch his own wand from the still-concealed fingers of Peter Pettigrew.

'_Conjuctivus!_' Snape said, flicking his wand at Sirius. At once Sirius's eyelids began to swell, growing red and glossy as they were forced closed.

'Stupefy!' Sirius hollered, but without the use of his eyes he could not aim. The Stunner went wild, ricocheting off of the lintel of the door and vanishing into the ceiling.

James, still mute, dove behind a chair, scuttling along until he was crouching next to Remus. He slipped his wand into his friend's bound hand, and Remus understood. 'Finite,' he said, concentrating with all his might. It was a strange sensation, using someone else's wand, but the spell discharged and James snatched it back. He shouted an incantation that sent Rosier flying, and then tried to cast a Body Bind on Mulciber.

'_Protego_!' cried the Slytherin. 'You'll not get me that way this time, Potter!'

'_Petrificus Totalis!_' Sirius shouted, but again the spell went wild.

'_Mimble-wimble,_' Severus hissed.

Sirius opened his mouth, clearly intent on sending another blind curse, but no sound emerged. He tried again. 'What the bloody hell?' he said. Realizing that he was still capable of speech, he tried another incantation, but he did not even seem able to make his tongue form the shape of the phonemes.

James fired off another hex, and suddenly Avery was dancing like a madman, legs flying and arms flapping wildly in an attempt to keep balance. In the moment of follow-through, Mulciber struck James with a Body Bind Curse. James went rigid, his wand falling from his fingers. He lay motionless at Remus's feet, eyes wide.

Sirius let out a hoarse holler of rage, tossing his wand aside and attempting to throw himself at Mulciber. He only succeeded in falling forward, slamming his chin against the floor as his useless legs dragged behind him. Mulciber laughed.

'Look at the pride of the House of Black,' he sneered, kicking Sirius squarely in the ribs. Sirius made a soft, wheezing noise – as if he were not unaccustomed to such treatment. 'Writhing on the floor like a slug. Blind as a bat, can't use his wand, can't even _crawl_ properly. Pity Malfoy and Lestrange can't see you now.'

'We'll tell them, though: never fear,' said Avery. 'Are we done here, Eustace?'

'Quite done,' said Mulciber, dusting his hands on his robes.

'What about him?' Goyle asked, jerking one thick thumb at Remus.

'What about him? He's not going anywhere,' Mulciber said. 'And nobody will hear him if he shouts.'

'We're just going to leave them like this?' Snape asked, looking from James's rigid body to Sirius with his swollen eyes. As his eyes moved to the chair, Remus thought he could see a flicker of uncertainty, but perhaps it was only a trick of the light. He would have liked to have spoken, but he knew it was not wise. Sirius appeared to have come to the same conclusion, for though he was clearly seething he was lying motionless and he made no attempt to utter the string of expletives obviously lingering just behind his tongue.

'Why not?' asked Mulciber. 'They left us, didn't they?'

Turning sharply on his heel, he swept out of the room. The others followed. As Avery went, he picked Remus's wand out of his belt and dropped it like a piece of trash in the corner, grinning scornfully at the bound boy as he went. Severus was the last to leave, and Remus was not certain whether that was a sign of his status among the Slytherins or an excuse to shoot one last look of scornful loathing at James and Sirius where they lay.


	64. In the Main Ward

**Chapter Sixty-Four: In the Main Ward**

Remus wanted to wait at least a couple of minutes before speaking, but Sirius had other ideas. 'Remus, are they gone?' he said, pushing himself up on his elbows. 'Remus?'

'Yes,' Remus said hoarsely. 'Yes, they're gone.'

'_Peter!_' Sirius bellowed.

'I'm right here.' Peter sounded rather hurt as he shucked the Cloak and appeared in the back corner of the room.

'Well, do something!' said Sirius. 'You're the only one who's in any position to get us out of this.'

Peter scurried over, tucking the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket and fumbling for his wand.

'Why the devil didn't you do anything?' Sirius demanded, wincing as one questing fingertip grazed his painfully swollen right eye. 'Why didn't you hex 'em? Or get out and fight?'

'James said I shouldn't,' Peter protested, sounding rather tearful. He dropped to his knees and looked anxiously at the bespectacled boy lying rigid on the floor. 'James? James, can you hear me?'

'He can hear you, Peter, but he can't move,' Remus said gently. He was feeling rather breathless with panic and his left ear was throbbing, but neither of these concerns were helping the situation. 'You've got to undo the Body Bind.'

'H-how?' Peter stammered.

Remus drew in a deep breath so that he could be certain to keep his voice pleasant and patient. There was nothing to be gained from distressing Peter further, though of course he ought to know this well enough from last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'The incantation is _Finite Incantatem_,' he said in his very best tutoring voice. 'Hold your wand arm out straight and make a broad, sweeping motion while you say it. If we're lucky it'll undo Sirius's legs as well.'

'Get on with it,' Sirius growled.

Peter's right arm went rigid. '_F-Finite Incantatem,_' he stammered. The tip of his wand glowed briefly, but nothing happened.

'Try again,' Remus said calmly. 'Just focus on undoing the spell. _Finite Incantatem._'

'_Finite Incantatem,' _Peter said with a little more conviction. This time the glow was sustained a little longer, but still James did not move.

'Damn it, Pettigrew, what's wrong with you?' Sirius growled, groping sightlessly in midair. 'You're sodding hopeless. Give me that wand and let me do it.'

Peter danced out of Sirius's reach, clearly frightened. Sirius overbalanced and fell forward onto his elbows, snarling in frustration.

'Sirius, calm down,' Remus said. 'Peter's here to rescue us: you shouldn't insult him. Peter, perhaps you could untie me?'

'That's a good plan,' Sirius muttered. 'Untie the person actually capable of doing something. Excellent plan. I assume you can deal with an ickle knot, can you?'

'Don't mind him,' Remus said as Peter skirted around James's motionless body to examine his bonds. 'He's cross because we lost to the Slytherins, and I expect his eyes are hurting.'

'Of course I'm cross and of course they're hurting!' snapped Sirius. 'If he had the sense God gave a teaspoon he'd have worked it out on his own.'

'There's no knot,' Peter said, his voice trembling. 'Th-the ropes just go around and around. They don't feel like proper ropes, either.'

'They're not,' Remus said. 'They're conjured I think. Could you cut them?'

'I…' Peter flushed a brilliant shade of crimson and glanced nervously at Sirius before whispering, 'I'm not sure which spell to use.'

'Just a simple Cutting Charm, like you'd use for parchment,' Remus said.

'I usually use shears,' Peter confessed.

'Please try,' Remus said, stealing a glance at Sirius. The subterfuge was unnecessary, for of course the other boy was blinded by his inflamed eyelids. He was prodding gingerly at the right one, now, and a watery exudate was oozing between his lashes. 'I'm afraid you might not be able to get Sirius down to the hospital wing on your own, if we can't get his legs loose.'

'Couldn't you try?' Peter asked, fumbling awkwardly with his wand. 'You cast a spell for James: I saw you do it.'

'How's he supposed to work a wand properly with his arms bound?' Sirius groused.

'Please try, Peter,' urged Remus. 'If you can't manage it I'm afraid you'll have to go for a teacher.'

'If McGonagall sees me like this I'm going to murder you in your sleep,' growled Sirius.

'That's enough,' Remus said firmly. His headache was once again thrumming at full force, and there was a spasm starting up in the small of his back. 'Peter, please.'

Peter cast the charm, but his hands were shaking and the beam went wild, rending a hole in Remus's right sleeve. 'Oh, bother…' he whimpered.

'It's all right,' Remus said. 'Try again. Just a little higher this time.'

He held his breath so as to make the target as still as possible. Peter bit his lip and murmured the incantation again. There was a sudden release of pressure as the ropes began to loosen.

'I did it!' Peter exclaimed, hurriedly uncoiling the bonds. Remus smiled wanly at him, rubbing at his forearm where the rope had bitten into it. He braced himself against the arms of the chair and tried to stand, but his legs were weak and his head swam. He sank back down, resting his brow in the heel of his hand.

'Could you bring me my wand?' he asked softly, nodding towards where it had fallen.

Sirius stiffened like a startled setter. 'Are you all right? Why can't you stand up? What did they do to you before we got her?'

'I'm fine, Sirius,' Remus said softly. 'I'm just… I'm a little stiff. It's… well… it always happens just before the full moon.'

'Oh.' Sirius's spine loosened a little, but he did not seem comforted by this piece of information.

Peter handed Remus his wand, reluctant to meet his friend's eyes. Remus eased himself out of the chair and onto the floor, so that he could kneel over James. Concentrating with all his might, he extended his wand arm into a broad, sweeping gesture. _'Finite Incantatem_,' he said, so forcefully that his bruised abdomen twinged with the effort.

With a gasp and much rapid blinking of the eyes, James sat up. 'Slytherin berks!' he cried, patting the front of his robes and looking about. 'Where's my wand?'

'Here,' said Peter, trotting over to retrieve it. 'Here it is.'

Sirius cleared his throat loudly. 'It didn't make it over here, Remus,' he said, poking at his deadened legs.

'I'm sorry,' Remus murmured. 'I suppose the spell wasn't strong enough to reach you. I'll try again…'

'Let me,' James said, scooting over to Sirius and shooting Remus an anxious glance. 'You stay right there: you look done in.'

The moment Sirius's legs were freed, he sprang to his feet, swaying a little and groping the air around him. James rose and gripped his hand.

'Easy there, mate,' he said. 'Can you see anything at all?'

'I can't get my sodding eyes open: of course I can't see anything,' Sirius said irately. 'Are you going to fix them, or do I have to do it myself?'

'I think we'd better let the matron handle it,' said James, chuckling a little. 'Trust me: you don't want a twelve-year-old boy messing about with your eyes – not even one as talented as I am.'

'You're so modest,' Sirius said, a hint of amusement in his words.

'And dashingly handsome,' said James. He put Sirius's hand on his arm and turned to look at Remus. 'Are you hurt?'

Remus shook his head, and the motion set his ear ringing again. He let his gaze fall to his lap. 'I'm a little sore,' he admitted. 'But they didn't hex me.'

'Thank Merlin for small blessings,' James said. 'Peter…' He pointed at Sirius's wand and touched a finger to his lips for silence. Understanding, Peter stooped and pocketed it. 'You didn't come out from under the Cloak until they'd gone, did you?'

'No,' Peter said. 'You told me not to,' he added defensively.

'It's a good job you didn't,' said James. 'The Invisibility Cloak is a decided tactical advantage, but if the Slytherins know we've got it then it loses most of its value. When we go after them for this—'

'Oh, James, no!' Remus protested. 'If we go after them, they'll only want revenge again, and then we'll need to get revenge, and then they'll need to, and it will never end. Can't we just call it a draw and let it be?'

'Easy for you to say,' Sirius growled. 'You're not oozing sticky stuff out of your eye sockets.'

'I think we should get you to the hospital wing,' Peter said timidly. 'It looks nasty.'

'Can you walk, Remus?' asked James. 'I reckon Peter and I could help you, but I don't think Sirius is in any shape to be carrying anyone…'

'I'll decide what I'm in shape to be doing, thank you,' Sirius said crossly.

'And when you trip and drop him down the stairs?' asked James.

'I can walk,' Remus said, gripping the seat of the chair and hefting himself onto his feet. 'I'm only a little sore.'

He stiffened instinctively when someone touched his arm. He turned to see Peter looking up at him with wide, pitying eyes.

'You can lean on me if you need to, Remus,' he said softly. 'I don't mind.'

'Good man, Pettigrew,' James said bracingly. He reached to grab Sirius's free arm, clamping the long fingers over the back of his hand. 'Now, you two lead the way, and I'll follow with Henry Fawcett, here.'

'Hey, a little less of that,' said Sirius, but he was grinning lopsidedly.

Peter moved towards the door and Remus followed him. After only a few yards he found himself obliged to take the proffered support, for his knees were weak and his toes were tingling from disuse. The journey to the hospital wing seemed to last for hours, though in truth it could not have taken more than ten minutes. Two or three times James failed in his attempts to guide Sirius, who was stubbornly trying to make his own way despite his blindness. On each occasion Sirius barked a toe or a shin against the base of a pillar or the edge of a doorway, and announced his collision with a sharp expletive.

By the time the four boys finally reached Madam Pomfrey's door, Remus was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm and rather light-headed. Nevertheless he stood hastily aside so that the matron might see Sirius first.

'Goodness gracious, what is this?' Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, coming out of her office and throwing up her hands in exasperation. 'Will you boys never learn? What was it this time: squabbling over some Chocolate Frogs? Or perhaps arguing about the relative merits of stoats and sea sponges? Come along, you foolish boy, and let me have a look at you.'

She grabbed hold of Sirius, tugging him away from James and obliging him to trot after her as she steered him to a bed. 'Up,' she commanded, patting the mattress.

Sirius obeyed without a saucy retort, and Remus realized uncomfortably that his friend must indeed be frightened and in considerable pain if he was not equal to teasing the matron. Madam Pomfrey studied his eyes carefully, then left him as she went to scrub her hands.

'Ow! I thought you were meant to make it feel better!' Sirius yowled as she probed the borders of his eye sockets.

'I'm meant to work out what you've done so that I can fix it,' Madam Pomfrey retorted. 'I don't suppose you're going to tell me who did this and why?'

'Who says anybody did it?' Sirius asked. He drew in a sharp breath as the matron's thumb pressed cautiously against his upper left lid. 'Just fix it, would you?'

'I'll give you a warm compress for it,' said Madam Pomfrey; 'but I'm afraid that until I've worked out what you've done I shall be hard-pressed to speed the healing.'

'It was a curse,' James said. 'Con… conjure-something.'

'_Conjuctivus,'_ Remus supplied softly, leaning surreptitiously against the doorpost. The heat of exertion had left him now, and his fever had him shivering once more.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. 'I've never heard that one,' she said. 'Here you are, Mr Black. Kick off those shoes and lie down. I shall clearly have to do some investigating.'

'_Finite Incantatem_ didn't work,' James added. 'I used it for his legs; it ought to have done the eyes as well if it was useful.'

'_Finite Incantatem_ is not an accepted healing charm,' Madam Pomfrey said primly. 'Now, I don't suppose you're injured, are you?'

'I've a bit of a bump on the back of my head,' James said, tousling his unruly hair as he felt it. 'But otherwise I'm sound as a lead Galleon.'

'How very reassuring,' Madam Pomfrey said. Her gaze shifted to Remus, and her expression shifted from mild annoyance to genuine concern. 'And you shouldn't be running around and getting into trouble, my boy! Come here at once and let me take your temperature.'

Remus moved to obey, knowing that there was no point in resisting. He only managed four steps, however, before wavering. He swayed unsteadily, groping for a support that was not there.

It was impossible to say who reached him first: James or the matron. But there was a flurry of activity all about him, and when he regained his proper sense of time and place he was lying curled on his side in the bed next to Sirius, and Madam Pomfrey was putting a cold flannel over his forehead. He moaned quietly, shivering.

'I know it's a bit nippy, dear, but we need to bring that fever down,' Madam Pomfrey said gently. 'Mr Potter, could you help him with his shoes?'

'What is it? What's going on?' Sirius demanded.

'Hush, now. I'll have yours ready in a moment,' the matron clucked. There was a noise of pouring water and a murmured incantation. 'Just lie still and put a gentle pressure on the cloth. It will help draw out the pus while I fetch Remus his potion.'

'I'll be all right,' Remus mumbled, pointing his toes to make it easier for James to tug off his shoe. 'You ought to help Sirius.'

'Sod that!' Sirius snapped. 'I can wait 'til you're all right.'

'My, what selfless young men we have here,' Madam Pomfrey scoffed. 'It's a pity you didn't pause to think of one another's welfare before charging into whatever got you into this state. You both lie there now, and don't move an inch. What about you, Peter? Are you all right?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Peter said. 'I'm just fine. They didn't even know I was there.'

'Do hush up, Pettigrew,' Sirius moaned. 'She's not asking the questions: why should we volunteer the answers?'

'Why indeed?' said Madam Pomfrey with an exasperated sigh. 'I don't suppose telling a responsible adult might keep these things from happening in the future. Am I going to have young Mr Mulciber in here again complaining of bruised ribs and concussion?'

She strode off, muttering her frustrations to herself. James watched her go.

'She knows,' he said.

'Try to imagine how little I care,' Sirius said. 'Much more importantly, how'd they catch you, Remus?'

'Catch me?' The percussion in his head was starting up again, and Remus tried to focus on the cool weight of the cloth against his brow.

'The Slytherins. How'd they get you tied up like that?'

'Tell us which ones did it,' James said; 'and they'll be belching slugs for a week.'

'Rosier and the big one grabbed me the minute I was in the room,' Remus said. 'I know it was stupid: I never should have gone off with Severus, but I thought perhaps he wanted to make peace.'

'Severus?' said Sirius, propping himself up on one elbow while his other hand clutched the flannel to his face. 'What do you mean, _gone off with Severus_?'

'He was in the Entrance Hall when I saw you off,' Remus said. He was beginning to wish that he had not spoken. 'He asked if I wanted to go for a walk.'

'And you _went_?' James said incredulously. 'But obviously it was a trap!'

'I didn't think so,' whispered Remus. 'I thought he was trying to be friendly.'

'Oh, yeah?' snorted Sirius. 'Smile at you, did he? Wish you a good afternoon? Ask how you're getting on in Charms?'

'No…'

'Then what made you think he was trying to be friendly?' James pressed.

Remus closed his eyes. The others didn't understand. It wasn't easy to talk to people one didn't know well. There was always awkwardness, discomfort. It took so much courage to walk up to someone and initiate a conversation. Social interaction came naturally to James, and Sirius had such determination to be fearless. Remus suspected that Peter might know what he meant, but Peter was unlikely to take a stand against James.

'I just… I thought he was, that's all,' he whispered.

'So he played you,' Sirius said. 'He tricked you into going off with him – and you actually _went?_ What kind of a fool idea was that? Lord, Lupin, how thick can you get?'

Remus felt his chest constrict, as if his very ribs were shrinking. It had been such a long time since he had heard even a hint of disapproval on Sirius's lips. It had been weeks since he had even feared castigation or rejection from his fiercely loyal friend. Now the implication was plain. Remus was a fool; an idiot for trusting Severus Snape. He had walked meekly into a trap, and because of him the others had been forced to come to his rescue. Sirius had been hexed, and James had been shamed, and the Slytherins had won the day, and all because Remus Lupin was too stupid to see what was right in front of him.

'You've got to learn,' James said, in a chiding voice that one might use for a naughty child. 'Snivellus is not to be trusted. He's just another slimy Slytherin toad, and he—'

James fell silent as the matron came back, bearing a tray of potions. She dosed Remus with the one for his fever and another to ease the aches he had not even confessed to. Sirius then received a dram of something blue and viscous that made him grimace at the taste.

'That will bring down the swelling a little,' said the matron; 'but I'm afraid that's all I can do until I work out how to reverse it. You'll be spending the night here. Both of you,' she said with a shrewd look at Remus. 'No lessons for you tomorrow, my boy. You've had quite enough excitement as it is.'

'What about supper?' Sirius asked.

'You'll take your supper here,' said Madam Pomfrey pertly. 'And after that it's sleep for the both of you. If you like, Remus, you may stay out here with your friend, but if I hear you two keeping each other up I'll be moving you into the isolation room, make no mistake. As for the two of you,' she said, turning on James and Peter; 'run along and eat, and then to bed. And don't you be banging my door down at the crack of dawn, either. You may come to visit Mr Black in the afternoon.'

'What about Remus?' Peter asked.

'I won't be here,' Remus whispered, trying and failing to smile for his friend. 'We'll be going down to the Willow before lessons let out.'

James looked at him, a pained expression on his face. 'May we stop in at lunch?' he asked.

'I don't think so,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Best if you just be about your business and let me see to Remus. Then perhaps you'll mind me next time and keep out of trouble when he's poorly! Now shoo! I'll not have you two upsetting my patients any longer.'

She herded them from the ward, closing the doors firmly behind them. She disappeared briefly into her office, returning with two trays of toast and beef stew. She propped Remus up in bed, clicking her tongue disapprovingly as her fingertips brushed his neck.

'As pleased as I am to see you running about like a boy of your age, dear, I do wish you wouldn't strain yourself,' she scolded, taking the flannel and wetting it again before tucking it around the back of his neck. 'Do try and eat a little.'

She sat Sirius up next, settling the tray and putting the spoon in his hand. 'Call if you need anything, and do try not to spill too badly,' she said, her tone kinder than before. 'I'll be just 'round the corner trying to work out what to do about this curse. Shout if you need me.'

Remus watched as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office, and then tried to take a few mouthfuls of stew. The feel of the bits of potato between his teeth filled him with an unexpected pang of homesickness, and he realized it had been over a fortnight since he had last written his mother. He glanced sidelong at Sirius, who was groping along his tray and trying to find his bowl.

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly. 'I know I should have been clever enough to see it was a trap.'

'I would've expected you to,' Sirius said. He swore under his breath as his spoon tilted and a piece of beef landed with a _plop_ on his napkin. 'If you'd just stop being so sodding _nice_ to everybody!'

Remus bit down on the tip of his tongue, hanging his head. Sirius could not see his posture of remorse, and so he whispered again, 'I'm sorry.'

Either Sirius did not hear him or he was not ready to accept an apology, for he ate in silence. After a while Madam Pomfrey came to carry away the trays, frowning at Remus's untouched toast and nearly-full bowl. She returned with two pairs of hospital wing pyjamas.

'I'll help you in just a tick, dear,' she said to Sirius, setting his down on the edge of the bed.

He snorted derisively. 'No thank you,' he said. 'I can dress myself, if it's all the same to you.' He got up on his knees and began to disrobe.

'Very well,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'I'm sure you know best.'

Remus did not protest as the matron helped him out of his robes. She made a soft hissing sound as she did so, and he followed her gaze to his abdomen, where a dark purple bruise was luridly obvious. Madam Pomfrey grazed it with her fingers, and Remus exerted a conscious effort not to flinch.

'How did this happen?' she asked softly.

'The one called Goyle hit me,' Remus confessed, the words tripping out before he could stop them.

'Goyle? That great big boy in sixth year? Remus! Were you not going to report this?'

Remus felt his ears turning a brilliant hue of scarlet. 'Oh, Madam, please,' he said. 'I don't want to make trouble.'

'Balderdash! I shall speak to Professor Slughorn at once. Shame on that boy, picking on someone half his size. Here now, let's just finish dressing you…'

A minute and a half later Madam Pomfrey was gone, and Remus and Sirius were left alone.

'What was that about?' Sirius demanded, wriggling into the flannelette trousers and planting his hands on his hips. 'What did she see? What did Goyle do to you?'

'It's only a bruise,' Remus said miserably. 'Please, Sirius, don't make a fuss.'

'I'll make a fuss if I jolly well please!' Sirius said, wrathfully putting on the pyjama shirt. 'She's right: they oughtn't pick on you just because you're easy, and I won't stand for them using you to get to James and I.'

'James and me,' Remus murmured reflexively.

'Whatever you say. I won't stand for it, Remus. It's not right and it's not fair, and you can't let them do it!'

The back of Remus's throat was beginning to sting. 'I was only trying…'

'To be friendly with Snivelly. I know. What I don't understand is why you'd even want to try it – damnation!' He bent his chin as if to look at his front, but of course he could not. His fingers danced up and down his torso. 'There's an extra button on this shirt!'

'You've missed a buttonhole,' Remus said softly, climbing down from the bed and shuffling over to Sirius's side. 'Let me.'

To his surprise, Sirius set docilely with his hands in his lap while Remus fixed his buttons. 'Thanks,' he said flatly when the task was completed. 'Best get back into bed before Pomfrey turns up. I've got a feeling we haven't even got a hint of the sharp side of her tongue yet.'

'She's only trying to look after us,' Remus said, clambering back onto the bed and somehow managing to wriggle beneath the covers. He lay on his side, watching as Sirius felt his way back towards the pillow. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'About your eyes, I mean. It's all my fault.'

'No,' Sirius said, cold rage tugging on his lips. For an awful moment Remus was glad that he did not need to see the wrath brewing in the grey eyes. 'No, it's all Snivelly's fault. It was a dirty trick to play on you, and a nasty curse to use on me, and as soon as I'm out of here his craven Slytherin hide is forfeit for this. That's if James isn't already making him pay.'

'Sirius, we ought to just let it alone,' Remus ventured, though he knew the effort was futile. 'We won one and we lost one. Isn't that enough?'

'Not by half, mate,' Sirius muttered darkly, yanking the covers up to his chin and slapping the cloth over his swollen eyes again. 'Not by half.'

_~discidium~_

Remus awoke the following morning with a pulsating headache and a deep pain in his hips. He lay still for a long time, curled tightly into the position that brought the most relief to the twitching muscles in his back. Presently Sirius awoke and Remus had to watch his bold and independent friend being led off to the water closet by Madam Pomfrey. Once Sirius was settled back in bed the matron brought their breakfast. Sirius ate with gusto, only slightly hampered by a lack of eyesight. Remus's stomach turned at the very sight of porridge, but he did nibble tentatively at the bacon before deciding that it wasn't what he wanted either.

Madam Pomfrey dosed him, checked his vitals, and examined the bruise on his stomach. She washed his face with cool water and gave him another cold flannel to put on his head. Then she vanished into her office again. She emerged about twenty minutes later with a mortar full of a yellowish unguent, which she applied to Sirius's eyes with a tiny silver spoon. Sirius ribbed her as she did so, but sat very still for the procedure. He did not seem interested in speaking to Remus, however, and presently the younger boy drifted off into a murky slumber.

He awoke again when Madam Pomfrey brought Sirius his lunch. She had a glass of water and a mug of drinking chocolate for Remus. He drained the former, but sipped only feebly at the latter. Then he lay back down, still struggling to find a position that did not aggravate his hips.

'You all right?' Sirius asked at some point in the early afternoon.

'Just fine,' Remus assured him in his most serene voice. Sirius's temporary blindness was a blessing at that moment, for he could not see his pallor or the fever spots on his cheeks or the way his back was arching. 'And you?'

'Bored stiff,' Sirius sighed. 'Eyes don't hurt anymore, but I still can't open 'em.'

'They're not as red as they were,' Remus said. The conversation seemed awkward and forced, and when Sirius did not reply Remus could not think of any other way to keep it going. He lapsed into silence.

At three o'clock Madam Pomfrey came to help him dress. She had his clothes in her hands: the ones he had been wearing when he arrived in the hospital wing the previous evening.

'Oh, no, Madam: those are the wrong robes,' he protested.

'I know, dear, but you're in no fit state to be running back to the dormitory to change,' said the matron, tugging back the bedclothes and helping him to sit. 'These will just have to do.'

'B-but I've already torn them,' Remus protested.

'I saw that as well,' she told him; 'and I'll see about mending them once you're safely back in bed. Now come along. We must get you down to the tunnel before the grounds are swarming with first years looking for a snowball fight.'

'It snowed?' Sirius asked eagerly, pushing himself up on his elbows so that the compress fell onto his stomach.

'It certainly did,' Madam Pomfrey said. 'Just put them over the pyjamas, Remus. We haven't got your cloak, either.'

'Best of British luck,' Sirius said, grinning in what he clearly thought was Remus's direction. 'You just be sure to come out of it without too much trouble, all right? I'm worn out worrying over you.'

Remus wasn't sure what to say to this, but he knew that he had to say something. 'Don't give Madam a hard time,' he said. 'She's only trying to help, you know.'

'Yessir,' Sirius said, saluting crisply. 'Take care.'

Remus cast a last glance at his friend. The swelling about his eyes had abated considerably, but his eyelids still were not pliable enough to open.

'I'll try,' he whispered as Madam Pomfrey tied his shoe and rose, offering him her hand.

He leaned heavily upon the matron's arm as they hurried through the empty corridors and out into the ruddy afternoon glow. The grounds were shrouded in white, and the snow crunched beneath Remus's feet as he struggled towards the Whomping Willow. His bare hands were stinging with cold by the time they reached the shelter of the tunnel.

'Sirius…' Remus said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. 'Can you mend his eyes? Will he be able to see again?'

'From what I can tell his eyes are perfectly fine,' said Madam Pomfrey, lighting her wand and leading the way down the tunnel. 'It's the lids that are swollen, just as if he had an infection that got out of control. It's already improving. I've a feeling his body will put itself right before I find a more expedient solution.'

'Is… is that good?' asked Remus anxiously.

'It's not ideal,' said the witch with a rueful sigh. 'It isn't often I see a curse come through that I haven't at least heard of. I don't like being behind the latest research. But don't worry, dear: your friend will be right as rain in a day or two.'

They reached the trap door, and Remus let the matron help him climb up into the house. The sitting room was bitterly cold.

'You ought to go up and lie in the bed,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Shall I help you with the stairs?'

'No, Madam. I can manage,' Remus promised. 'You ought to go: lessons let out any minute now.'

'So they do,' she sighed. A warm hand grazed his cheek and she drew him into a swift, gentle hug. 'Do take care, dear. You came through so beautifully last month.'

Then she was gone, and Remus was alone. He was shivering already through his layers of clothing, and he glanced longingly at the door that led to the stairs. But he was angry and ashamed, and he did not feel prepared to pamper himself. Setting his jaw he stripped off his robes and the hospital wing pyjamas. It took a deliberate act of will to free his feet from the cozy cocoons of his shoes, but he did it. When his garments were tucked away in the sideboard he started for his customary chair, hugging his arms to his chest as the tremors of cold began to reach his very bones.

He halted half a pace from the armchair. Yesterday's misjudgements broke over him like an icy wave, and before he knew what he was doing he was on his knees on the bare floor, quivering violently. He had trusted Severus... had the other boy know that he would trust him? Had it been a calculated effort to take advantage of his desire for conciliation? Had Mulciber mulled over ways to trap James and Sirius, only to have Snape suggest the perfect solution? Or had Remus merely been blind to the other boy's intentions from the very beginning?

It did not matter, he realized. Sirius was right: he was a fool. He had been a fool to trust Severus, to believe that he might have an amicable relationship with someone so despised by his own friends. He had been a fool to go with him, to let himself be led meekly away from the safety of the crowded Entrance Hall. Because of him, Sirius was lying in the hospital wing, unable to see. Because of him, James was likely planning further action against Mulciber and his gang. Because of him…

The thought was interrupted by a concussive tremor that ripped through his spine. Wide eyes flew to the window, where the last glow of the setting sun cast a greenish pall between the tightly battened boards. As his jaw began to lengthen and his floating ribs began to snap, there was only one word that clung to his retreating human mind. _Fool. Fool, fool, fool…_


	65. Cause and Effect

**Chapter Sixty-Five: Cause and Effect**

'Oh, Remus…'

The sound of his name somehow penetrated the fog of pain that seemed to belabour his breathing and even the sluggish thrumming of his heart. Remus tried to acknowledge the sorrowful voice, but he could not make his lips produce any sound. His throat was too raw even to permit swallowing, and he felt a hot rivulet of spittle oozing from the corner of his mouth. It chilled rapidly against his skin, and the trail it left began to freeze. He could not feel his fingers or his feet, but he suspected that was likely a blessing.

The floorboard beneath his head vibrated as sturdy, sensible shoes drew near. He cringed at the sympathetic vibration that started up in his spine. There was a stinging welt across his back, and shards of something sharp prickled within it. He struggled to lie still. Madam Pomfrey was here to help him. It was best if he could simply lie still.

'Can you hear me, dear?' the matron said. Her voice was soft and mournful as she placed a comforting hand on Remus's brow. 'I need to see to your leg. Can you – Remus, your hands are like ice…'

She was touching him, and the tingling fire that jolted up into his elbow and through to his clavicle told Remus that the bones of his forearm were fractured. He whimpered softly, wishing that he could articulate what was wrong.

The marvel of being cared for by one trained in the medical arts was that she did not need to be told. Madam Pomfrey let out a heavy puff of air that fell in a warm, damp mist across his ribs.

'You've broken it, I'm afraid,' she said. 'And your lips are quite purple; we've no time to fix it here. This will have to do. _Ferula_,' she murmured, and his left arm was stabilized.

She turned her attention to his right leg. There was a crawling heat as the worst of the bleeding was stemmed. A similar sensation moved along his ribs, and then Remus felt himself rising into the air and onto a conjured stretcher. A blanket was tucked under his shoulders and draped carefully over his battered body, and Madam Pomfrey bundled something soft and scratchy around his head and ears. The jolt of being lowered into the tunnel mustered a feeble gasp that he tried very hard to keep from mounting into a scream.

The cold air struck him like a wall, burning his eyelids and stinging in his nostrils. Although the matron moved as swiftly as she could, Remus could feel the perspiration freezing on his brow and by the time the warm air within the castle engulfed him he was shaking violently despite the strain this placed on his tormented muscles.

Madam Pomfrey was murmuring reassurances as they moved, but Remus found it difficult to distill words from the sounds. He felt the tug of unconsciousness, and was just about to succumb gratefully to it when he heard a familiar voice crying out in consternation.

'Remus! Are you all right? Is he all right?'

Bare feet slapped against the stone floor of the main ward, and Remus forced his eyes open. A greenish blur with dark hair swam some small distance away, bobbing alongside the bier as Madam Pomfrey guided it towards the isolation room.

'Hush, now. He's cold and he's hurting, and he needs attending to. Get back into bed and finish your breakfast,' the matron said, gently scolding.

'But he's bleeding – he's white as a sheet…'

Remus wanted to speak to Sirius, to reassure him that he was not hurt as badly as all that, but he could not find his voice. His throat was closed and his head was filled with muddled sensations that he could not quite name.

'I shall see to him; I promise.' A warm hand pressed down on Remus's forehead as he tried to lift it a little. 'Lie still, dear. I'll have you safe in bed in no time.'

Afterwards he had dim and vacant recollections of the matron's initial ministrations, but he lost consciousness long before she removed the conjured splint to tend his broken arm.

_~discidium~_

Lingering in the placid place between sleep and wakefulness, Remus was first aware of his nagging thirst. The next realization that settled upon his reluctantly rousing mind was that he was not alone. Someone was beside him, very near at hand. He could hear shallow breathing and the occasional rustling of fabric as helpless hands fumbled with one another.

It was not Madam Pomfrey, then. The matron never fidgeted. Her hands either moved with deft and definite purpose, or they sat serenely in her lap awaiting their next call to action. Remus tried to think who else might be sitting with him. His father was given to fumbling when he did not know what else to do, but Father was far away in Cornwall, searching for work and trying to scrape by. Professor McGonagall did not usually visit him on the first day, and in any case she did not seem the sort to fiddle with her fingers, either.

Then the memory of the chilling journey back to the castle surfaced from under a weight of weariness, and Remus remembered. Sirius. Sirius had been waiting when Madam Pomfrey brought him in. He had cried out anxiously and come running to his side. Sirius did not know how to sit still. Surely it was he who hovered there now, just to Remus's right, with his fingers writhing in his lap.

Slowly and not without discomfort, Remus let his eyelids flutter open. He turned his head towards the shape beside the bed, enduring the stabbing agony that burrowed into the base of his neck. The room was dark, the lamp carefully dimmed so that it would not strain his eyes. Yet he could pick out familiar contours in the faint glow: a straight, patrician nose, dark and elegantly arched brows, lips rippling nervously as their owner realized that the object of his vigil was awake.

'Remus!' Sirius said. His voice was not loud, but still it broke against Remus's ears with an impact that sent a hum of pain into his skull.

'Hello,' he croaked, his vocal chords crackling. The wolf must have howled itself hoarse.

'Here…' Sirius shifted in his chair, snaking one arm beneath Remus's shoulders and using his fingertips to steady the other boy's head as he lifted him off of the cushions. In the other hand he held a glass of water, which he negotiated carefully to his friend's lips, tilting it gently so that Remus might drink.

Remus gulped greedily at the water, stopping only when he began to feel a burning beneath his sternum. He moved his head ever so slightly and Sirius seemed to understand, for he moved the cup away and eased Remus back into a supine position. The sleeve of his school robe tugged a little against Remus's ear, and Sirius tugged the fabric free with finger and thumb.

'Is that better?' Sirius asked, plucking a stray lock of hair off of Remus's forehead and smoothing it into place. 'Madam Pomfrey said I was to fetch her just as soon as you woke, so she could give you your potions.'

He shifted as though to rise, and Remus felt an inexplicable pang of anxiety.

'The bell,' he whispered.

'Do what?' Sirius's brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

'Ring the bell,' said Remus.

'Bell… oh, the bell.' Sirius twisted to pick it up, flicking his wrist so that an airy tinkling filled the little room. He rested his hand gently on Remus's arm and smiled unsteadily. 'You look better now,' he said. 'Better than you did when she brought you in, I mean. You were all white, and your lips were the colour of… well, I don't know, really. Something dead.'

In the ordinary way of things Remus might have tried to make some sort of wry comment, but he was too exhausted to formulate one. 'Ta, Sirius,' he murmured.

The door opened and a shaft of afternoon light filled the room. Madam Pomfrey drew near the bed, and Sirius shifted nearer to the side table so that she could tend to her patient.

'There, now, dear,' she said as he obediently swallowed his dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion. 'How is your pain?'

Remus stole a sidelong glance at Sirius, realizing only now that his eyelids, though open, were still red and puffy. His sclera were bloodshot, and Remus could not help but wonder if this was a lingering effect of the curse, or if his friend had lost sleep the night before.

'I'm fine, Madam,' he said resolutely, ignoring the burning discomfort under his right arm and the dull anguish in his ligaments.

Madam Pomfrey's lips tightened almost imperceptibly, and she scrutinized his face with care. 'I'd like you to have a dose anyhow,' she said, offering him the potion that would ease his pain. 'If you're not sore now, you soon will be.'

Remus swallowed and offered her a tiny, wavering smile. 'Thank you,' he said.

'To be sure,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Now, do try to stay flat on your back. You had a nasty scratch across your spine, dear: all full of splinters from one of the chairs. It's healed now, and it shouldn't trouble you in the least, but your chest is bandaged. I shall see about closing the rest of those bites tomorrow.'

'My arm?' Remus said, remembering. He glanced down at the sleeve of his smock.

'It was a clean break; I've fixed it,' the matron said. 'There were signs of gnawing on your right leg, as well. Those are going to scar, I'm afraid.'

Remus closed his eyes, grateful that he was too exsanguinated to flush with shame. Madam Pomfrey had such a calm and matter-of-fact way of talking about his injuries, but that did not mean he wanted Sirius to think about his mangled hide. If he fretted too much, he might even feel the need to talk to James – and Remus was anxious to keep this last secret from his other two friends for as long as possible. If James was distressed by the mere sight of him on the afternoon before the transformation, Remus could only imagine how he would react to the scars.

'Out you go, Mr Black,' Madam Pomfrey was saying. 'Remus needs his rest.'

'Oh, no, Madam,' Remus said, hastily opening his eyes again. 'No, please let Sirius stay. I'm feeling well enough to visit for a little while.'

The matron looked from her present patient to her former one and back. 'A little while,' she conceded. 'But then you need to be shifting out of here,' she said to Sirius. 'You're well enough to sleep in your own bed tonight, and I shan't have you sitting up 'til all hours. Dragon curses on young boys; I've never seen the like.'

Still muttering discontentedly, she left the room.

Remus frowned at Sirius. 'What's she talking about?' he said.

Sirius grinned. 'Oh, that. Well, it turns out the spell Snivelly used on my face is popular with dragon-breeders. MacFusty stopped in to visit me last night, and she recognized it straight away. Knew the counter-curse and everything. Pomfrey was scandalized.'

'That's horrible!' Remus cried. 'Using a curse meant for a dragon on a person? What if it had put your eyes out or something?'

'That's just what Matey said,' Sirius chuckled. 'Repeatedly.'

'I can't believe Severus would do something that awful,' whispered Remus, peering into the gloom as if he might spy some damage to his friend that Madam Pomfrey had missed.

'Really?' said Sirius merrily. 'I can. He's a nasty little blighter, old Snivellus. I'm going to take great pleasure in dreaming up something equally unpleasant for him.'

Suddenly Remus remembered that this whole mess was his fault. If he hadn't trusted Snape, the events of two days past would never have occurred. 'Sirius, I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm so sorry.'

'So am I,' Sirius said, worry creasing his brow. 'I hope you're feeling better soon.'

Remus let his eyes slide away. Sirius didn't realize that he was actually apologizing: Sirius thought that he was sorry in the way that one felt badly when a friend was hurt. Although he knew he ought to explain, Remus could not bring himself to do it. If Sirius was willing to pretend that he had not led them all into a trap then Remus wanted only to let the illusion pass. He was too weary and sore to cope with his friend's disappointment now, or with another well-deserved scolding.

'I'll be all right,' he said hoarsely. 'You mustn't worry about me.'

'I don't understand,' said Sirius. 'Last month wasn't nearly as bad as this. Your eyes are all sunken in and… and you're still awfully white.' His gaze shifted to Remus's left hand. 'You broke your arm?'

'Foreleg,' Remus mumbled before he could censor himself.

'But _why_?'

It was an impossible question. Remus knew that he hadn't been calm going into the transformation, and doubtless that had only aggravated the wolf's temper. The seventeen hours of moonlight had surely not helped either. But the length of the night was beyond human control, and if he so much as hinted that his thoughts before the transformation impacted its severity Sirius might realize that the horrific wounds he had sustained in September had been related to his anxiety over his friends' suspicions. Remus could not allow that.

'I need to sleep,' he said quietly. 'You ought to go.'

'I'm staying here until Pomfrey comes and drags me away,' Sirius said with a defiant toss of his head. 'You go right on and sleep, Remus. I'll watch you.'

'Watch him for what?' said a voice as the door swung inward. James slipped into the room, hurrying Peter after him and closing the door in a swift and surreptitious way that likely meant the two of them had slipped past the matron.

'In case he stops breathing or something,' Sirius said.

'Stops breathing?' James echoed.

Peter had moved to turn up the lamp a little, and his plump face crumpled with worry. 'Oh, Remus, you look awful…' he moaned.

'That's a fine thing to say to a friend,' snorted James. Then he studied the bedridden boy's features and frowned. 'He's right, Remus. You look much worse than last time. Are you okay?'

'He broke his arm, and he hurt his legs and his chest too,' Sirius reported. 'Definitely worse than last time.'

'I'm all right,' Remus said. 'I'll be all right.'

James patted his hand and tried to smile. 'Course you will,' he said. 'It's not as bad as September, is it?'

His voice wavered a little on that question, and Remus saw a flash of fear in the hazel eyes.

'No,' he said. 'No, not nearly.'

'Good,' James breathed. 'That's good.'

'Are you still hurting?' Peter asked nervously. 'D-did the wolf hurt you badly?'

'I'm all right,' Remus said yet again. 'Madam Pomfrey's given me my potions, and I'll be asleep in no time.'

'We ought to leave you to it, then,' James said. 'I mean, sleep is the best thing for you, isn't it?'

'It is,' said Peter with authority. 'One of the books I read said that werewolves sleep up to forty hours in the first two days after the moon.'

Remus's eyes flew to Peter's face, brimming with unexpected tears. He had said 'werewolf' without fear or disgust. He had not even paused upon a syllable. He had used it as if it were a perfectly natural word to use – as if it were a perfectly natural thing to say about one's friend.

'Well, you've only had ten,' Sirius said, getting to his feet. 'Perhaps we ought to leave you to it after all.' He squeezed Remus's shoulder and grinned. 'I'll be by at lunchtime tomorrow.'

'We all will,' James said stoutly.

'Sleep well?' said Peter.

Remus nodded his head drowsily. He wanted to reply, to thank the others and to wish them a good night, but his resolve to stay awake was flagging fast. His eyelids were drooping before they reached the threshold, and he did not even hear the door of the outer ward close behind them.

_~discidium~_

He awoke once in the night, and had to ring for Madam Pomfrey to help him to the toilet and back. She gave him another round of potions and checked the dressings on his chest before leaving him to sleep again. Remus next returned to consciousness mid-morning. The matron brought a breakfast tray, but he was unable to eat. His post-transformation thirst plagued him, however, and although he drank until his stomach was distended it hardly seemed to blunt the edge. Uncomfortable and unhappy, he dozed again.

Later in the afternoon, when he woke up again, he learned that the others had stopped in to see him in their break between lessons. He had slept right through their visit. Madam Pomfrey seemed to think this a very good thing indeed, but Remus was in an agony of remorse. James, Sirius and Peter had taken the time to come to the hospital wing for him, and he had not even been able to thank them. The catalogue of his transgressions was getting longer and longer.

Determined to stay awake lest they should decide to come back after Charms, Remus stared up at the ceiling. It was not an especially interesting ceiling, but studying the shadows cast upon it by the still dimly glowing lamp did at least force him to keep his eyes open.

As he lay there, he thought about Sirius. On the day before the full moon he had been so angry about the incident that had led to his stay in the hospital wing. Yet yesterday he had sat for hours by the bed, waiting for Remus to wake up, worrying for him and watching him just as he had done the previous month, and the month before that. Despite the fact that Remus had made a foolish decision and allowed himself to be used as bait by the Slytherins, Sirius was able to care when Remus was ill and hurting. He had even overlooked Remus's attempt to apologize.

Remus wondered if perhaps this was what it meant to have a true friend. That even when he faltered, even when he made stupid mistakes and trusted Severus Snape and walked straight into a trap without even thinking twice about it, Sirius was willing to stand by him. That although Sirius had been angry in the aftermath he was ready to move on as if it had never happened. That even if Sirius did not actually say that Remus was forgiven, he was still willing to show by his actions that there was no need for further penitence.

Then Remus realized that he felt just the same way about his friends. James was sometimes thoughtless, and Sirius sometimes cruel, and Peter had certainly made his share of foolish mistakes, but Remus was always happy to excuse their faults. He did not make them grovel for forgiveness, and more often than not he did not even say they were forgiven. He did not need to: they understood that he wanted them and accepted them for who they were, and that their errors and misjudgements and insensitive remarks were not enough to change that.

Perhaps this was, after all, precisely what it meant to be a friend.

The thought warmed him, blunting the edge of his exhaustion and redoubling his resolve to stay awake. The others would come to see him: they would forgive him for sleeping through their noontime visit, just as they had forgiven him for letting himself fall prey to Mulciber and his gang.

He did not have to wait long. There was a soft rap at the door, and when Remus gave his leave it opened and Peter came in.

'Are you feeling better?' he asked softly, approaching the bed.

'I'll be all right,' Remus said. He struggled to sit up, but his half-healed ribs protested and he sank back against the cushion with a tiny sigh. 'Are you on your own?' he asked. 'Where are James and Sirius?'

Peter looked extremely uncomfortable. 'They couldn't come,' he said. 'I thought… I thought you wouldn't mind if I visited. I thought I'd be better than no one.'

'Of course you are,' Remus assured him. 'I'm very glad to see you.' He wanted to ask why Sirius and James could not come, but he dreaded the answer. 'I'm sorry I was sleeping when you stopped by before.'

'Oh, dear,' Peter mumbled. 'That's what Sirius thought you'd say.'

The unhappy thought that he was not forgiven after all surfaced, but Remus forced it back down. He was entirely too prone to making assumptions about what his friends meant, and he had been wrong more than once this week. He held his tongue, waiting to see if Peter had anything more to say.

The other boy sighed and sat down on the chair beside the bed, folding his plump hands in his lap and staring down at them. 'I said I didn't think you'd want to know the truth, but Sirius said that was better than letting you think you'd made them angry,' he mumbled.

'What's the truth?' Remus whispered. He was beginning to feel a deep, gnawing anxiety.

Peter sighed. 'They're in detention,' he said. 'For fighting. It had to be an afternoon detention, you see, because we've got Astronomy tonight.'

Remus exhaled softly through his nose. 'What were they fighting about?' he asked.

'Oh, they weren't fighting with each other,' Peter explained hastily. 'They were fighting with Snape. Well, teaming up on Snape. After Potions.'

Remus closed his eyes. 'Oh, no…'

'Professor Slughorn caught them before it went too far,' said Peter. 'But they're in detention until supper. Scrubbing cauldrons, I think.' His lower lip trembled. 'I wish they'd listened to you. Now Snape's going to try to get us back again, and we'll have to try to get him back. Somebody's going to get hurt.'

Reluctant to point out that both Sirius and Mulciber had already been hurt, Remus only nodded. 'Thank you for coming to tell me,' he said.

'I didn't come to tell you,' said Peter. 'I came to _see_ you.' He bent over and rummaged in his book bag. 'Chocolate Frog?'

Remus shook his head, smiling a little. 'I'm not hungry, I'm afraid,' he said.

Peter's small eyes shimmered with pity. 'You really are hurt worse than last time, aren't you?' he asked. 'How come?'

'There are good months and bad months,' Remus confessed. 'I think this time the wolf was upset.'

'Because of what happened?' asked Peter. 'With the Slytherins, I mean, and Snape tricking you and Sirius and James saying you were stupid to trust him?'

He had not the heart to lie, nor the energy to equivocate. 'Yes,' Remus sighed.

'I was upset, too,' Peter confided, leaning in a little nearer. 'I had a bad dream that night.' He glanced over his shoulder at the door, as if fearful that the others might come bursting in. 'Sirius can be awfully mean when he's angry. Thank you for not yelling at me when I couldn't do the spell. I know we learnt it last year, but I just couldn't remember.'

'I know,' said Remus. 'You and I can practice it once I'm back in the dormitory, if you like.'

Peter's smile was wonderful to behold. 'Oh, yes, please,' he said. He leaned forward and timidly took Remus's hand. 'You're such a good friend to me. I know I said it before – but I didn't say it the right way, then.'

'It's all right,' Remus said softly. 'I forgive you: I know you didn't mean it.'

'I know: you forgave me a long time ago, and that's why you stayed my friend even when I wasn't being kind,' said Peter. He looked around the room. 'Is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything you need?'

'If you could help me sit up, I'd like some water,' Remus told him.

Peter was not nearly as adept as Sirius but eventually Remus was propped up on the pillows, sipping at a glass of cool fluid. Peter watched him contentedly, only occasionally glancing at the bulge in his smock that covered the bandages.

Madam Pomfrey came in with a dish of chicken broth for Remus, and Peter excused himself to go down to supper. Remus managed a little less than half of the soup, and then watched patiently as Madam Pomfrey removed the dressings and closed the last of the wounds on his ribs. She helped him to settle onto his side, tucking the blankets snugly around him.

'You've a letter from home, dear,' she said, removing it from her pocket and setting it on the side table. 'Shall I leave you to read it?'

'Yes, Madam. Thank you,' Remus said. The matron put the envelope in his hand and slipped from the room.

It was crisp, new envelope of the sort usually used for Muggle legal documents, and Remus opened it with some trepidation. In his mother's tidy hand he read:

_Dearest Remus,_

_I do hope that you are well. I know that Madam Pomfrey will take the best of care, dear, but of course I always think of you when the moon is full. How is school? I know you must be very busy, for you don't write as often as you used to. I hope you are well and happy, and that you're getting on well with your friends. Please do give my regards to Sirius and James and Peter. They filled the house with such joy this summer._

_Your father has not had much luck in finding permanent work, I'm afraid, but we've had a funny turn of events. I went out looking, and I've been hired on as a clerk in the Post Office – the Muggle one of course. I'm working four days a week, and we shall soon have money coming in again. You mustn't worry, Remus: as you see, everything is going to be all right. I do wish your father were a little more comfortable with the situation, but I'm afraid that can't be helped._

_I was wondering what you would like to do about Christmas. The next full moon falls on the twentieth, and school holidays will have begun by then. Of course we would love to have you at home, Remus, but if you would prefer to stay at school where you have Madam Pomfrey to look after you we understand, and we're happy to support you. There's always next year._

_Don't feel in a hurry to write back, Remus. Think about it, and let us know when you've made up your mind. Please do enjoy the rest of the term, and study hard – as I know you will._

_All of our love, my darling boy,_

_Mother and Father_

Remus read the letter over a second time, and then a third. He wondered what his mother meant when she said that she wished Father were more comfortable with the situation. He didn't seem the sort to disapprove of his wife working in a Muggle job, and Remus wondered what else was going on at home.

The question of Christmas had been nagging at him for weeks. He knew how much his mother missed him, but he also remembered the catastrophic transformation he had undergone the previous year. While it was true that he now understood that his own agitation translated into violence in the wolf, this month's change had made it excruciatingly obvious that he was still incapable of schooling his feelings in order to keep the wolf at bay.

Yet the prospect of spending Christmas at Hogwarts was a lonely one. His friends would all go home, and it was unlikely that he would know anyone who stayed behind – save for the teachers, of course, and likely Severus Snape. Snape had not been wanted at home over Easter: it seemed improbable that they would like him any better at Christmas. And after whatever had happened between Severus, Sirius and James today, Remus was not entirely sure that it would be wise to encounter Snape alone. He knew that he could no longer hope to make overtures of peace, for in trying to do so he had been betrayed.

He did not want to think about it now. His head was still sore and his bones ached with weariness. He laid aside his mother's letter and curled up under the soft bedclothes, drifting off to sleep in the soft glow of the lamp.

_~discidium~_

On Friday morning while Remus was trying to coax himself into eating a little breakfast, his three friends turned up in the hospital wing. Sirius and James both moved more slowly than usual, and there were the faintest shadows of weariness under their eyes. Still they grinned and greeted him with a cheerful _good morning._

'Do you reckon Pomfrey will let you out today?' Sirius asked, ambling up to the bed and studying the breakfast tray. 'You ought to eat up, you know: she'll never turn you loose unless you do.'

'Are you still not eating?' Peter said worriedly.

'I'm eating a little,' Remus assured him. To prove it he took a spoonful of the heretofore untouched porridge and swallowed it.

'Last time you were back in lessons on the third day,' said James mournfully. 'I don't understand.'

'The wolf was upset,' Peter announced.

Remus gaped at him, horrified. James and Sirius turned shrewd eyes on the round little boy.

'What do you mean, upset?' said Sirius.

Remus shook his head frantically, but Peter did not see him: he was watching Sirius anxiously. 'B-because of what happened with the Slytherins,' he stammered.

'What's the wolf care about the Slytherins?' asked Sirius.

'The wolf doesn't care,' James said, casting a slanting glance at the figure in the bed; 'but Remus does. You were upset, weren't you?'

'I did a stupid thing,' Remus mumbled, staring down at his tray so that he did not need to meet the others' eyes. He had never thought that Peter would process what he had said, much less repeat it so brazenly. 'I was a f-fool to trust Severus. Sirius was right.'

'A fool?' Sirius echoed in bewilderment. 'I never said that you were a fool.'

'You did,' whispered Remus. 'You did.'

'No,' said Sirius. 'I _didn't_. I said it was a fool idea to go off with Snivellus. Not that _you_ were a fool. Isn't that what I said, James?'

'I don't know,' admitted James, fiddling uncomfortably with his spectacles. 'I think that was the general sentiment.'

'It was all my fault,' said Remus. 'If I hadn't been so stupid Mulciber wouldn't have been able to use me as bait. You wouldn't have been hexed, and Sirius's eyes would be fine, and—'

'Sod my eyes!' Sirius snorted. 'My eyes are fine. Are you telling me that you were upset because of some silly thing I said?'

It had not seemed silly at the time, but Remus remembered his musings on the nature of friendship. He was willing to forgive Sirius's thoughtless remarks, as Sirius was willing to forgive his folly. 'I'm afraid so,' he said, forcing a self-deprecating smile. 'I was overreacting.'

'So when you're upset the wolf gets upset?' James asked.

Remus's neck grew hot. 'It's not as simple as that,' he said hastily. 'In the winter when the nights are so long, and the moon is up for sixteen or seventeen hours I'm in for a rough go of it anyway…'

'How many hours was the moon up last month?' Sirius demanded.

'Not quite fifteen.'

'That's still an awfully long time,' said Sirius. 'But you were only a little wounded, and you perked up right away. You were eating and laughing—'

'Laughing _uncontrollably_,' James added.

'—and you were out on the morning of the third day,' Sirius finished. 'So it must have more to do with how you're feeling beforehand. How were you feeling last month?'

'I was happy,' Remus confessed miserably. 'You and James – you were so kind, and you stayed with me before to keep me from thinking, and we played games, and you said all the right things, and you didn't… you didn't care that I was a werewolf. You still wanted to be my friend.'

'And this time you were hurt because we'd scolded you over Snape,' James said, understanding dawning. 'And you were upset because you twisted things 'round in your head so that you thought it was your fault Sirius got hexed.'

'It _was_ my fault that Sirius got hexed,' Remus said.

'Not by half, mate,' Sirius argued. 'It was at least seventy-five percent Snivelly, since he was the one who actually cast the curse. And I reckon fifteen percent for Mulciber, 'cause if he hadn't jinked my legs I could have dodged it. And another eight for Goyle, because he knocked me down in the first place. Which leaves…' He scrunched up his brow. 'Help me out here, maths savant. I've lost count.'

'Two percent,' whispered Remus.

'Two percent,' said Sirius. 'Of which at least one and a half belongs to me because I let my guard down and anyway I was the one who put a bug up Mulciber's nose to start with. So that makes you one half a percent responsible.'

Perhaps Sirius was not using the word '_forgiven_', but that was certainly the essence of his words. Remus smiled. 'Then I take full responsibility for that one half percent,' he said solemnly. 'I promise I shan't let it happen again.'

'That's all I ask,' Sirius said, grinning. Then he looked at James and frowned. 'And we've obviously got to be more careful what we say the day before the full moon.'

'Oh, no, I don't mean to have you walking on eggshells…' protested Remus.

'Don't be loopy,' James said. 'We'll just keep it calm and pleasant for two days out of twenty-nine. It won't kill us. You'll see: next month will be ever so much better!'

Remus glanced at the letter still resting at his bedside. He wondered briefly whether this was the moment to mention the fact that the full moon fell during the holidays, but decided it was not.

_~discidium~_

Sirius and James had been thwarted in their efforts to wreck revenge on Severus, and there was also Mulciber to be considered – and Goyle. But all such considerations fell to the wayside as James prepared for victory in a very different encounter with Slytherin House.

Gryffindor was slated to play their age-old rival on the second Saturday in December. After the previous season's woeful showing, Eldritch McKinnon was determined to have his team in top form. Every afternoon he had them drilling up by Hagrid's hut. When this was first announced Sirius was indignant, for this was of course his practice ground. But then Eldritch asked Sirius and Betta to round out the reserve players – of which there were four – with other interested parties so that they could get up a proper simulation of a game. Much to the delight of both Sirius and James, this shadow-team was included in the Wednesday practices on the real pitch. These sessions were closed to observers, but the practices over the snow-laden lawns drew an enormous crowd every day.

Slytherin responded by holding their own informal sessions near the lake. These were not nearly so interesting – largely because James and Sirius had a habit of shouting out humorous quips to their audience whenever they dipped low enough to be heard. At first this drove McKinnon fairly 'round the bend, but after a few days he seemed reconciled to the fact that his star Chaser and the aspiring Beater were a force of nature. It was best merely to keep near the conjured hoops of light that served as rings and to let them do as they pleased.

Remus went out nearly every afternoon to show solidarity with his friends. Peter, on the other hand, could scarcely be restrained from charging into the middle of the action. He organized a group of first years, including little Davey, and led them in a series of cheers that ranged from the rather sweet to the outright ridiculous. It was amusing to watch a crowd of little ones with their various House badges chanting for Gryffindor while Peter worked his wand like a conductor's baton. During the first week there were even a few Slytherin firsties who joined in the fun, but on the following Monday they were seen, looking subdued and remorseful, standing on the fringes of the Slytherin practice and stealing looks of longing at their happy classmates on the far side of the grounds.

Time was passing and Remus knew that he had to come to a decision regarding the Christmas holidays. If he went home he knew that he would be a burden on his parents. The transformation was bad enough – and with it the attendant expenses of potions and unguents and perhaps even the ordeal of a hospital visit. But he would also be another mouth to feed, and he knew that his mother would worry over the fact that two sets of his school robes were now at least an inch and a half too short. He had taken to wearing his Muggle shirts beneath them, because otherwise the scars on his forearms could be seen where the sleeves did not reach his wrists. He used the cotton robes whenever he could, but of course they were rather too thin for winter use.

He did not want to pose any burden to his parents while they were already struggling, but at the same time he knew that they would miss him if he stayed at school. On the other hand, Father did not need the trials of a winter transformation heaped atop his other worries. And although Remus yearned for the security of the safe house and Madam Pomfrey's kind and capable hands to patch him up afterwards, he could not bear the thought of long weeks alone in the dormitory.

Reluctant to make his choice, Remus focused instead on his studies. For the most part his lessons were going well, though he was still only scraping by in Potions. Herbology for the junior classes had been moved indoors for the duration of the snowy months, for there had been an unfortunate incident in which a Hufflepuff in Remus's year had neglected to close the greenhouse door on a particularly blustery afternoon. So they sat in Classroom Eleven and listened to Professor Sprout lecturing on the merits of various magical fertilizers. They were still studying the vast assortment of indispensable household Charms with Professor Flitwick, who loved December and had gone to great lengths to decorate his classroom for the season.

Transfiguration was increasingly challenging, but Remus was managing to keep pace with the rest of the class. He doubted that he would have done so without the benefit of Professor McGonagall's visit after his transformation, but as it was he was getting along nicely. Peter struggled woefully in the subject, but James was in a charitable mood not unrelated to his afternoons of flying and he undertook to help Peter. History of Magic droned on much the same as ever, though both James and Sirius spent most of the lecture time mapping out theoretical Quidditch plays for McKinnon's perusal.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was fascinating. Professor Meyrigg had not brought in a live specimen in over a month, but she kept the class moving and she taught them several very useful spells that they tried on one another. Her spirits seemed higher than ever as Christmas drew near, and her weekend absences continued.

On the morning of the Quidditch match, James stopped dead on his way to his seat at breakfast.

'I don't believe it!' he said, staring at the staff table. There was only one empty chair: Meyrigg was gone.

'You don't?' asked Sirius. 'She's never here on weekends.'

'Yeah, but there's Quidditch today,' James protested. 'The whole school's excited about it!'

'They probably wouldn't be if they'd look up,' Sirius said dryly, nodding at the enchanted ceiling that was thick with clouds and heavily falling snow.

'What's so important that she'd rather miss Quidditch than stay here?' demanded James.

'Oh, give it a rest,' Sirius snorted. 'She's wasn't even in Gryffindor. _Or_ Slytherin. And besides, she's a girl.'

'And what's that got to do with anything?' Betta MacFusty asked, turning on the bench and frowning saucily up at the boys. 'Girls like Quidditch just as much as lads do, and we're a fair sight better at playing it.'

'Hey!' James protested.

Sirius shrugged with good-natured chagrin. 'Aw, MacFusty, I didn't mean you: you're clearly a cut above the rest.'

'Why, thank you,' said Betta. 'And I didn't mean you. Either of you. You'll be putting Slytherin in their place, I trust, Potter? Only if you don't I shall be most indignant that you threw away the opportunity I'd kill for.'

'Aw, you wouldn't kill me,' James scoffed. 'Then who would you have to look up to?'

Betta laughed, but Lily Evans – seated beside her – gave a disparaging sniff. Sirius looked at her, eyes narrowed.

'I suppose you want Slytherin to win, don't you, Evans?' he asked. 'So your ickle pet Snivelly can hold his head up in public.'

'Don't you use that repulsive nickname,' Lily said primly. 'You can act like an infant on the grounds, but you ought to remember that we've an example to set for the first years. And just because I've a friend in Slytherin doesn't mean I'm not loyal to my own team. It is possible to have friends in other Houses you know.'

'I've got lots of friends in other Houses,' Peter said, turning to wave at Davey, who was standing on one of the Ravenclaw benches and trying to catch James Potter's eye.

'You'll come out and cheer me on, then?' James asked, grinning at the auburn-haired girl. 'Strictly for the glory of Gryffindor, of course.'

'I shall be cheering the _team_ on,' said Lily primly; 'and waiting for the day when Eldritch McKinnon comes to his senses and chooses a decent second year Chaser.'

Remus half expected James to offer some cutting remark in defence of his skills on a broomstick, but remarkably he merely adjusted his spectacles, shrugged his shoulders, and sauntered off towards his customary place.

_~discidium~_

The game itself was a long one, much to the delight of Peter and Sirius and the dismay of those who, like Remus, would have rather been tucked up in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Remus was wearing all three of his school robes, with his cloak over top and his Muggle clothes beneath, and still his bottom was numb by the time James scored his eighth goal. The two Seekers crosshatched the pitch in search of the Snitch. They made an interesting contrast: pale Lucius Malfoy with his shining flaxen hair and rather bluish lips, and the dark Gryffindor Seeker. He was in third year, and very fast – though he lacked James's finesse in taking sharp corners. It didn't take Remus long to tire of watching him zip back and forth, and he turned his attention back to the Chasers.

James was playing a fine game, but Slytherin had a stronger team this year than Hufflepuff. There were a couple of nasty skirmishes among the Chasers, and more than once a Bludger nearly took Gryffindor's star player off of his broom. Gryffindor was up by ninety points when one of the Slytherin Beaters aimed an arcing blow. The Bludger rocketed straight for James, and it looked to be dead on course to carry off his head. At the last moment there was a blur of robes as John Blotts pulled up between the ball and his teammate. There was a sickening smack as the Bludger struck him squarely in the back.

Silence fell over the stands as Blotts fell from his broom. Master Avian was shouting, and Professor McGonagall was already bolting for the stairs. The boy seemed to hover for a moment, suspended in midair with a look of winded alarm on his face. Then suddenly he was tumbling down towards the pitch.

It happened so swiftly that if Remus had not had his eyes on James he would have missed it entirely. Pushing his spectacles up his nose iwht one hand, James shot into a steep dive, descending at full speed and an angle of eighty-five degrees. He passed Blotts twenty feet from the ground and then pulled up in a sharp J-thrust, leaning back and pulling on his broom as the falling Beater landed crosswise against it. The Cushioning Charm kept him from smacking the handle with undue force, and James flung an arm around him, holding Blotts in place as he spiraled gently down. McGonagall and the flying master converged upon them, and there was a general cheer as Blotts staggered to his feet, clutching at his left kidney with one hand and gripping James's shoulder with the other.

Eldritch McKinnon descended, calling frantically for a time-out, but McGonagall shook her head, pointing skyward. In the moment of chaos, the Gryffindor Seeker had caught the Snitch.


	66. A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

_Note: Just a reminder that you only have until December 10 to register your vote in the next Missing Moments poll. You can choose up to three plot bunnies, and the winner will be written and posted on New Year's Eve. Vote now! Now, I tell you! _

**Chapter Sixty-Six: A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement**

On Monday morning the chief topic of conversation was still James Potter's spectacular rescue of John Blotts. Firsties whispered amongst themselves when he passed them in the common room or the corridor. Students from other Houses – including a couple of very brave Slytherins – came up to ply him with questions as he ate his breakfast. Even a number of sixth and seventh years who did not ordinarily have the time of day to offer a twelve-year-old took a moment to congratulate him.

James was enjoying all of the attention immensely. He answered his interrogators eagerly, and graciously accepted the adulation of his admirers. He even had a smile and a wave for the fawning first years. His grin appeared to be a permanent fixture on his face, and more than once Remus spied him preening like a peacock when he thought his friends were looking the other way.

Peter, of course, basked in the reflected glory. Younger students too overawed to approach James could get second-hand information from him. He was admitted to the invisible bubble that James enjoyed while walking through the halls of Hogwarts. He had the unparalleled privilege of sitting undisputed beside the Quidditch hero at the Gryffindor table while others vied for the place on James's other side.

As for Sirius, he found the entire situation profoundly annoying. He glowered at the gawking firsties, and poked fun at the queries of the second and third years. Any Hufflepuff who dared to draw near was treated to a snort and a derisive comment about belonging to a House full of sheep. One particularly spirited Ravenclaw girl gave quite as good as she got, and Sirius spent most of breakfast engaged in a lively debate with her. After she flounced off to rejoin her housemates, Sirius contented himself with rolling his eyes at his best friend's admirers.

Remus watched all of this with quiet amusement tempered with a genuine respect for the act that had garnered such favourable attention. James had, after all, spared his teammate from very serious injury – and in doing so had put himself at risk for a fall or a collision. He had displayed great presence of mind and an enormous amount of skill. And, after Professor McGonagall had calmed herself enough to stop berating him for his foolhardy behaviour so that someone else could get a word in, the Headmaster had awarded fifty points to Gryffindor for James's act of courage.

Still, Remus thought the whole thing had gone a little too far when the four of them walked into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom two scant minutes before the lesson was slated to begin, and at least three quarters of their assembled classmates burst into spontaneous applause.

'Three cheers for Potter!' cried Darius Jones, pumping his fist in the air and leading the class in a rousing huzzah. There was a chorus of eager questions and excited congratulations as James was engulfed in a sea of black robes.

Remus backed out of the way just in time. Sirius was not so fortunate, and found himself foundering amid his classmates. Peter was in the thick of the action also, but he could not have been happier.

Removed a little from the crush, Remus had the opportunity to take count of the abstentions. The Andrews twins were seated at their usual desks, Aeolus glowering enviously while Athena patted his arm. Elsie Appleby and Tom Prosser were both hanging back rather timidly, as if they wished to join the others but were not quite prepared to risk it. Betta MacFusty was perched on Lily's desk, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as she watched Sirius try to elbow his way out of the crush. And Lily had her arms crossed, frowning coldly at the spectacle.

'What have we here?' A bemused voice rang across the room. Professor Meyrigg was standing in the doorway, unable to progress any further because of the throng of students. 'Everyone take your seats, please. While I'm sure we all want to congratulate James we must also get down to work.'

The crowd dispersed and James turned towards the teacher with a pleased grin on his face. 'So you heard, Professor?' he said.

'To be sure I did,' Meyrigg answered, closing the classroom door. 'Quite a spectacular bit of flying, to hear Professor McGonagall tell it.'

Sirius sniggered, and Remus found himself smiling. After giving James a wicked tongue-lashing, the Gryffindor Head of House had apparently reconciled herself to her pupil's display of skill and reckless bravery.

'Oh, well, you know,' James said, attempting to shrug demurely but instead coming across as exceedingly delighted. Then his eyes narrowed. 'Pity you missed the game, Professor,' he remarked shrewdly.

'So it would seem,' said the teacher with a smile. She strode up to her desk and set down her briefcase. 'There's nothing quite like House Quidditch. I used to play, you know.'

'Did you really?' James asked, avidly interested. 'Which position?'

'Seeker at first,' she said, indicating the Snitch-shaped paperweight on her table. 'And then Beater after fourth year.'

'Your name isn't on any of the trophies,' said James.

Professor Meyrigg smiled. 'Oh, it's there, all right,' she said. 'We won the Cup when I was in sixth year.'

James shook his head. 'I've polished every plaque in the school at least four times, and I've never seen your name.'

'Well, perhaps you didn't know what to look for,' Meyrigg said. 'Now please do sit down, James. We really must get down to the business of the day.'

James sat, but he did not appear to pay any attention to the lesson. He spent most of the hour rapping his quill against his chin and staring vacantly off into the ether.

_~discidium~_

'I can't believe we're going to spend an afternoon in the trophy room,' Sirius groaned as James led the way out of Transfiguration. '_Voluntarily_.'

'Well, _I_ don't believe that Meyrigg's name is on any of those plaques,' James said. 'What's wrong with you? Usually you're the first one to sink his jaws into a mystery.'

'What's the mystery?' Sirius asked. 'So she missed a Quidditch game. So you don't remember seeing her name on the list of Cup winners. So what?'

'It's kind of funny, though, isn't it?' Peter piped up. 'I mean, if she played then surely her name ought to be on something.'

'And it's not!' James said. 'How many times have we had detention in the trophy room? And have _you_ come across her name? No! Because she didn't play in school.'

'You're making a Hinkypunk into a Hippogriff,' Sirius warned, but he strode along anyhow, shrugging his shoulders lazily.

Once inside the vaulted room lined with dozens of glass cabinets, James made straight for the shields denoting the names of the players on winning House teams. Remus, who had only ever seen the interior of the room in passing, found himself staring. There were hundreds of plaques, covering centuries of winners.

'This is going to take all night!' Peter moaned.

'Don't be daft,' said James, marching down to the last of the Quidditch cabinets. 'Meyrigg's what? Maybe thirty?'

'If that,' said Sirius.

'She was in fifth year when Madam Pomfrey started to work here,' Remus offered.

'There!' James said, exceedingly pleased. 'Perfect. So if she's telling the truth she was on the team that won the Cup the year after Pomfrey started. What year did Pomfrey start?'

'I don't know,' Remus admitted, flushing a little.

'Here we are,' Sirius said, craning his neck to look at a shield on the very top shelf. 'There's 1953. Gryffindor won.'

'Meyrigg was in Ravenclaw,' James offered. 'Rowena Smythe boasts about it incessantly.'

'Well, Ravenclaw won in '58,' said Sirius. 'Paxton, Thicknesse, Old, Halford, Johnson, Gwythur and Quirrell.'

'Here's one from 1967,' said Peter. 'She's not on this one, either.'

'That's much too late anyhow,' snorted Sirius. 'That would make her practically the same age as Bellatrix.'

'For being so good at everything else Ravenclaw really makes a dismal showing at Quidditch,' James said disdainfully, moving towards the earlier part of the century. 'They're averaging less than one win a decade. Even Hufflepuff's got them beat.'

'Hufflepuff's won the last four, you know,' Sirius said, pointing at the last plaques on the shelf. 'You'd better not let 'em get the Cup this year. It's embarrassing, that's what it is.'

'Yes, well, lucky for me your cousin up and married the reason Hufflepuff won four years in a row,' James said dryly. 'They're not much of a challenge anymore, are they?'

'You say that _now_,' Sirius sang out. He gave the shields a last cursory glance. 'She's not on here,' he said. 'Definitely not.'

'So she lied,' James murmured, looking thoughtful. 'Why would she lie about Quidditch? And what else is she lying about?'

'You're taking this too personally,' Sirius told him, clapping James on the back. 'Just because Quidditch is somehow tangled up in the Mystery of Meyrigg doesn't mean she's a Dark wizard or anything.'

'Dark witch,' James corrected.

'That's an awful thing to say, even in jest,' Remus said quietly. 'Professor Meyrigg is very kind, and she's an excellent teacher. I don't think we ought to talk about her like this.'

'Somebody's sweet on the Welshie!' James crowed, laughing delightedly.

'I'm not,' Remus said. 'I just think we shouldn't make that kind of slanderous remark for no good reason.'

'What are you looking at?' asked Sirius, turning towards Peter. The smaller boy had moved down to the other end of the room, to a cabinet filled with medals. He was staring intently at a small silver disc strung upon a blue satin ribbon, and he did not seem to hear the question.

'Peter?' James said. He moved nearer, and Remus did the same. Sirius hung back for a moment, as if not quite certain he cared to be involved. Then he, too, ambled up.

Peter was biting his lower lip, fixated on the medal. It was an award for the top mark on the Arithmancy NEWT in 1945 – unremarkable among similar awards, save for the name it bore.

'Maximilian Octavius Pettigrew,' James read. 'Any relation?'

Peter looked up, startled at the proximity of the voice. 'What? Relation? Yes. Oh, yes,' he stammered. 'H-he's my dad.'

'Arithmancy, eh?' Sirius said, eyeing Peter appraisingly. 'I don't see it, myself.'

'Well, that shows what you know!' Peter snapped. Before anyone could react he turned and ran from the room, letting the door slam noisily behind him.

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'He's in a bit of a strop,' he remarked.

James shifted uncomfortably. 'I suppose somebody ought to go after him.'

'Aw, let him sulk,' Sirius scoffed. 'I was only joking.'

'I don't think it was you who upset him,' Remus said softly. 'I'll go.'

'Just leave him,' said Sirius, waving dismissive hand. 'Come and see the funny things they used to award medals for back in the 14th century.'

'You're a prat, Black,' James told him. 'When have we ever just left _you_ to go off and stew? Do hurry, Remus. He can't have gone far, but Peter might be better at hiding than this insensitive berk.'

Remus nodded and hurried off. Sirius's defensive voice echoed behind him. 'I was only trying to give him his space…'

As it turned out, Peter had not made any attempt to hide, or even to flee. Remus found him in the corridor, not six yards from the door to the Trophy Room. He was sitting on the floor with his knees bent up and his head burrowed in crossed arms. Remus approached quietly, so as not to startle him, and sat down next to his friend.

'Do you want to talk about it?' he asked softly, putting a hand on Peter's elbow.

'Talk about what?' Peter sniffled from within the folds of his sleeves.

'About whatever upset you in there,' said Remus. 'Sirius was just being stupid. You haven't even tried Arithmancy; he's got no way of knowing whether or not you'd be good at it.'

'And he's never going to know,' Peter said. 'I'll not be taking Arithmancy.'

'Was it something else, then?' asked Remus gently. 'Something to do with your father?' The realization dawned upon him that he had never heard Peter talk about his father before. He spoke of his mother frequently and fondly, and on a couple of occasions he had mentioned his sister Mary, but he did not talk about his father.

Peter nodded. 'I don't want to talk about it,' he mumbled.

'I understand,' Remus said. 'Sometimes it helps to talk about things, though. I'll keep it a secret if you like.'

'It's not a secret,' said Peter. 'It's just something I don't want to talk about. I didn't know he'd got a medal for a top mark on a NEWT, that's all. It caught me by surprise.'

Peter was not a very good liar. Even if his tone of voice had not betrayed him, the established facts undercut his assertion. He had made his way to precisely the right cabinet, and picked the medal out of nearly a thousand like it. He had known what he was looking for. What Remus did not understand was why, if Peter was so distressed by what he had seen, he had gone looking for it in the first place.

'James and Sirius will be along any minute,' he said softly. 'If you like we could go somewhere else until you're ready to be with them again.'

Peter raised his head, wiping away tear tracks with the back of his hand. Remus smiled, pretending not to notice. 'You're not going to keep pressing me for answers?' Peter asked, awed and bewildered.

Remus shook his head. 'If there's something you want to talk about you'll tell me,' he said. 'When you're ready.'

Peter sighed and offered a shaky smile. 'You always understand these things,' he said.

'There are things I'm not ready to talk about, either,' admitted Remus. He squeezed Peter's arm. 'Should we go up to the Owlery or something?'

Peter shook his head, rummaging in his robes for a rumpled handkerchief. He blew his nose noisily. 'It would only make Sirius curious,' he said. 'And James. He's been awfully inquisitive lately, too.'

'Only about Professor Meyrigg,' Remus said dryly. Peter laughed.

They got to their feet, just as the Trophy Room door opened and Sirius and James came out. They were walking side by side, deep in conversation.

'—if she _wasn't_ on the team she said she was on, maybe she wasn't even at Hogwarts.'

'That's ridiculous!' snorted Sirius. 'What about your informing Smythe?'

'Well, she could be mistaken,' said James. 'Or maybe Meyrigg was here for a year or two and then transferred out.'

'No, Remus said she was definitely here the year that Pomfrey started—oh, hallo!' Sirius stopped short, spying Remus and Peter for the first time. 'I thought you'd be off in an empty classroom or something, having the old heart-to-heart.'

'No need,' Remus said smoothly, smiling at his friends. 'Peter's all right, though I really thing you oughtn't tease him about courses he hasn't even tried, Sirius. He could be brilliant at Arithmancy, you know, and just hasn't had the chance to show it yet.'

'I'm going to take Care of Magical Creatures,' Peter said. 'Arithmancy's boring anyway.'

'Sure,' Sirius agreed cheekily. 'Divination's just the same thing, only you can actually make stuff up in Divination.'

James chuckled. 'Oh, you're going to be the terror of third year; I can tell. Cheer up, Peter!' he said. 'Black was only teasing, and it's nearly time for supper. I have it on good authority that we're having roast beef tonight.'

'Good authority?' Sirius asked. 'You've been gossiping with house-elves again, haven't you?'

James offered him a sly smile. 'I'll never tell,' he said. With a wicked wink he took off down the corridor, forcing the others to trot after him.

_~discidium~_

Remus was not at all surprised when, on Wednesday afternoon, Professor McGonagall asked him to stay behind after Transfiguration let out. He waved off James and Sirius, who doubled back with a defensive gait as soon as the teacher uttered his name. Reluctantly they slunk from the room, but Remus knew they were trying to listen at the door as he approached the professor's desk.

'How are you, Lupin?' she asked. Although her voice was, as always, carefully modulated and formal, Remus saw genuine concern in her eyes.

'I'm well, thank you, Professor,' Remus said politely.

'You look well,' McGonagall agreed. 'How are you faring with your friends? Have there been any further incidents? Any unresolved issues?'

Remus shook his head, glancing over his shoulder to confirm what he already knew: that the classroom was deserted. 'Peter's still frightened sometimes, I think, but he trusts me again. And Sirius… well…'

'He's been spending a great deal of time in the library,' McGonagall said. At his look of surprise she smiled. 'Madam Pince has expressed some concern, convinced he intends some mischief upon the books. I have assured her that he is engaged in reasonable research related to his studies. I presume he has undertaken to make himself as informed as possible about your condition?'

'He… he wants to help,' murmured Remus. 'He doesn't realize that there's nothing to be done.'

McGonagall's lips went very thin for a moment, in the way that they did when she was angry. Yet her eyes remained soft. She nodded solemnly. 'Still, it is to his credit that he is willing to try,' she said. She reached among the papers on the corner of her desk and drew out a sheet of parchment. 'There was another matter I wished to discuss with you, Lupin,' she said.

Remus looked down at the nearly-empty sheet, and he recognized it: it was the sign-up list for students who wanted to remain at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. It had been hanging in the Gryffindor common room for almost three weeks, and he had more than once considered putting his name upon it only to lay aside the decision a little longer.

'As you know, the full moon falls once more during the break,' McGonagall said. 'I had a letter from your mother this morning in which she stated you have not yet written her with your decision, and asked that I speak to you about it.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said, staring down at his shoes. 'I… I ought to stay at school, ma'am.'

'I admit that I think that would be wise,' said Professor McGonagall. 'However, I can appreciate your reluctance to pass Christmas away from your family. Perhaps there is some other option. You might remain here until you are recovered from your transformation, for instance, and then travel home.'

Remus shook his head. 'I'll not be fit for Side-Along Apparation,' he said. 'Not until after Christmas at least. And the Knight Bus is too expensive. And anyhow I ought to stay here so that…' He felt a crimson flush rising in his cheeks, but he could not lie to Professor McGonagall. 'So that they don't have to feed me.'

The witch exhaled what might have been a sigh. 'The choice is yours, Lupin,' she said. 'Your mother assures me that she and your father would be more than happy to have you home, and equally content to know that you are under our care here. However, there is something else that you might consider.'

'What?' Remus asked, looking up in puzzlement.

Professor McGonagall's eyes flickered towards the door. When she spoke again, her voice was far lower than before. 'You are not the only boy in your year who might be inclined to remain at Hogwarts over the break. Doubtless the idea of staying behind has not occurred to the other party – or at least, as no more than a passing thought. If you did decide to pass Christmas here, however, I suspect he might be persuaded to seek permission to join you.'

For a moment Remus did not understand, but McGonagall was watching the door again. 'Sirius,' Remus said. 'You're talking about Sirius.'

She nodded once, ever so slightly, and then sat back in her chair and folded her hands. 'Do consider it, Lupin,' she said. 'I shall need to know your decision by tomorrow afternoon.'

Remus hesitated, unsure what to say. In the end he merely inclined his head. 'Yes, Professor. I'll think about it,' he mumbled.

'Very good,' said McGonagall. 'You may go now.'

Remus nodded, hurrying to gather his belongings. As he had suspected, the others were waiting in the corridor, and they straightened very quickly as he opened the door.

'What was all that about?' asked James as they wandered down the corridor.

'Weren't you listening?' Remus said, smiling saucily.

'We tried,' Sirius admitted without a hint of remorse; 'but we couldn't hear a word.'

'I heard "feed me",' Peter argued.

James snorted. 'I told you there's no reason for Remus to ask McGonagall to feed him,' he said. 'You were listening with your stomach instead of your ears.'

'I wasn't,' protested Peter. Then he grinned hopefully. 'I suppose a quick kitchen raid is out of the question?'

'It's only two and a half hours 'til supper!' Sirius laughed. Then he cocked his head to one side. 'Mind you, a bit of cake and a tall glass of milk would go down a treat…'

_~discidium~_

Twenty minutes later Remus sat at the corner of one of the prep tables in the great vaulted kitchen, watching pensively as Sirius helped himself to a thick slice of chocolate cake. He was artfully ignoring the house-elf waiting upon him, and focused instead on a lively debate with James over the merits of Hungarian Horntail hide for Quidditch gear. Peter was listening avidly, as if the question of helmets and gloves was the most fascinating thing he had ever considered. Remus would have had difficulty following the rambling conversation at the best of times, but now he did not even try to make sense of the words.

He was thinking about what Professor McGonagall had said. He had known, of course, that if he asked Sirius would have been willing to stay behind and keep him company – but Remus had never even considered that, because it seemed far too much to ask anyone to give up Christmas at home in order to entertain a werewolf. It had not occurred to him that Sirius might be glad of a reason to stay behind; that he might be grateful for the chance to stay at Hogwarts in the company of a friend; that he might be longing for an excuse, however feeble, to offer his parents.

Last winter Sirius sounded so bitter as the Hogwarts Express barrelled southward, dragging him back to London. Remus remembered how he had interrogated James, teasing him about the picturesque Christmas that awaited him: silk tapestry stockings and boughs of holly and carols by the fire. Remus could not imagine the great sombre house at Grimmauld Place bedecked for the holiday. Mrs Black was not the sort to sing, or to bake gingerbread biscuits, or to wait up on Christmas Eve to fill her sons' stockings with sweets and little gifts. Sirius had asked if Grandfather Potter told stories of Christmases long ago, and when James had replied mildly that his grandparents were dead Sirius had said that was even better. Thinking of stern, patrician Arcturus and doddering old Pollux, half deaf and thoroughly unpleasant, Remus now understood what Sirius had meant.

There was not even Andromeda to keep him company this year. Indeed, there would be a gaping chasm at the family table where Drommie ought to have sat. Remus could imagine the oppressive atmosphere in the grand dining room without Andromeda's gracious voice to lighten it. Of course Sirius had his little brother, but as sweet and eager to please as Regulus was Remus had the feeling that Sirius found him at times rather vexing. Sirius had said that his Uncle Alphard would return to England at Christmas, but Alphard had been no use at all when Mrs Black had forced Sirius into atrociously heavy dress robes at Easter, and Remus was not at all certain that he would be any more help at Christmas.

Remembering the state in which Sirius had been at the start of the summer term, and again when he arrived in Cornwall, and yet again on the train returning to Hogwarts in September, Remus could not help but fear for his friend. Sirius was not properly cared-for at home, and his spirited nature stood him in poor stead against his domineering mother. If Sirius was to be deprived of food, or freedom, or companionship if he went home, then he too would be better off remaining at school.

Still, Remus was not certain whether he ought to broach the matter. Sirius might so easily take it amiss if he was not careful. Nor did he want either James or Peter to feel obligated to sacrifice their own Christmases to keep him company. He would have to phrase the matter delicately, and to choose his moment with care.

No sooner had he come to this conclusion when James got to his feet. 'Well, I've got to go,' he announced. 'Quidditch practice. Who'd like to come and watch?'

'Me!' Peter cried eagerly. 'I would!'

Sirius took a last forkful of cake, looking at Remus with a curious expression. 'Not I,' he said. 'I'd rather stay in where it's warm.'

And so, remarkably, James and Peter left the kitchens and Sirius dragged his chair over to sit nearer to Remus.

'Are you all right?' he asked when the others were gone. 'You were looking awfully far away, there.'

Remus shrugged one shoulder. 'I was thinking,' he said. 'Do you want to go home for Christmas?'

Sirius snorted. 'It's not something a bloke _wants_,' he said. 'It's like Dragonpox: if it's coming for you there's not a thing you can do about it.'

'I remember last year you said if we stayed over the break we could explore the school,' said Remus.

'True,' Sirius said. 'This place must be brilliant when it's nearly deserted, don't you think? Maybe you could even show us where that tunnel under the Willow goes if there was nobody around to see us, eh?'

'I don't know about that,' Remus mumbled. He did not want to deny Sirius anything, but he was certainly not comfortable with the idea of giving tours of his safe house.

'And we could break into Meyrigg's office,' added Sirius, warming into his theoretical scenario. 'I'll bet you we could talk Hagrid into letting us take Poppet for a run in the snow. And the Christmas feasts are meant to be absolutely incredible: Drommie stayed back in fifth year to revise for her OWLs. Dumbledore's supposedly a party unto himself!' His smile wavered a little, and he shrugged. 'Of course, Christmas must be nice 'round your house, too.'

'It is,' Remus agreed. He did not want to make Sirius feel badly, but he wanted to be truthful. 'Quiet, but very pleasant. Only this year… well, Mother's got a job at the Muggle Post Office—'

'At the Post Office?' Sirius cried. 'With the big canvas bags and the rubber stamps and the thing that goes _ping_?'

Remus did not feel that there was any point in trying to work out what on earth Sirius meant by '_the thing that goes _ping', so he nodded. 'She'll be away from home a lot, and Father's still looking for work, and with the…' He glanced at the house-elves, but they were all busy preparing the evening meal and they were paying no mind to the boys' conversation. '… with the change falling on the twentieth I'd be better off here, with Madam Pomfrey to take care of me. I ought to stay behind, and I wondered if…'

'If I wanted to, too!' Sirius whooped, bounding out of his chair and capering around. 'Would I? Just try and stop me! Let's go: we'll put our names down right now! McGonagall should be in her office: we'll tell her straight away!' He was grinning enormously and he grabbed Remus's shoulders, bouncing up and down. 'We'll have such fun! You and me in a big empty castle… just think of all the things we can do!'

'You and I. And you mustn't make James or Peter feel they need to stay,' Remus warned, getting to his feet as Sirius went charging for the exit. 'They've been looking forward to going home, and…'

But Sirius wasn't listening. He had launched once more into his elaborate plans for the holidays.

_~discidium~_

As it turned out, Remus need not have worried. Neither James nor Peter seemed to think it at all odd that their two friends were staying behind.

'Brilliant,' James said when Sirius made the announcement that evening. 'You can break into Meyrigg's office.'

Although Remus had written home to inform his parents that he had decided to stay at school after all, and that Sirius was staying also and they would keep one another company, he knew that the arrangements had not yet been finalized. Sirius boasted of his intention to remain behind, and James and Peter offered a plethora of suggestions for mischief that that two Second Year Boys in the Third Dormitory could get up to while the school was all but deserted. Yet Remus had seen Sirius sneaking off to the Owlery on Thursday morning to post what could only be a letter to his mother, asking her permission.

The reply arrived on Saturday, borne by the Blacks' cruel-looking owl. Sirius broke the wax seal on the dark envelope and pulled out the small card of parchment with a hand that quivered ever so slightly. He closed his eyes, bracing himself before he dared to look at the cramped writing upon it. Then he let out a loud, baying laugh and tossed the paper to Remus. It bore only two words:

_Very well_.

And so the matter was settled. On the last day of term Sirius and Remus helped James and Peter pack, and they woke up early the following morning to see them off. The crowds of egressing students filled the Entrance Hall, and the four boys took shelter in one of the branching corridors to say their goodbyes.

'Now, you two be sure and take note of _everything_ you get up to,' James said. 'Because I want a full account when I get back.'

'A-and be careful, Remus,' added Peter. 'Don't get too badly hurt.'

'That's right,' James agreed, nodding firmly at Sirius. 'You remember to play nicely.'

'Of course I will,' Sirius snorted. 'What do you take me for? Have a happy Christmas, and say hello to Panzer for me.'

James laughed. 'For the seventeenth time, her name's Pandora.'

'I don't like "Pandora",' Sirius sniffed. 'That's why I named her Panzer.'

'Who's Panzer?' Peter asked, before Remus could.

'_Pandora_,' James said. 'She's our three-year-old mare. Sirius made quite an impression upon her last summer.'

'She made an impression on me,' Sirius said ruefully, rubbing his backside as if reliving the memory of being thrown. 'Believe me, Panzer's a much more appropriate name.'

'You shall have to save that debate for another time,' Remus pointed out. 'If you don't hurry, James, you'll miss the last carriage.'

'Can't have that!' James laughed, elbowing Peter and picking up his baggage. 'You'd never survive a ramble to the train station in this snow!'

'We'd miss the train anyhow,' Peter said. He gathered his own belongings and grinned at the others. 'Do take care, Remus,' he said. 'Promise me?'

'I promise.' Remus nodded, smiling reassuringly although it was not his promise to make. 'Happy Christmas.'

'Happy Christmas!' cried James.

'Happy Christmas,' said Peter.

'Yeah, yeah, Happy Christmas,' Sirius echoed with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Now get out of here: Lupin and I have plans! Go on! Shoo!'

So James and Peter joined the last of the homebound pupils, and Sirius and Remus waved when they paused on the threshold to look back. The great doors closed, and the two boys stood alone in the deserted entryway. Remus waited, unwilling to be the first one to speak. He wondered whether Sirius was having doubts about his choice. But then the taller boy turned, grinning enormously.

'Well?' he said eagerly. 'What shall we do first?'


	67. Uncomfortable Conversations

_Note: FULL MOON! Also, the Missing Moments poll has closed. A huge thank-you to everyone who voted! The winning one-shot will be posted on New Year's Eve._

**Chapter Sixty-Seven: Uncomfortable Conversations**

After all the elaborate planning it seemed rather prosaic, but the first official order of business upon being left in the all-but-empty school was lunch. The Great Hall was strangely quiet with only a handful of students at each of the first three House tables. Remus was occupied in trying to see if he recognized any of the lingerers when Sirius elbowed him in the ribs.

'Would you look at that?' he crooned, jerking his head at the far table. 'Not a Slytherin to be seen! Just when I thought this couldn't get any better, too.'

Remus smiled because that was what Sirius expected, and followed his friend to the space near the head of the Gryffindor table where place settings and serving dishes had been laid. As he did so he noticed that there was in fact food on the Slytherin table. Although no one was eating, clearly somebody at least had remained at Hogwarts for the holiday. Remus took his seat, hoping fervently that it was not Severus Snape. It was better for everyone if Severus was not at Hogwarts. Sirius had not yet exacted what he called 'satisfactory vengeance' against Snape – neither for the dragon curse nor for luring Remus in with such ease. Still, Remus had rather expected him to stay behind. Severus had made a comment at Eastertime about being unwanted at home, and Remus had the distinct impression that the thin, sallow boy did not have a very pleasant family.

'Ooh, look!' said Sirius, reaching for a shallow gold tureen and turning the serving tongs towards Remus. 'Hothouse asparagus! Somebody knows what you like.'

Remus thanked him and began to fill his plate. Despite the drastically reduced student population the house-elves had turned out the usual generous assortment of dishes. As he ate, Remus listened to Sirius making amicable conversation with the nearby students – for the most part upper-years whom to his knowledge Sirius had never spoken to before. He could not help but envy, just a little, the ease with which Sirius conversed with people who were practically strangers. If any of them noticed his own silence, no one remarked upon it. That was certainly something to be thankful for.

With their stomachs satisfied, they went up to the Owlery to visit Hermes. Sirius had a letter for Andromeda, apprising her of his circumstances over the holiday. From his pocket he produced a brown paper package to which he affixed the envelope.

'Christmas present,' he said at Remus's curious look. 'Don't worry: it's nothing silly. I sent away for a pair of pearl earrings. Drommie rather dotes on jewellery, and she'll be cut out of her share of the heirloom stuff now. Don't you go telling James I'm buying that sort of stuff, all right?'

'Certainly not,' Remus said sombrely.

'I've put in some cufflinks for Tonks, too,' Sirius added. 'I don't know if he wears that sort of thing, but if he doesn't they can always fence 'em. Babies don't come cheap, you know.'

'Have you been doing research on babies now, too?' asked Remus with a smile.

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'I'm not one for research,' he said. 'The werewolf stuff is an exception, all right? Next thing you'll be wanting me to find my own sources for History of Magic papers.'

'Well, it wouldn't hurt you to try that once,' Remus teased. 'Strictly as an experiment, of course.'

'Pah!' Sirius thrust out his chin, grinned, and then looked up at the perches full of school owls. 'Which of them is the most reliable?' he asked. 'Not that I care about the jewellery, but I'd hate for Drommie to think I hadn't got her a present.'

Hermes, who was grooming himself from the comfort of one of the lower ledges, shook out his wings indignantly.

'Aw, push off,' Sirius said fondly. 'You know I can't send you to Andromeda. If Mum found out we'd both be in for it.'

Hermes jerked his neck in a gesture of disdain.

'I hear you, mate,' said Sirius; 'but just 'cause _you're _too valuable to punish doesn't mean I am.'

The owl made a low, trilling noise and leaned forward to butt his head against Sirius's shoulder.

'Don't worry about it,' Sirius murmured. He crooked a finger to scratch the bird's eyebrow ridge. 'I'm here for the duration; Christmas at Hogwarts far away from all of that.'

Remus averted his eyes, realizing that he was witnessing a private moment between Sirius and his winged confidante. He wondered whether he ought to try to creep out of the room, but then decided that Sirius might be more uncomfortable if he realized his friend was worrying. Instead Remus set about the task of appraising the school owls.

'I'm going to have fun with Remus, and eat the Christmas feast, and see what Dumbledore gets up to,' Sirius went on, still talking to the owl. 'And we'll break into Meyrigg's office, and we'll go out in the snow, and we'll get up a game of chess – Remus will win, of course – and we'll have ever so much fun. There'll be no thinking about Mum.'

Hermes made another sound, lower this time. It had the rhythm of a question.

'Regulus will miss me,' Sirius murmured. 'But he'll just have to get over it. He'll be at Hogwarts himself next year, and then he'll understand how much better it is here. Have you picked one?'

Remus realized abruptly that Sirius was now talking to him. 'I use the tawny one a lot,' he said, pointing at her. 'She's reliable and she's clever.'

'Fine,' Sirius said. He held out his forearm. 'Hey, you. Beautiful. Care to take a letter?'

The bird in question descended obligingly, dipping her head and holding out her leg. Sirius affixed the little parcel and smiled apologetically. 'No address, I'm afraid. Andromeda Bl — Andromeda _Tonks _somewhere in the Home Counties. There'll be someone at the Easthorpe Owl Office who can direct you.'

The bird whistled in agreement and took flight. Sirius watched as she cleared the window.

'Easthorpe?' Remus asked.

Sirius nodded. 'Essex. Drommie had to give me some way of reaching her, and the Owl Post workers are sticklers about confidentiality. It also narrows down the options for where she and her Beater are living.'

'Does it?' Remus said.

'Absolutely. Because the one thing you can be sure about is that Drommie wouldn't have her mail directed to her local office. So wherever she is we can pretty much guarantee it's not Essex.'

With this compelling piece of logic Sirius seemed to conclude that his business in the Owlery was complete. He offered Hermes an owl treat, ruffled his feathers one last time, and shambled off down the stairs.

'Happy Christmas,' Remus said to the bird, smiling a little. 'I'm very glad to know he has you to talk to at home.'

Hermes inclined his head as if to say that he was very glad Sirius had Remus to talk to at school as well.

_~discidium~_

The day was bright and the snow was crisp, and the two boys bundled up in their winter things and went out onto the grounds. Sirius sprang down the front steps of the castle and took off at a loping run, laughing and throwing his arms out as if to embrace the freedom to enjoy the outdoors unobserved by the usual crowds that attended him and James. Remus hesitated for a minute, reluctant to sink his shoes into the snow, but Sirius's joy was infectious. Remus hurried after him, trotting along in a broad arc before mounting the hill towards the Whomping Willow.

Sirius charged headlong at the trunk, gleefully reckless. A branch swung down and he dodged it. One of the tendrils lashed out at his cheek, and he let out a delighted yelp. Then another branch descended, clipping him in the ribs and sending him flying into a snowdrift. Remus let out a startled cry and hurried to his friend's side.

'Are you hurt?' he cried, kneeling down in the snow and helping Sirius to sit.

The other boy's aristocratic features were alight with merriment. 'It's got a mighty wallop,' he panted. 'I can see why Dumbledore thought it would keep your secret safe.'

Remus had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew what Sirius was going to suggest. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'But it's dangerous. You oughtn't to run at it like that.'

'Balderdash,' Sirius snorted. 'The firsties have been trying to get at the trunk all year, and not one of them's been hurt yet. Not apart from the odd bruise, anyhow,' he said ruefully, rubbing at his ribs. 'So tell me: what's the secret? How do you get it to freeze like that, so you can get into the tunnel?'

'I don't think I'm meant to tell anyone,' Remus said.

'I thought we weren't going to have any more secrets between us,' said Sirius. 'You know I won't tell anyone.'

'Or make a bet with the firsties?' asked Remus, eyes narrowing.

Sirius chuckled. 'You're never going to let me live that down, are you?' he said. He raised his right hand, gloved fingers straight. 'I solemnly swear I will not tell a soul.'

Remus hesitated, but he knew that in the end he would concede. Sirius was his friend, after all, and he would never betray his secrets. He would, however, be hurt if Remus refused him this request. Yet there was one more promise that Remus had to exact before he divulged the trick to the Whomping Willow.

'You need to swear that you won't use it to get into the tunnel at the full moon,' he said. 'Not even in daylight. You can't sneak into the house to wait for me to come down. You can't ever go into the house unless I'm there too, and I know about it, and it's not the day of the full moon. I'm dangerous, Sirius. The wolf is dangerous. You have to promise that you won't take any risks with it.'

'I promise,' Sirius said soberly. Then he grinned. 'Good lord, Remus, do you think I've got some kind of a death wish? I'm not going to sneak in there before a full moon; I swear it.'

'All right,' said Remus. He ventured a small smile. 'There's a knot,' he said. 'Right near the roots. If you prod it the tree will freeze.'

Sirius frowned at the incongruity. 'How do you get near enough to prod it?' he asked.

'Madam Pomfrey has a spell she uses,' Remus said. 'I don't know what it is, but a sort of a bolt comes out the tip of her wand. I think you could do it with just about anything, though. A rock, maybe. Or a long stick. I haven't ever—'

But Sirius had launched himself to his feet and was tearing off up the slope towards the Forbidden Forest. A minute later he came racing back, a long, brittle branch of dead wood in his hand.

'Like this?' he asked.

'Well, yes…' Remus stood up and looked around. There was no one else on the grounds. He glanced at the castle with its many staring windows, but there were so few people still at Hogwarts that it seemed improbable that anyone would be watching them. The other students were surely too busy enjoying the first day of the holidays to go around staring out at the grounds.

He took the stick and moved around to the other side of the tree. 'Do you see it?' he asked, pointing.

Sirius nodded. 'So we poke it?' he asked.

'I think so,' said Remus. He moved another half-step forward. The tree rustled ominously, bare twigs screeching against one another. Remus held his breath and with a swift, fluid motion leaned forward, jabbing at the knot with the end of the stick. The Willow's branches moved as if to strike him, but then froze midair, immobilized.

Sirius gawked up at the motionless tree. 'Well I'll be damned,' he said with earnest respect in his voice.

'Come on,' Remus said hurriedly. The tree would come unfrozen in a minute, but he was more anxious about the risk of a chance observer. A moment ago it had seemed a remote possibility, but suddenly he was acutely aware of the bright clarity of the day and the fact that nobody had lessons to distract them.

Much more gracefully than usual he stooped and skidded down into the tunnel. He took three steps in and lit his wand as Sirius came tumbling after him. He let out a sharp laugh as he lost his footing and landed hard on his rump. Undaunted, he rose again, listening with one ear cocked for the noise of the Willow coming back to life.

'Brilliant,' Sirius said approvingly. He pointed down the tunnel. 'This way?' he asked unnecessarily.

Remus nodded and soon found himself scrambling to keep up with his friend. They reached the end of the passage in half the time it took Remus and the matron on the night of the full moon, and Remus raised the trapdoor. Sirius launched himself up and into the room. Yet another exclamation of _brilliant_ died down into a strangled yelp.

This had been a terrible mistake, Remus realized painfully. For an instant he considered remaining where he was, safe in the cover of the tunnel where he did not need to look into Sirius's eyes or to endure the pain and pity within them. But he had agreed to this and he had to accept the consequences. He pulled himself up and into the room.

Sirius was standing in the middle of the stained hearth rug, staring at the remains of a ladder-backed chair that Remus remembered as having occupied the corner by the door. Now it was out in the midst of the floor, reduced to a pile of well-gnawed kindling and wicked-looking splinters. This, he realized with sickening dread, was obviously the source of the wound across his back that Madam Pomfrey had said contained shards of wood. The wolf must have rolled in the spoils of its wrath.

Bending down, Sirius picked up one of the broken legs of the chair. His thumb grazed a deep indentation in the wood: the mark of a werewolf's vicious incisor. He let out a low whistle; a deep minor key that seemed oddly appropriate in the derelict room.

'How big are your _teeth_?' he asked.

Remus's jaw slackened as he lost the ability to speak. His heart began to race. Sirius would want an answer, and the moment he turned he would see the horror and unease in his eyes. Yet Remus could not school his features nor think of anything to say.

But Sirius dropped the bit of mangled wood and strode over to the east wall, where there were deep parallel claw-marks in the plaster. He fitted a fingertip into each one and traced their course. A little further along there was a stain on the paper. He touched this, too, though he might have been reluctant to do so if he had any idea what it was. Remus felt his head bowing with shame.

Sirius peered into the fireplace, and looked at the gouges on the sideboard where the wolf had tried to go after the scent of human that always lingered in Remus's carefully concealed clothes. He looked down at the dark discolouration on the floorboards where Remus had lain in a puddle of blood. Then he went over to the armchair that the other boy always inhabited in the last minutes before the transformation and flopped down upon it.

'Authentic to the last detail,' he said approvingly. 'Quite the hiding place. Where are we, anyway?'

'On the outskirts of the village,' Remus mumbled. He added hastily; 'The windows and door are boarded up, and there are charms to reinforce them. There's no way in or out except by the tunnel.'

Sirius nodded, swinging his legs up over the left armrest and leaning back to tuck his hands behind his head. 'What about the other rooms?'

'There's one that used to be a kitchen,' said Remus. 'And another that's mostly empty. There's a lavatory and two bedrooms upstairs.'

'Very nice,' Sirius said. 'Plenty of closet space?'

He sounded as though he was considering the purchase of a holiday home. 'No closets,' Remus mumbled. 'I might… if the wolf got trapped in one… there's a wardrobe up in one of the bedrooms.'

The taller boy got to his feet and moved for the door. Before Remus could protest he was peering into the kitchen with its scarred work table and old stone sink. The third room received the same cursory examination, as did the cupboard under the stairs – the door of which had been removed in order to prevent the very scenario that precluded closets. Then he took the stairs two at a time.

Remus followed after him, knees trembling a little. He could not quite believe that he had consented to this. To have Sirius see the place where he transformed, to have him witness all the ways that the wolf had damaged its derelict prison, to have him imagining a monster tearing through these rooms in a fit of madness and self-mutilation – it was almost too much to bear. And he did not know whether to be comforted or appalled by the way in which his friend appeared to take it all in stride.

He found Sirius in the bedroom, inspecting one of the tattered hangings on the bed. Remus averted his eyes from the rumpled bedclothes and the indentation on the dusty pillow where his head had once lain. This upper window was marginally less fortified than the ones below: a narrow triangle of bare glass admitted a diffuse glow of sunlight. It fell upon the cabinet in the corner, and Remus saw a handprint in the dust.

Suddenly he could see the room from Sirius's perspective. It was not a prison in his eyes, nor even a haven to keep a monster at bay. It was an empty house, furnished as if it had been abruptly abandoned. There were signs of habitation, but nothing to explain who had lived here or why they had left. It was an eerie tableau, a place frozen in time. He could see the allure, the mystery of the place. He could understand why Sirius found it all so fascinating.

'Is this where you wait?' he asked, brushing his fingertips against the pillow and smiling at Remus.

'Sometimes,' Remus whispered. 'Either here or in the armchair downstairs.'

'Must be a long wait,' said Sirius. 'Nothing to do but sit here for half an hour or more, fretting. Working yourself up into a state.'

'No,' Remus said firmly.

'No?' Sirius cocked his head to the side, eyes twinkling insolently. 'No, the minutes just fly by? No, you lounge around singing little songs or reading a good book? No, you don't just lie there and worry?'

'No, you cannot come to wait with me.'

Sirius's smile vanished. 'But Remus, it might help you.'

'_No_.'

'But if your state of mind affects the wolf surely it's better if you have as little time to fret as possible,' reasoned Sirius. 'You don't need to worry: I'd be out of here the minute the sun was down. I can run awfully fast, you know.'

Remus's throat was closing, but somehow he managed to remain calm. 'That's just it, Sirius,' he said softly. 'I don't want you to _have_ to run from me. I don't want anyone to see me like that. Not – not even Madam Pomfrey. Not even my mother. Not even you.'

For a moment Sirius's grey eyes betrayed a flash of wounded disappointment. Then they softened into a sorrowful mist. 'But if I could help you,' he whispered. 'If I could help you it would be worth it, wouldn't it?'

'Not if there was an accident,' Remus said. 'You don't understand. If anything happened – if I hurt you, if I bit you – I could never forgive myself. I have to be safe, Sirius. I can't take a risk like that.'

'I wouldn't care!' Sirius said fiercely, striding away from the bed and planting his hands on his hips. 'I wouldn't care if you bit me.'

'You would,' Remus said, hugging himself underneath his cloak. 'If you understood what it really meant you would.'

There was an excruciating silence during which Sirius seemed to be struggling with some kind of inexpressible emotion. Finally he let out a shaky laugh, dragging his hand over his face.

'I must come off as a right insensitive berk,' he said. 'I'm not trying to make light of it, Remus, I swear it. I know it must… it must be awful. I know nobody would choose it. I only…' He gesticulated helplessly and sank down on the edge of the mattress. The chilled bedframe creaked beneath him. 'I only… I don't know what to say about it.'

'You're trying to help,' Remus said. He moved unsteadily towards the bed and eased himself down beside Sirius. His gloved hand slipped out of the cover of his cloak and sought out Sirius's fingers. 'I understand, and I'm ever so grateful. But you mustn't put my health before your safety, Sirius. You mustn't.'

'But you're worth the risk…' Sirius protested feebly.

'I'm not,' said Remus. 'No one is. You don't understand. Being a werewolf isn't like having a bout of the flu. It changes your whole life. I very nearly wasn't allowed to come to school. I haven't much chance at a real future. We have to keep it secret so that my parents aren't driven out of Falmouth. Th—there was a little boy bitten this summer whose parents just let him go off with a stranger because they didn't care about him anymore.'

'My parents don't care anyhow,' Sirius snorted. He was trying to be funny, but he failed. 'And anyhow if you did bite me then I could stay with you the whole night. We could keep each other company: play and wrestle and do whatever wolves do with their mates.'

'Or we'd fight,' Remus pointed out. 'You're stubborn by nature and I'm… well, the wolf hasn't ever had company. It's not used to having another to compete with. I'm sure we'd fight.'

He had to squash this notion immediately. He did not think that his friend would actually be foolish enough to think that becoming a werewolf himself would solve anything, but Sirius had a propensity for making rash decisions in the heat of the moment.

'Over who's the alpha wolf, you mean,' said Sirius. 'I never thought of that.'

'You see?' Remus asked. 'It would only make everything worse. And I couldn't bear it. I-if I bit you, if I bit anyone, I wouldn't want to live with myself anymore.'

Sirius's jaw slackened and his grip on Remus's hand tightened spastically. Then he forced himself to swallow and fixed sombre eyes on his friend.

'Then I won't risk it,' he said firmly. 'I… I want to. I'm willing to. But I won't. Not if you feel so strongly about it.'

'Thank you,' Remus said, warm relief flooding him despite the chill in the old house. He was silent for a minute, and then added; 'It does help when you're with me in the hospital wing, to keep me distracted before. I h-had such an easy time of it in October. Perhaps the easiest I've ever had. I have you to thank for that, and James.'

'D'you reckon I could come all the way to the tree this month, at least?' Sirius asked. 'I mean, with the school almost empty there's not much more chance of three being seen than two.'

Remus considered this request carefully. On the one hand he did not especially want Sirius anywhere near the Willow on the night of the full moon. On the other, he could not deny that it would comfort him to have such a tangible pledge of acceptance before the transformation – nor indeed could he argue that it would not help Sirius to feel as if he was doing everything he reasonably could to ease the ordeal.

'We shall have to ask Madam Pomfrey,' he said.

'She'll say yes,' Sirius declared. 'I'll see to it.'

Unexpectedly, Remus laughed. Sirius let go of his hand and sat back against the bedpost, arching an eyebrow.

'You'll do it, too,' chuckled Remus, shaking his head. 'You won't let her tell you "no".'

Sirius grinned. 'Too right I won't,' he said. 'It'd put a right dent in my cauldron to have you convalescing over Christmas. We're trying for another three-day recovery, you hear me?'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said, straightening his spine and saluting. 'I'll do my best.'

'See that you do,' Sirius advised. Then he chaffed his hands together and got to his feet. 'Merlin, it's cold in here. We might as well be outdoors; at least then we've sunlight.'

'We ought to go back anyhow,' Remus agreed. 'We aren't supposed to be here.'

Sirius looked around the room one last time. 'We're in Hogsmeade, you said?'

Remus nodded. 'On the edge of the village, Professor Dumbledore said.'

'And there's no way out but the tunnel?' asked Sirius.

'No. It wouldn't be much of a safe house if I could get out, would it?' said Remus.

'I suppose,' Sirius conceded. 'Still, it's a pity. I mean, if we _could_ get out we could sneak off to the village whenever we pleased. I think it's discriminatory that second years can't go. It's not as if we're firsties, you know. Some of us are thirteen.'

'And thirteen-year-olds are men,' Remus said, nodding sagely.

'Ah, now, I didn't say that!' Sirius sniggered. 'I refuse to be held to an adult standard of behaviour. I just think I'm more than old enough to purchase my Zonko's products in person rather than through the post, that's all.'

'But are you old enough to know when they ought not to be used?' asked Remus as they made their way down the groaning stairs.

'As I understand it, Dungbombs are discouraged at the better class of funerals,' Sirius reflected. 'Which means of course that when my grandmother finally trundles onto that final barge I shall be making most free with them. Other than that, though, I can't think of an inappropriate situation.'

'The Christmas feast?' Remus said hopefully.

Sirius let loose an ominous laugh. 'That depends entirely upon how much fun Dumbledore really is at a party!' he declared.

A few minutes later they were scrambling up out of the tunnel and ont the snow-laden grounds – but not before Remus groped for the knot at the base of the Willow and poked up his head for a swift but anxious look around. He did not see anyone and was therefore surprised and rather alarmed when Sirius, upon bounding out of reach of the tree before it came to life, let out a whoop of greeting.

'Oi, Hagrid!' he shouted.

Remus's heart was in his mouth for a moment, until he realized that the towering groundskeeper had to turn away from his garden fence in order to see who had called to him. An enormous grin rent wide his bearded face and he waved enthusiastically.

'Hallo!' he exclaimed happily as Sirius ran up the hill towards him and Remus followed at a more dignified pace. 'I didn' know you two decided ter stay for the break. Yer frien's here as well?'

'Nope, just us!' Sirius said sunnily. He had reached the fence and was now craning his neck in order to look up at Hagrid. 'What are you up to? Going out into the Forest?'

Hagrid laughed, a deep and rumbling sound that seemed to exude the very essence of merriment. 'No, no,' he chortled. 'No, I were only mendin' the stile: Poppet took it into 'er mind ter chew one of the rails.' He gestured at a length of wood that bore deep teeth marks. Remus felt his stomach flop miserably. The indentations and grooves looked entirely too much like the damage the wolf had inflicted on the legs of the demolished chair.

'Seems like that's the sort of job that could wait until spring,' Sirius pointed out. 'What do you say we get out of this cold and you offer us a nice cup of tea?'

Remus was startled out of his discomfiture by amazement at his friend's brazenness, but Hagrid was beaming as though he could not imagine anything more pleasant than having two boys invite themselves into his home.

'Te be sure! Come right in! I've a spot of fruitcake an' all…'

Sirius's enthusiasm seemed to flag a little at the mention of fruitcake; he was doubtless thinking of the biscuits they had been served on their previous visit. Remus was swiftly distracted, however, by the delicious blast of warm air that greeted him as he followed his friend into the shelter of the hut.

A fire was leaping merrily on the hearth, and the enormous copper kettle was already boiling over it. Hagrid swept a heap of sawdust off of the bench by the table and removed what looked to be a pile of fletching supplies, tossing them unceremoniously into the corner.

'Sit down! Sit down!' he said eagerly, and the boys climbed onto the bench. 'Doan' know why ye 'aven't stopped in fer such a long time. Allus good ter see ye.'

'Well, we've been very busy, you know,' Sirius said unapologetically. 'What with lessons and detention and new teachers and things.'

Hagrid bobbed his massive head as he laid out the tea things. Now safely out of the cold, Remus was shivering violently as his body began to adjust. The groundskeeper noticed and frowned, his face furrowed with concern.

'Are ye ill, lad?' he asked. 'Yer shaking.'

'I'm only cold,' Remus mumbled, wishing that he could have managed to control himself. 'I'll be all right in a minute.'

Sirius shot him a worried look, but before he had time to speak Hagrid had taken the two steps necessary to bring himself to the bed, whipped off one of its large, scratchy blankets, and bundled Remus into it.

'There!' he said, clearly satisfied. 'Tha' oughter take care of it.'

Remus, suddenly swaddled up to his cheekbones, wormed one hand out in order to tug the heavy wool below his chin. With his mouth and nose once more in the open, he nodded meekly. 'Yes, sir,' he said. 'Thank you, sir.'

'None o' that "sir"-in', lad,' Hagrid said, heaping several large logs onto the fire and stirring the embers so they flared a brilliant orange. 'Ye're te call me Hagrid: everyone does.'

'Thanks, Hagrid,' Sirius said, bouncing a little on the bench and looking around. 'Where's Poppet?'

'Off huntin',' Hagrid said. 'She likes ter go after hares. Cream? Sugar?'

'Yes, please,' said Sirius. He waited as the man dished out a large mug of tea and then helped himself.

'Remus?'

'Please,' Remus said, working his arms free of the blanket but keeping it snugly around his shoulders.

Hagrid picked up an enormous knife and proceeded to hack away at something that looked rather like a sooty black brick. 'Nice ter 'ave some students pop in,' he said while the boys sipped at their tea and watched the proceedings with interest. 'Gets a bit lonely 'round the 'olidays, what with everyone gone home. Yer parents off travellin', are they?'

'Don't I wish,' Sirius snorted. 'No, they're in London. I just reasoned I stood a better chance of a slap-up Christmas dinner here.'

Hagrid chuckled. 'Hogwarts puts on a fine spread,' he said. He offered each boy a slab of the fruitcake. Sirius shook his head, wrapping both hands around his mug and grinning contentedly. Remus, anxious not to hurt the groundskeeper's feelings, took the smallest piece he could and tried to break off a corner with his fingers. He failed.

'Ye're cousin to Andromeda Black, en't you?' Hagrid asked, sitting down and munching happily at a piece of cake as if it did not require all the strength in his broad jaw to chew it. 'An' that little blonde think as was fawnin' over Slytherin's Seeker when 'ee fell off 'is broom?'

'Guilty,' Sirius said, nodding soberly.

'I 'ear Dromeda's expectin' a little bundle,' said Hagrid, winking conspiratorially. 'I 'ad a letter.'

'I didn't realize you were friendly with Drommie,' Sirius said, clearly impressed.

'Oh, not 'er,' said Hagrid. 'She were too much of a fine lady ter come down 'ere. No, it's Ted that wrote me. Good chap, Ted. Make a fine dad, 'e will.'

'Yeah?' Sirius said, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. 'You really think so?'

'The best,' Hagrid assured him. 'Fine 'usband, too. Doan' worry: he'll look after 'er proper, an' the baby too. Look!' From under the table he produced a pair of knitting needles supporting a shapeless green web of yarn. 'I'm makin' a matinee jacket fer the little 'un.'

'A what?' Sirius asked.

'Dunno really,' Hagrid admitted with a grin. He stowed the half-finished project away and pulled out a pattern headed by a photograph of a smiling baby wearing a frilly knitted frock. 'Looks a treat, though, don't it?'

'It's lovely,' Remus said firmly, covering up the snorting noise that Sirius made into his tea. 'It's very kind of you.'

Hagrid was fairly beaming with the praise. He took an enormous slurp of tea and sighed contentedly. 'It's nice ter 'ave visitors,' he said again.

For a minute or two they sat in companionable silence, Sirius enjoying his tea and keeping a hopeful ear perked for Poppet's return while Remus tried to soak his fruitcake so that he could chew it. After a reasonable interval, Sirius decided it was time to speak again, and the moment the words were out of his mouth Remus understood his motive for seeking out the groundskeeper.

'Hagrid,' said Sirius; 'you know the teachers pretty well, don't you?'

'Some of 'em,' Hagrid agreed. 'Professor McGonagall's a fine lady, an' Professor Flitwick likes to come down 'ere of a Sunday afternoon for a nip of Firewhiskey – doan' you be tellin' anyone that, mind. An' of course Professor Dumbledore. Dear ol' friend, Professor Dumbledore. Mind you, I en't never had the chance to get ter know Professor Binns as well as I'd like. Keeps to 'imself, mostly…'

'What about Professor Meyrigg?' asked Sirius. 'What do you know about her?'

'Oh, Professor Meyrigg!' Hagrid grinned broadly. 'Nice girl. Sporty. Used ter play Beater for Ravenclaw, she did.'

'Did she really?' asked Sirius. 'The year they won the Quidditch Cup?'

'I wouldn' know abou' that,' Hagrid said, shaking his head. 'Ter be honest I doan' much care to remember the years Gryffindor en't won. I were a Gryffindor, you know.'

'Were you?' Remus asked eagerly. He had not realized that the groundskeeper had attended Hogwarts. He had never seen him use a wand.

'Aye,' Hagrid said, looking rather misty-eyed. 'I were a Gryffindor.'

'Meyrigg,' Sirius said, tapping the table with his index finger. 'Do you know where she goes at weekends?'

'At weekends?' Hagrid said. 'Why, of course. She—' His eyes narrowed under the bushy black brows. 'I en't meant to say. Not for students to be knowin', Professor Dumbledore said. Made me promise, too, did Brynna. "_Do keep it to yerself, Rubeus,_" she said. Allus did use me given name. Funny sort of a habit.'

'I think it's nice,' Remus said, wanting to steer the conversation in another direction and so spare Hagrid from the interrogation that was brewing in Sirius's throat. 'She does the same thing with the students. It seems to make everyone feel more comfortable.'

'She'd be a good teacher,' Hagrid agreed. 'Likes children, does Brynna. Ought ter settle down an' have a couple of 'er own.'

'Yes, and then you could make them all matinee jackets,' Sirius said. 'But can't you just give us a clue as to where she goes, or why? Only it's been bothering us.'

'Well, she – no, you doan'!' Hagrid wagged a finger sternly. 'Ye'll not trick it out o' me. Dumbledore 'imself said it wasn' fer students te know. More tea?'

'Perhaps another time,' Sirius said. He got off the bench and jerked his head towards the door. 'Shall we go, Remus?'

'Doan' go!' Hagrid said, clambering to his feet so that the whole table shook. 'Ye've only jus' got 'ere. I've got some shortbread, an' some Ginger Newts Professor McGonagall gave me. If ye stay a bit longer I could fix us some kippers.'

'Oh, no,' Sirius said airily. 'We've got to be getting back to the castle. It's been nice talking to you.'

Remus turned on the bench so that the blanket fell from his shoulders. 'But Sirius—' he protested.

'No, we need to be going,' said Sirius. 'We don't want to overstay our welcome, and my questions are making Hagrid uncomfortable. Sorry about that, Hagrid,' he added with a rueful grin. 'I was just curious: you understand.'

'Aw, doan' go,' Hagrid said. 'I'll tell ye anythin' else ye want ter know, but I promised not te talk 'bout that.'

'_Anything_ else?' Sirius asked, sliding back onto the bench and smiling angelically up at the towering man. 'Well, if she played for Ravenclaw why isn't her name on any of the plaques?'

'I didn' know it wasn't,' Hagrid said as he sat down again. 'I remember she played, right enough. She were Seeker that first year, before she started te put on 'er muscles. Made a proper Beater after that.'

'What else has she done?' Sirius asked. 'Besides play Quidditch and teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, I mean.'

Hagrid shrugged his enormous shoulders. 'I'm afraid I doan' know,' he said. 'This 'n that, I expect. Got a fair bit of money put by, an' she runs 'er family's estate out in Wales. Or did; can't do much o' that while she's teachin' here. Dumbledore sought 'er out specially, you know. Said 'e wanted a Defence Agains' the Dark Arts teacher who didn't hate children.'

'After Alfstin I'm not surprised,' Sirius said sagely. 'But she must have some sort of background in duelling or something, musn't she? She's teaching the NEWTs students all sorts of interesting things.'

Remus cast his friend a puzzled look, wondering how he knew just what was being taught to the NEWTs students, but Hagrid nodded.

'Background in duelling,' he echoed. 'Tha's right. Used to do a bit of competitive stuff if I remember. Why doan' you ask her? She's a frien'ly lady; I'm sure she'd be happy ter tell you all about it.'

'I'd love to,' Sirius said; 'only she's gone. Skived off for the holidays, and I'm betting that wherever she went it's the same place she goes every weekend.'

Hagrid's gaze shifted uncomfortably towards the fire. 'I ought ter be getting' back to work,' he said, lumbering to his feet. 'Got ter mend that fence, an' then there's the paths ter see to. You boys jus' stay as long as ye like. Get good 'n warm before ye head back ter the castle.'

He opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air, and trundled off into the snow. A few minutes later, a loud sniffling noise could be heard on the far side of the frost-coated window.

'Well,' Sirius said at last. 'What do you make of that?'

'You shouldn't have asked all those questions,' Remus said quietly.

Sirius tossed his head. 'Don't be daft. If I hadn't asked those questions I wouldn't be nearly as suspicious as I am now.'

'That's what I mean,' Remus admitted.

Sirius didn't seem to hear him. He was on his feet again, bundling up the blanket and tossing it onto Hagrid's bed. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's get back up to the school. Tonight you and I are going to break into Meyrigg's office.'

'I'm not sure that we ought to do that,' Remus protested softly.

'Stuff and nonsense! It's our duty as Second Year Boys in the Third Dormitory,' said Sirius firmly. 'You heard James: he expects it. And I, for one, want to know what's so all-fired important that Dumbledore's telling gamekeepers to keep their mouths shut. Come to that, how's the gamekeeper know anyway? And why?'

Remus toyed briefly with the idea of trying to protest, but Sirius was already outside on the stoop, holding the door for him. Some distance away Hagrid was working with a large snow-shovel, packing down the path that wound down towards the gate. Arguing with Sirius Black was a futile endeavor, and Remus did not want to engage in such a debate where anyone might hear of their intention to violate a professor's privacy. He let himself be led back towards the castle, trying to convince himself that the proposed expedition was really no different from any of their other forays into exploring the castle. He did not quite succeed.


	68. Waxing Gibbous

_Note: Alas! Such a long time between updates. Please forgive me: it's such an insanely busy time of year. I shall try to do better this coming week, always providing I get the proper encouragement! (Yes, Stoplight Delight is shamelessly hinting that she'd like lots of reviews! It's been that kind of week.)_

_Also Sirius quotes Rabbi Hillel, who like Sun Tsu is public domain. Credit where credit is due._

**Chapter Sixty-Eight: Waxing Gibbous**

After a very pleasant hour curled up in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, Remus and Sirius went down to supper. This time while Sirius chatted with the upper years Remus took stock of the staff table. Headmaster Dumbledore was present, of course, as were Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Professor Binns was dozing over his pheasant tart, and Hagrid was trying to get up a conversation with Professor Arachne without marked success. When he saw that Remus was watching him he grinned tremendously and waved with such vigour that he nearly knocked off Arachne's hat. Remus ventured a smile and waggled his fingers in return.

The other teachers had all gone away to celebrate the holidays. Professor Slughorn had been boasting for weeks about his invitation to spend Christmas Eve with a former student who was now Seeker for the Hollyhead Harpies. Professor Flitwick was visiting his grandson, whose wife had recently given birth to a baby boy. Professor Sprout had availed herself of a rare opportunity to travel to Bolivia on an international expedition organized by leading Herbologists from eight different countries. Remus realized that Sirius was right: among their teachers only Professor Meyrigg had failed to mention her plans to the class. Perhaps she was merely a private person, or perhaps it was indeed some kind of sinister secret.

Only it couldn't be sinister, Remus reflected as he tucked into his roasted potatoes. Professor Dumbledore was obviously aware of whatever brought Meyrigg away from the school. Professor McGonagall knew as well, as she would not abet any questionable dealings. And Hagrid spoke fondly of Meyrigg, although clearly he, too, was aware of her secret. Remus trusted Professor McGonagall and he could believe no ill of the Headmaster, and clearly Madam Pomfrey thought highly of Hagrid – who had always been very good to Remus and his friends. He could not believe that any of these three might be involved in anything suspect or morally unsound.

Nor indeed did he want to believe it of Meyrigg. She was a pleasant lady, patient and kind and clever. She had shown touching concern for him, and she had done her best to coax him to participate in lessons. He was quite enjoying Defence Against the Dark Arts now, and that was something he had thought impossible last year. Whatever it was that drew Meyrigg away at weekends, he hoped it was nothing that would taint his good opinion of her.

A dark blur caught the very periphery of his right eye, and Remus turned to look towards the great doors at the far end of the hall. A slight figure with stooped shoulders and indifferent black hair had just slipped into the room. Remus cast a furtive glance at Sirius, but he was deep in conversation with a couple of fifth years. Severus Snape moved quickly towards the vacant Slytherin table, looking from side to side as if expecting an attack. He jumped, startled, as Sirius let out a particularly boisterous laugh, and scurried around the bench so that he might sit with his back to the wall. Although he was the only student at the table, he took the lowest place that had been set, casting another uncomfortable look at the Gryffindor table. He realized that Remus was looking at him and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Inexplicably ashamed, Remus fixed his gaze on his plate and focused on chewing methodically at food suddenly rendered tasteless. Sirius was still chatting amicably, apparently oblivious to the presence of a proclaimed enemy behind him.

'… arrow _right_ into its eye, and then Hagrid's dog lunged and attacked and finished it off!'

The fifth years chuckled indulgently. 'Go on; pull the other one, Black.'

'On my sacred honour!' Sirius said. 'Remus was there with me; he'll tell you.'

The older students turned to look at him, and Remus shifted uncomfortably on the bench. 'Y-yes,' he said uneasily. 'That's just how it happened.'

The boy who had scoffed grinned at Sirius. 'Well, you've certainly got a loyal friend, but answer me this: if it really happened, how come you didn't get caught?'

'Oh, that's easy,' Sirius said airily. 'James Potter's got a—'

'A vivid imagination,' Remus said hastily, nudging Sirius under the table with his toe. 'I'm afraid the whole thing's his invention. Everyone knows there aren't any Acromantula in Britain.'

Sirius frowned at him ever so briefly before realizing that he had very nearly given away the group's best – though admittedly not most dangerous – secret. He grinned gratefully and shrugged his shoulders. 'That's it. You caught me. I've been telling porkies again.'

There was some good-natured teasing that Sirius bore with the patient air of one who knew he was in the right. The meal continued at a leisurely pace at the Gryffindor table while across the room Severus Snape bolted down his supper as quickly as he could and then got up to scuttle from the room. As he drew near to the door Remus held his breath, but Severus managed to exit the hall without Sirius noticing his presence.

When they were finished eating and the crowd was beginning to disperse, Remus and Sirius made their way back to the dormitory. Sirius closed the door carefully.

'Thanks,' he said. 'For catching me before I could spill the secret. I wasn't really thinking.'

'I don't mind,' Remus said. 'You really oughtn't have told that story anyhow: we were breaking the rules.'

'That was the whole point,' laughed Sirius. 'I'm trying to build a reputation, you know. If people don't know we're breaking the rules we're never going to make a name for ourselves as competent troublemakers.'

'I'm not sure why we would want to make a name for ourselves as competent troublemakers,' Remus said. 'Surely it's better not to get caught.'

'Not getting caught is a significant part of it, I'll allow,' Sirius said; 'but if no one knows we're doing it then we almost might as well not be doing it at all.'

'Almost?' quipped Remus, knowing what was coming.

Sirius shrugged. 'Well, it's still fun, isn't it? Whether we're famous or not.'

'It's fun enough,' Remus allowed; 'provided we don't get killed. That business with the spider was a very near miss, you know.'

'A miss is as good as a mile,' Sirius sang blithely, springing around James's bed and opening the other boy's cupboard. 'Now, then. What do you say we get on to our next project?'

'Our next project?'

'Meyrigg's office, of course.' Sirius emerged, shaking out the Invisibility Cloak

Remus ran his tongue along his lower lip. 'I don't really think…' he began.

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Aw, you're not going to pull out, are you? It's bound to take our combined efforts to make a proper search and you always notice things that I don't.'

'It isn't a good idea to go breaking into teacher's offices,' Remus said softly. 'I'll go if you want me to, but do you honestly believe we ought to do it now?'

'If not now, when?' asked Sirius with an insolent grin. 'C'mon: this way we shan't be keeping you up 'til all hours.'

'We'll get caught,' Remus said.

'Who by?' asked Sirius.

'By whom,' corrected Remus reflexively. 'By another student, or Professor McGonagall, or Mr Filch…'

'Balderdash!' snorted Sirius. 'All the other students are off lounging around and dreaming of Christmas. What would McGonagall be doing hanging about Meyrigg's office while Meyrigg isn't there? And going before lights-out is the best guarantee I can think of that we'll avoid Filch. You know how he likes to prowl in the small hours.'

'I… Meyrigg deserves her privacy, doesn't she?' Remus tried.

Sirius scoffed, tossing his head so that his hair whipped against his cheekbone. 'Certainly not!' he declared. 'Besides, if the groundskeeper knows, why shouldn't we?'

'Hagrid's an adult…'

Remus knew even as he spoke that it was a feeble excuse, and that Sirius would disdain it utterly. He was not at all surprised, therefore, when the other boy skirted round the bed, cuffed him playfully on the shoulder and tilted his chin at the door.

'Let's go!' he said, pocketing the Cloak. 'No sense crowding together until we have to: we'll find some place off Meyrigg's corridor to put it on.'

_~discidium~_

So it was that twenty minutes later the two boys found themselves shoulder-to-shoulder beneath the Invisibility Cloak with their wands in hand, faced with the problem of how to open Professor Meyrigg's door.

'_Allohomora!' _Sirius tried, but though the handle turned the door itself would not open.

'Perhaps she's put some sort of ward on it,' Remus suggested. 'There are… all sorts of spells that make doors impossible to open.' He did not feel able to mention that his father used at least half a dozen of them on the cellar door when he transformed at home.

'D'you know any counter-spells?' asked Sirius hopefully.

Remus shook his head. When the time came for counter-spells he was never in a fit state to listen. 'We could try _Finite Incantatem,_' he said.

'Be my guest,' Sirius said graciously. Remus cast the spell, but still the door did not open.

'It seems to be jammed on something,' said Sirius, reaching out from under the Cloak and rattling the handle.

'Don't do that!' Remus hissed. 'We might be seen.'

Sirius chuckled, looking up and down the empty corridor. 'There's nobody to see,' he pointed out. 'And anyhow they'd hear us first.' He thrust his weight upon the door, causing the Cloak to ripple around them. 'It's no good,' he huffed. 'It's stuck.'

'I suppose it was rather silly to think that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would shut up her office with a ward that a couple of second years could break,' Remus said sensibly.

'Well… we could always try a window,' suggested Sirius.

Remus laughed. 'A window?'

'Sure: why not? I'll get my broom, and we'll head out right now. She'll not have thought of that.'

Remus hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he dared to continue with his naysaying. Yet Sirius was still so clearly in a playful mood, and that made him bold. 'Sirius, that's taking breaking into her office much too far,' he said. 'I think that might even count as burglary.'

Sirius gestured broadly at the door, once again behaving as if he was not draped in the iridescent folds of the Cloak. 'I welcome suggestions,' he said.

'We could go back to the common room and get up a game of chess,' Remus said cheekily.

The other boy shook his head ruefully. 'Never should've taught you how to talk back, mate,' he said fondly. 'Come on. You're the one with the inscrutable powers of problem-solving. Wax inscrutable.'

'I suppose it's possible she's got a deadbolt,' Remus said. 'Does _Allohomora _work on deadbolts?'

'I don't know,' said Sirius thoughtfully, squinting at the keyhole. He tried to prod it with his wand, but the Cloak got in the way. With a broad, wrathful gesture Sirius flung the garment off and let it fall unceremoniously to the floor.

'Sirius!' Remus exclaimed, bending to retrieve it. 'We agreed…'

'There's nobody here to see, and it's getting in my way,' Sirius said dismissively. He managed to work the tip of his wand into the head of the keyhole as he muttered the Levitation Charm. There was a sound of lifting tumblers, but still the door did not open. Sirius turned the handle again, thrusting his whole weight against it. The door seemed to give a little beneath his shoulder and towards the floor, but something was stopping it near the lintel.

'I think there's something holding it closed on the other side,' Remus murmured, watching carefully.

'Well, obviously,' snorted Sirius. He launched off of the door and crossed his arms wrathfully over his chest. 'I'm going to get in there if I need to tunnel up from the floor below!' he proclaimed irately.

'That's just what we ought to do,' Remus said sombrely, nodding his head. 'I'm sure Professor Meyrigg would never notice a great hole in the middle of her office floor. We could cover it with a nice rug.'

Sirius grimaced. 'Bad idea, huh?' he asked.

'Definitely,' Remus said, smiling. 'But I do think it's latched up near the top somehow.'

Sirius's lips twitched as if he wanted to speak, but no sound emerged. He trained his keen grey eyes on his friend, eager and engaged. The seconds dragged on in silence.

'What are you doing?' Remus asked at last when the quietude began to grow oppressive.

'Just waiting for you to have one of your deviously clever ideas,' Sirius said sweetly. 'You've got that look, you know.'

'What look?' said Remus, somewhat taken aback.

'The butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth Innocent Lupin look,' said Sirius. 'The one that means you're cooking up some sort of brilliant plan and you don't want anybody to suspect you of it.'

'I've no such look!' Remus protested.

Sirius laughed uproariously. 'There it is again!' he crooned. 'Go on: work through your scheme. I'll not say another word.'

He pressed his lips together and clasped his hands behind his back. Then he began to rock on the balls of his feet, eyes glittering with supressed glee. The stoic line of his mouth grew harder and harder to maintain, and the corners began to tremble, inching upwards.

'Do stop it,' Remus snorted softly. 'You'll do yourself an injury.'

'But the suspense is too much!' Sirius said. 'You're going to solve it: I just know it. Please hurry up.'

'I can't solve anything under this sort of pressure,' Remus argued, but his eyes were being drawn back to the door. Three quarters of the way up there was a tiny brass tack protruding from the dark wood, as if it had been driven in to hold something in place on the other side. He squinted at it as if he might penetrate the door with his eyes.

Sirius was watching him breathlessly now, but Remus paid him no mind. He got up on the tips of his toes and felt the tack, running his fingertip over it and curling his nail under the edge. He braced his knuckle like a fulcrum on the door and tugged at the little metal disk. His fingernail protested, but he pulled harder. With a soft _pop _the tack came free, and on the other side of the door something clattered to the floor.

Daring a triumphant smile, Remus turned the handle and pushed. The door swung inward, revealing a brass hook with a hollow prong attached to it lying on the flagstones. He bent down and picked it up so that Sirius could see.

'Locked from the inside?' Sirius said, eyes narrowing. 'No, that's not suspicious at all.'

'You don't suppose she's in there, do you?' Remus asked breathlessly, shooting a nervous glance at the darkened room beyond the door.

'Don't be daft,' Sirius snorted, brushing past him and groping for the lamp. 'If she were at school she'd be down for meals.'

Remus checked the corridor one last time to be sure they had not been observed, and closed the office door carefully. He pocketed the hook and the tack: they would have to work out some way to replace them before they left.

Sirius had found the lamp on the desk, and the room was soon flooded with a diffuse golden glow. Remus looked around with interest.

It was a perfectly ordinary office. Meyrigg's desk was a heavy oaken affair with several drawers and a straight-backed chair with a tapestry cushion. Two armchairs were drawn up to the fireplace, the mantelpiece of which sported a number of china figurines with broad panniers and minutely pleated petticoats and sacque-backed gowns covered in enamelled ruching. The walls bore vivid oil paintings – some Muggle-made and motionless, and others rustling with gentle movement – that all depicted rolling hills and verdant valleys and venerable stone buildings. Remus presumed they were images of the Welsh countryside.

Sirius moved over to a pedestal table near the window, where there was a second lamp. Unlike the pragmatic light on the desk this lamp was ornately wrought, with a shade of stained-glass pansies and vines. A fringe of glass beads hung down from the shade, and when Sirius lit the lamp they glittered like rubies.

'Hullo. What's this?' Sirius asked, picking up a trophy that from its apparent heft looked to be made of solid gold. It was made in the shape of a regal-looking witch in the act of whirling around with her wand drawn. Her moulded robes seemed to float about her, folds spiralling in such a way as to lend the figure a sense of motion and power. Sirius whistled softly. 'Background in duelling indeed,' he said. 'She placed best in class in the under-fifty division at the Bern Symposium for Witches in Duelling in 1968.'

'I take it that's good?' asked Remus.

'Good?' Sirius was eyeing the statuette with a look of profound respect. 'It's ruddy _brilliant_. You've got to be a top duellist even to qualify. Bellatrix tried out for England's team last spring, and didn't even get past the third round of eliminations.'

Remus tried to imagine Bellatrix Black wielding a wand in an elite duelling competition, but decided that the image was altogether too terrifying for words. 'I suppose she's qualified to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, then,' he said.

Sirius was still studying the trophy in awe, but Remus found his attention travelling back to the desk. Everything had been left in perfect order. The blotter was clean, the quills trimmed and ready for use. There was a neat stack of graded essays on one corner of the desk, and at the other between marble bookends carved in the likeness of rampant unicorns stood the course textbooks from which Meyrigg taught.

There was one other article on the desk: a small frame carved with twining oak leaves. From behind the glass smiled a craggy-faced young wizard with shaggy chestnut hair. Now and again he winked knowingly at the viewer. He was not handsome, but there was a certain air of hardy honesty about him that Remus found very reassuring.

'Sirius, look at this,' he said, carefully lifting the picture and cupping his hand beneath it so that it would not slip from his fingers. 'Who do you suppose this might be?'

'Your guess is as good as mine,' Sirius said, setting down the duelling trophy and frowning at the photograph. 'Not much of a looker, is he?'

It was easy enough for the Sirius Blacks of the world to pass judgement on the looks of others, but Remus did not feel the need to criticise. He returned the picture to its place of honour on the desk and turned his attention on the heavy bookshelf in the corner. It housed a wide variety of volumes. There were books on Defence Against the Dark Arts, of course, at least some of which appeared to be written in Latin. Remus's stomach flopped uneasily when he saw among them one of the werewolf texts that Sirius had borrowed from the library. There were books on history, and volumes of literature. The very top shelf appeared to be dedicated to books written in Welsh, most of them very old and bound in burnished leather. And there was one small section for anthologies of fables, fairy stories and nursery rhymes.

Remus ran his finger down the glossy spine of _A Little Witch's Book of British Verse_ as Sirius moved to look over his shoulder. 'Anything interesting?' he asked.

Remus shook his head. 'About what one would expect,' he said. 'Apart from the children's books.'

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'Children's stories?' he echoed, clearly less than impressed. 'You ought to have a look at the paintings; some of them are really very interesting.'

'How so?' asked Remus, turning towards the nearest one, which depicted a rocky stream running by an old mill with a great whirling waterwheel.

'This one, for instance,' Sirius said, pointing at a painting a little further along. A terraced hill ringed with low stone walls stood out against a bright cerulean sky. 'It's a hill, right? But what's this over here?'

He pointed at a couple of standing stones at the base of the slope, offset slightly from one another with a slab of rock spanning their tops. 'It's a passage-tomb, isn't it?'

Remus leaned his head to the left, trying to visualize the painting in three dimensions. It did indeed look rather like the entrance to a passage-tomb set into the side of the hill. 'I think you're right,' he said.

'Well, who paints something like that?' Sirius asked. 'And doesn't the knot on this tree look rather like a skull?'

'I'm not sure about that,' Remus said hesitantly.

'And look at this one!' Sirius said, running over to point at a particularly large canvas mounted behind the desk. It was a wizard's painting, for the leaves on the trees rustled and one of the shutters on the old stone gatehouse in the foreground flapped lazily in the wind. Perched on the chimney, erect and watchful, was a brilliant red bird, fiery feathers fluttering. 'It's a phoenix!' Sirius said excitedly. 'D'you reckon there are phoenixes in Wales?'

'Perhaps,' Remus said. As he watched the bird seemed to notice them. It spread its wings, trilling melodically. Then it launched into flight and bore itself from the picture with long, sure beats. Remus bit his lower lip. 'Do you suppose it went to tell someone we're here?' he asked.

'Don't be daft,' Sirius said. 'It's not a portrait or anything: just a bird put in for atmosphere. Besides, why would there be more than one portrait of the same phoenix? And how do you paint a proper portrait of a phoenix, anyhow, if they're immortal?'

'They're not immortal,' Remus said. 'They die; only they're reborn out of their ashes.'

'How do you know that?' asked Sirius.

'I read about it,' said Remus.

His friend chuckled ruefully. 'Is there anything in this world you _haven't _read about?'

'Motorcycles,' Remus said gravely.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. 'I'll be sure to remedy that,' he said. 'You're hereby forbidden to bring any school books to the hospital wing this month. I'll lend you my motorbike stuff. It's far more interesting than anything we're learning at present, I promise.'

He rounded the desk again and sighed. 'Including anything we're learning tonight,' he grumbled. 'I was expecting something a touch more interesting. I mean, china ladies? Is she ninety-five years old and tries to look thirty so that she can clean up in Bern?'

'What were you expecting?' Remus asked.

'Letters!' Sirius said. 'A diary recording her darkest thoughts! An itinerary for her holidays! Anything at all that might answer a question or two. Let's search her desk!'

Before Remus could protest Sirius was rummaging through drawers, tossing aside course syllabuses and back issues of academic journals. He found a pocket watch and a little silver compass with tourmalines set in the handle, a large quantity of neatly sharpened pencils, and a postcard from Athens signed _Wish you were here, coz. Love from Laura. _As he rummaged Remus went behind him, trying his utmost to return the articles to their proper place.

'This is ridiculous!' Sirius said when he opened the last drawer to find nothing more compelling than a tray of spare inkwells. 'Nobody lives like this! There isn't even a monogrammed handkerchief! Where's her NEWTs certificates? Where are her teaching credentials? Her pay records? Where's her library card?'

Remus had to smile at that. 'Her library card wouldn't tell us much, would it?' he asked. 'Professor Brynna Meyrigg, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Sirius sat back on his heels, pushing the drawer closed. 'There's nothing for it,' he said stoutly. 'We'll have to break into her bedroom as well.'

'Do be reasonable,' Remus said as he tucked the postcard back into place and stood up. 'We don't even know where her bedroom is.'

'Somewhere off her office,' Sirius declared, getting to his feet and moving to the west wall and running his palms over it. 'There must be a secret door here somewhere.'

'Sirius, couldn't we leave it for another time?' Remus asked. 'It's been a very long day, and we've got almost three weeks yet.'

'It's here somewhere,' Sirius said, thumping on the wall as if listening for an echo. 'Everyone knows the professors sleep in their offices. There's no Teachers' Tower, is there?'

'Well, no,' said Remus. 'But it's getting late, and if we don't hurry the Fat Lady will wonder what we're doing abroad after lights-out.'

'I don't care what the Fat Lady thinks,' scoffed Sirius. 'She's under oath not to rat us out.'

'That didn't stop her the night she told Filch about you,' Remus pointed out cheekily.

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Filch has better things to do on the first day of the hols than wander around interrogating portraits about me.'

There was a blur of red above the desk, and Remus looked at the painting of the gatehouse. The phoenix had returned to its perch on the chimney-pot, and it was watching them with glittering eyes.

'Sirius, please,' he said. He was beginning to get the uneasy feeling that they were being watched, and not merely by the painted bird. 'Can't we just go back to the dormitory?'

'Where's your sense of adventure?' Sirius asked dismissively. 'In books the secret panel's always behind the bookcase, isn't it?'

Sirius was clearly unwilling to abandon the search, but Remus was increasingly certain that they would be far better off in Gryffindor Tower. The knot on the painted elm tree now did look rather like a skull, and the light shining through the beads on the lamp had the sheen of fresh blood. He was aware that his imagination was likely playing tricks on him, but all the same he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the ransacked office as possible. He realized suddenly that there was one thing that he could say that would almost certainly win Sirius over to his side.

'I'm tired,' he said.

'You what?' Sirius said absently, plastering himself against the wall to peer behind the bookshelf.

'I'm _tired_,' Remus repeated, a little louder. 'We've been up almost since dawn and I'd like to go to bed.'

Instantly Sirius was the picture of earnest concern. He abandoned the search and hurried to Remus's side. 'I'm sorry,' he said hurriedly. 'I didn't think of that. Yes, of course we can leave it for another day. It can wait until after Christmas if you'd rather.'

'That would be nice, thank you,' said Remus as Sirius opened the door and peered out into the corridor.

'Coast is clear,' he hissed. 'Come on.'

They closed the door with a simple Locking Charm and made their way back to their dormitory, arriving at the portrait-hole a scant six minutes before their curfew. Sirius went off to use the toilet, and Remus gathered his night things and prepared to climb into the bed to change.

'You don't need to do that, you know,' Sirius said, coming back into the room and drying his hands on the front of his robes. 'I won't stare.'

Remus offered him a tiny, grateful smile. 'Thank you,' he said softly.

'I wondered at first why you were still doing it,' Sirius said, moving to his cupboard and studying its contents pensively. 'Then it occurred to me. James and Peter don't know yet, do they? About how badly you hurt yourself?'

'They've been told,' Remus whispered, hands trembling as he unfastened his robes. The confidence that had been growing within him all day seemed to ebb away, and his heart felt very heavy in his chest. 'They don't need to see it as well.'

'It mustn't be very comfortable, trying to get changed while standing on a bed,' said Sirius.

'I don't mind it.' Remus was naked now, and he hurriedly stepped into a fresh pair of underpants and pulled his nightshirt over his head. The hem and sleeves were now rather too short for him, showing a good couple of inches of his arms and his calves. He reached for his bed socks and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on. It was indeed a task far easier to carry out this way, instead of doubled over, trying to keep his balance on the thick mattress of his four-poster while avoiding any attention-grabbing rustling of the hangings.

'What do you think they'd say?' asked Sirius. He turned from the cupboard at last and began to divest. 'Do you think they'd decide not to be your friend anymore over a couple of scars, after they've stood by you this far?'

'It's more than a couple of scars,' Remus mumbled, staring down at the floor.

'All right, have it your way. A bunch of scars. Don't you think James can handle it?'

'No, of course he can,' said Remus. 'It isn't that.'

'Then what is it?' asked Sirius gently, pulling on his own nightshirt and perching on the edge of his bed. 'Come on, Remus; humour me. I need the answer to at least one riddle tonight.'

'I don't… I want… I wouldn't like…' Remus stuttered. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, determined to express himself clearly and with as much dignity as he could muster, despite the tears that were threatening. 'They don't need to think of me like that,' he said at last, very quietly. 'Wounded. Damaged. I'm ashamed for James and Peter to see me that way.'

There was such a long silence that Remus almost wondered if Sirius had melted into thin air. At last there was an almost inaudible huff of air from the other by.

'I can certainly understand that,' murmured Sirius.

That was the end of the conversation. They laid out their clothes for the next day, and brushed their teeth, and exchanged the usual wishes for pleasant dreams and a sound sleep. Then Sirius put out the lamps and they both climbed into their beds. Only after he could hear the slow, shallow breathing of his sleeping friend beside him did Remus realize that they had forgotten to replace the hook on the back of Professor Meyrigg's door.

_~discidium~_

The following morning they both overslept, and subsequently missed breakfast in the Great Hall. Undaunted they removed to the kitchens, where the house elves obligingly fixed them sausage and fresh scones and eggs cooked to order. They passed a lazy morning in the Gryffindor common room, playing Exploding Snap until both of them were laughing so hard that their sides ached. They went down to lunch still chuckling, and although Remus kept a watchful eye on the Slytherin table Severus Snape did not make an appearance at that meal. The afternoon was bright and crisply cold, and they went outdoors to sculpt snow-creatures with their wands. After a while Hagrid came down from his hut to help them roll a Muggle snowman. The towering groundskeeper managed to make a ball for the base that was larger than Remus, though the appropriately-proportioned midsection had to be levitated into place by the two boys. Sirius found some pinecones for eyes, and Hagrid supplied to sizeable branches to serve as arms. The finished creation was a very impressive sight indeed.

After these exertions Remus found his exhaustion rapidly catching up to him. At supper he scarcely noticed when Severus crept into the Great Hall after everyone else had started their meal, and mustered only a cursory relief that Sirius was too busy recounting the construction of his snowman to anyone who would listen to notice the solitary Slytherin behind him. That evening, while Sirius cajoled several of his new friends in the upper years into a game of _Who Am I?_, Remus curled up in an armchair drawn as near to the fire as he could manage. There he huddled, drowsing on the edge of sleep while the bone-deep ache began to settle into his joints. He slept restlessly that night, and in the morning found that his appetite had abandoned him.

'Do you want to go to the library?' Sirius asked as they left the breakfast table. His brow was furrowed in concern and he was watching Remus so closely that he did not see Snape vanish down a corridor as they emerged from the hall. 'You could curl up with a nice novel or something.'

Understanding that Sirius was trying very hard to choose an activity that he would find both enjoyable and within his present strength, Remus nodded. 'That would be very nice,' he said.

They sat in their customary nook, Remus trying to make it look as if he was reading while in fact the words were swimming on the page. He still had nearly thirty hours before the full moon would rise, and already his head was throbbing and there was an ache deep in his bones. Already he knew that he had made the right choice in remaining at Hogwarts where he had Madam Pomfrey to care for him.

Sirius had chosen for himself a book entitled _Habits of the Werewolf_, and he was gnawing on his lower lip while he read. Remus had to force himself not to watch his friend. He could not keep from wondering what it was that Sirius was finding so engrossing in the book, though the thought came and went in waves with the beating in his head.

'Remus?' said Sirius presently, looking up from the page he had been studying. 'Why aren't you hungry?'

'We only just had breakfast,' Remus equivocated.

'Yes, but you hardly touched your plate,' Sirius said. 'You just sort of pushed the food around, and I think maybe you had a couple mouthfuls of milk.'

Remus felt his cheeks growing pink. 'I didn't think you noticed,' he said.

'Peter's not the only one capable of keeping track of what his friends are and are not eating, you know,' said Sirius. 'I only ask because in here it says that werewolves usually have cravings before the full moon, but you don't eat much of anything at all. So is the book wrong, or is it something that varies from person to person?'

For a moment Remus could not answer, because there was a part of his mind that kept ruminating on the fact that despite the impending transformation and the title of the book in his hand Sirius had said _person to person_, not _werewolf to werewolf_. Then he mustered his wits and shook his head. 'I don't know if it varies,' he said huskily; 'but I do get cravings. Every month.'

'So you're saying you can't get what you're craving?' asked Sirius with that shrewdly inexorable look in his eye that meant he was set on solving the puzzle before him. 'Or you're on some kind of ascetic deprivation lark?'

Remus was not sure which statement best described his situation, but he was not at all certain that he wanted to have this conversation. Sirius had seen the safe house. He had asked about the scars. Surely that was enough terrible information to assimilate in one week. 'It isn't like that,' he said, choosing his words carefully and straining to modulate his tone. 'It's only that when I want something, nothing else tastes right.'

Sirius laughed, an unexpected sound that seemed to disturb the dust on the nearby shelves. 'I know how that is,' he said. 'When I want a chicken sandwich you could set me in front of a seven course meal and I guarantee that all I'd be thinking about is a chicken sandwich.' He closed the book with a snap, his eyes suddenly very intensely focused. 'What do you say we go down to the kitchens so I can get a chicken sandwich?'

Sirius Black was fiercely intelligent, but very easily distracted.

_~discidium~_

When Sirius had finished his sandwich they went up to the dormitory. Remus curled up on top of his bedclothes and fell asleep while Sirius was packing his satchel for the following morning. He awoke sometime after sunset to find that his friend had brought him a platter full of pilfered food.

'I hope something on here is what you're craving,' Sirius said. 'Of course, if you told me what it was you wanted it would be easier to guess right.'

'I don't want anything right now,' Remus fibbed, though in the back of his mind a little voice was crying out for meat, red and juicy and fresh. 'I just… I think I'd like to have a wash.'

He stood in the shower for as long as his sore legs would hold him up, letting the hot water beat down upon his shoulders and his aching neck. Then he pulled on his nightshirt and went out to crawl into bed. He lay there for a while with the hangings open, listening indolently while Sirius maintained a very one-sided conversation. Afterward Remus could not remember what his friend had spoken about, but he did recall how safe and welcome and wanted he felt as he rested his cheek on his pillow, savouring the playful sound of the familiar voice. He did not know when he fell asleep, but sometime after he did Sirius must have closed his bed curtains and put out the lamps.


	69. Christmas Gifts

_Note: Wow! Thank you to everyone for the overwhelming response to my (shameless!) plea for reviews! It's very much appreciated. I now present the last update before Christmas, and it's a long one. Happy Holidays, everybody!_

**Chapter Sixty-Nine: Christmas Gifts**

When it had seemed likely that Sirius would pass the Easter holidays at school, Remus had been paralyzed with terror at the notion of trying to sneak away to the hospital wing under the nose of his curious friend. It was with quiet wonder, therefore, that he watched as Sirius picked up his satchel for him and led the way down from the dormitory, holding the portrait aside so that he could pass out of the common room. They walked together in companionable quiet, Sirius seeming to understand instinctively that silent support was all that was wanted today. Remus had awakened with a blistering headache and what he knew to be a perilously high fever, and he rather thought any attempt at amiable banter would have proved more than he could bear at present.

Madam Pomfrey was seated at her desk, writing out Christmas cards. She looked up and smiled as though she had been expecting them – though Remus usually did not turn up until noon at the earliest. Soon enough he was settled in his little room with potions for the fever and the aches. Sirius settled in the chair beside the bed with one of his motorcycle books, and as Remus drifted in and out of uneasy slumber his friend read contentedly. At some point Madam Pomfrey brought in a lunch tray for Sirius and some broth for Remus, whose stomach rebelled at the mere thought. Then the hour came at last for them to go down to the Willow.

'May I come?' Sirius asked as Madam Pomfrey helped Remus on with his shoes.

'Certainly not; we've discussed this,' the matron countered.

'I… I said he might ask, Madam,' Remus murmured, biting down on the inside of his cheek as a little bolt of pain shot into his sore ankle. His aches seemed worse than usual this month, and the slightest jostling was enough to cause discomfort. 'I wouldn't mind it if… if he only came as far as the tree.'

Madam Pomfrey looked at Sirius shrewdly, eyes narrowed. Sirius smiled hopefully at her, wearing such an expression of eager innocence that if he could have found the strength Remus would have laughed. The witch sighed. 'Very well,' she said. 'I suppose there's no harm in it this once, but it's only because everyone is away and our chances of being seen are very slim indeed. We shan't be making a habit of this, Mr Black. Is that understood?'

'Yes, Matey,' Sirius said soberly. Then he wrinkled his nose. 'I mean yes, _matron_.'

Madam Pomfrey favoured him with a tiny, indulgent smile. 'If you're to come you might as well make yourself useful,' she said. 'Pass me his cloak, and you can get the doors for us.'

So the three of them stepped out into the snow painted with long afternoon shadows. The air was bitterly cold and Remus shrank against the matron, shivering. Wordlessly Sirius pressed against him from the other side, lending support and warmth. 'Just another minute or two and we'll have you out of the wind,' he said reassuringly. Remus tried to nod, but his head bobbed irrationally instead.

When they reached the tree Madam Pomfrey froze the branches and disappeared into the hole. Remus moved to scramble after him, halting for a moment to look back at the boy who still had a grip on his arm.

'You take care, now; I mean it,' Sirius said. 'No fretting: you just think about all the fun we're going to have on Christmas Morning, you hear me?'

Remus surprised himself with an earnest smile. 'Yes, Sirius,' he said. 'I'll… I'll see you on the other side?'

Sirius nodded bracingly. 'On the other side, mate,' he agreed.

Then Remus wriggled down the hole and Sirius danced out of the way before the Whomping Willow could rain down its wrath upon them.

When Madam Pomfrey was gone Remus struggled up the stairs. In the first bedroom he forced himself to remove his cloak and his tatty transformation robes and his shoes, and he put them on the top shelf of the wardrobe, closing its door with care. Then, shivering violently, he crawled under the blankets on the dusty bed, curling into a ball to wait for the moon. He tried to relax, but his quivering limbs would not allow it. Instead he focused with all of his might on the idea of Christmas Morning at Hogwarts with Sirius. It would be a wonderful day, full of laughter and camaraderie and good things to eat.

He remembered abruptly that he did not have a gift to give Sirius, and that furthermore he had taken no steps to make anything for his parents. A stab of guilt assailed him, and he drove it back resolutely. If he managed not to hurt himself too badly he would be up and about again in three day's time. He could think of something then. Sirius – he did not know what to give Sirius, but his parents would be easy. He might even be able to persuade Sirius to join him in the effort. Remembering how his friend had enjoyed the opportunity to help Mother with supper over the summer, Remus realized that he would likely have very little persuading to do.

Yes, he thought happily, it was just the thing. He could send home a gift that would be needed and appreciated, and give Sirius a quintessential Christmas experience at the same time. It was perfect.

The cheerful thought was ousted as a fissure seemed to open at the base of his spine, stretching and twisting as his vertebrae shattered, reforming themselves. His back arched against the pain and he let out a hollow shriek as his mouth filled with blood and his thumbs retracted and his ribs began to lengthen.

_~discidium~_

Remus had dim memories of Madam Pomfrey hurrying to bundle him into a warm blanket, stemming the worst of his wounds before rushing him to the safety of the castle. His first clear thought, however, was that it had not worked. He had tried so hard to keep himself calm and contented so that the wolf would not behave so savagely, and it had not worked. He was bruised and bloodied and torn, and he knew that something in his right foot was broken again.

But Madam Pomfrey's words were gentle and reassuring as she worked, and there was no urgency in her voice. Her face, floating above him as she wiped the blood from his eyes, was clean and serene, her cap set neatly on smooth dark hair. Whatever he had done to himself, he knew it could not be nearly as bad as what he had done in September, and that was comforting.

Still, when he woke up and realized that it was the matron sitting at his bedside instead of Sirius, Remus wondered what had gone wrong.

'Madam?' he croaked.

Instantly she was bracing him up, holding a glass of water to his lips and stroking at his throat when he was slow to remember how to swallow. Once he started to drink he did so greedily, falling back against the matron's shoulder with a weary sigh. Madam Pomfrey wiped his brow with a clean handkerchief and settled him back on the cushions.

'Am I… how bad is it?' Remus whispered.

'You cracked a couple of bones in your ankle,' she said; 'and there were some nasty bites on your arms, but I've set them right.'

There was an uneasy look in her eyes that made Remus's pulse quicken. 'W-what else?' he stammered, fearful. 'What else did I do?'

'Nothing serious,' said Madam Pomfrey, but she could not meet his eyes when she said it.

'Please,' murmured Remus. 'Please, I know that's not all. What else did I do?'

Madam Pomfrey exhaled slowly through her nostrils. 'Oh, Remus, it will heal in a few days.'

Now he was frightened. It was unlike the matron to prevaricate. Whatever damage the wolf inflicted, she always explained it neatly and succinctly. He could not imagine what could have gone so terribly wrong that she was instead trying to break the news to him gently.

'I'll let you see for yourself,' she said at last. Reaching behind her she produced a round hand-mirror, hesitating ever so slightly before holding it up for him.

As he always did when studying his reflection, Remus looked at his eyes first. They were bright and glassy, ringed in deep shadows and reddened from the strain of the change. His hair was limp and damp with perspiration. His lips were dry and cracking, and there was a bloody place where he had bitten himself. And on his left cheekbone was an enormous black bruise.

'I know it looks awful, Remus, but I did all I could…' Madam Pomfrey began.

Remus raised his hand, brushing the bruise with his fingertip. It was swollen and glossy, but it scarcely ached at all. 'It's all right,' he said, puzzled. 'It doesn't even hurt. You needn't worry.'

'I needn't?' The matron looked rather taken aback. 'But you're always so upset when I can't put your face right straight away…'

Suddenly Remus understood, and despite the battered muscles in his chest he laughed. 'Oh, Madam, that was only because it made my friends ask awkward questions!' he said hoarsely. 'Now that they know it doesn't matter. I don't need to be _pretty_, you know.'

So soon after a transformation this little speech was a tremendous exertion, but it was worth the effort to see the relieved smile on Madam Pomfrey's face.

'Well, then,' she said. 'That does put the matter in perspective, doesn't it? If I'm most worried about a bit of a bruise you must have made out quite nicely this month, dear.'

Remus was about to ask if she was only being kind when the door popped open and a very drowsy-looking Sirius Black trundled into the room. His robes were rumpled and his hair was tousled, and there were pink spots on his cheeks.

'Heard you laughing,' he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and grinning. 'Does this mean he'll be up and about in no time?'

'He'll be up and about when he's ready,' Madam Pomfrey said primly. 'And I agreed to let you spend the night on the condition that you got a little sleep tonight.'

'I was sleeping,' Sirius said with a haughty toss of his head. 'Only then somebody laughed and woke me up, didn't he?' He looked avidly at Remus, hurrying to the side of the bed. 'How are you feeling? Lost much blood? Did you break anything? Pomfrey wouldn't tell me.'

'And neither shall Remus tonight,' said the matron. 'Back to bed with you; no visiting.'

'I'm all right, Sirius,' Remus promised, though the words rasped uncomfortably in his raw throat and his hand felt shaky as he plucked at the coverlet.

'That's quite the bruise, though, isn't it?' Sirius asked, nodding at the mirror lying in the matron's lap. 'Sort of think that would've sent me off on a proper crusade last year.'

Remus smiled a little, not feeling quite up to the task of nodding. His eyes were already drifting closed, and although Madam Pomfrey scolded Sirius all the way back into the other room he was asleep long before the door closed upon them.

_~discidium~_

The following day Remus slept a great deal, but whenever he woke up Sirius was at his side ready to entertain. By evening he felt well enough for a little soup and a mug of chocolate, and on the twenty-third he was so much improved that Sirius was persuaded to go off to take his lunch in the Great Hall. The moment he was gone Madam Pomfrey came in with an envelope and a flat package wrapped in butcher's paper.

'From home, dear,' she said. 'I thought you might want to open it privately.'

Remus thought about protesting that it wasn't necessary to hide his mail from his friends, but he did not want the matron to feel badly about withholding it. He thanked her and waited patiently until she was out of the room before he tore into the envelope.

He was surprised to see not his mother's elegant script but instead his father's thick and slanting scrawl. Hastily he read:

_Dear Remus,_

_First of all, don't worry. There's nothing wrong with your mother; she isn't ill or in any way incapacitated. I'm taking a turn in writing you this month because I feel I've neglected this duty, and because I do miss you every bit as Mother does, Remus. Every day I am thankful that you are safe and cared-for at Hogwarts, and that you have the chance of a proper education, but I love you and I think of you constantly._

_Your mother has been very busy this winter. Of all places to work at this time of year, I think the Muggle Post Office must be one of the most harrying. She's been working five days out of seven, and picking up odd shifts on weekends as well. I'm relieved to say that she does seem to be enjoying it, though I wonder if perhaps the work is too tiring for her. Still, she says it's lovely to spend her days among people, and Thursday is her favourite day to go in. That's when the Muggle government sends out the money it pays to old-age pensioners, you see, and your mother has made a number of friends among them._

_We shall be having a quiet Christmas, and I hope that yours will be full of joy. I confess I was a little uneasy to learn that your friend Sirius Black was remaining behind with you. I do hope it was not too difficult to get away without arousing suspicion. Your mother, of course, was delighted: she pointed out (quite rightly) that you will have far more fun over the last half of the holidays with a friend to run around with. She thought you might want something to give to him as a Christmas gift, and she picked this out for him. I'm not sure I understand what she means by it, but she assures me it's just the thing for Sirius._

_I do hope you are faring well, Remus. The full moon is very near perigee this month. The last time it happened you were only seven, and you cried for days before because your little legs hurt you so badly. Please, do write and let us know how you are._

_I'll wish you a Merry Christmas now, though I'm sure we shall be sending our greetings again in a few days. Rest well, and enjoy your holiday. I'm told the Christmas Feast at Hogwarts is something wonderful to experience._

_Love,_

_Father_

Remus read the letter a second time, more carefully, and then sat back against the headboard to consider it. His father's tone did not appear to be overly anxious or desperate, but there was a melancholy to the words that made Remus uneasy. He remembered Mother's remark that his father had not taken well to the idea of her going to work in the Post Office, and now it seemed that he was worrying for her. Remus also wondered what was meant by _a quiet Christmas_: whether the holiday would be merely less hectic with only the two of them to celebrate, or whether Father meant that they could not afford to celebrate at all.

He realized that he ought to tuck away the letter and the package before Sirius came back, but he was curious as to what his mother might have sent. He slit one side of the paper and drew out the contents. It was a glossy Muggle magazine: the November edition of one of the ones that Sirius had picked up during the summer. A great black motorbike adorned the cover.

Remus stifled a noise of delight. It was the perfect gift for Sirius. It had only cost twenty pence, if the cover was to be believed, but Sirius would whoop with delight when he saw it. By the end of the break he would have read it cover to cover at least three times, and when James and Peter came back to school they would have to listen to Sirius recapitulating its contents over and over again.

Carefully Remus slid the magazine back into the butcher's paper, and then tucked it into the drawer of the side table along with his father's letter. He would have to find some way of getting it into his satchel before they went back to the dormitory, and then he could wrap it in bright tissue from the common room and draw up a little card to complete the present.

Thinking of gifts and his parents, he found himself returning to the idea he had concocted for his parents' gift. Whatever Father meant by _a quiet Christmas_, he was all the more convinced that the gesture would be welcome. And even if Sirius did not immediately take to the idea he could surely be persuaded to participate once Remus pointed out that it was, in fact, rather against the rules.

_~discidium~_

Remus spent one more night in the hospital wing, but it was purely precautionary. On the morning of Christmas Eve he ate most of his breakfast, washed and dressed himself without assistance, and won Madam Pomfrey's blessing to leave the hospital wing. Sirius saw him back to the dormitory, and was digging out the chessboard for a celebratory game when he realized that Remus was watching him.

'What's that look?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

'How would you like to sneak down to the kitchens with me?' asked Remus.

Sirius laughed. 'You've only just had breakfast.'

'I'm not hungry,' Remus said. 'There's something I'd like to do. Always providing we can get the house elves to agree, that is.'

'House elves?' Sirius snorted. 'They haven't got much choice but to agree, have they? And the school elves are so sprightly and cheerful that they'd probably actually _enjoy_ agreeing, whatever it was.'

He looked almost defensive, as if expecting an argument, but Remus only smiled. 'I suppose you're right,' he said. 'You think we could manage it, then?'

'Manage what?' asked Sirius.

'I'd like to make a gift for Mother and Father,' said Remus.

Sirius's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. 'What sort of a gift can you make in the kitchens?' he asked.

The answer nearly tumbled out before Remus realized that Sirius might be more compelled by a taste of intrigue. He smiled in what he hoped was a very knowing fashion. 'You'll see,' he said.

When they reached the kitchens the breakfast things had already been cleared away and the big room was almost empty. Remus lingered near the entrance, waiting patiently to be noticed by the three house elves near the great stone fireplace.

'Welcome, welcome!' one of them squeaked, hurrying over and bowing low. 'Is young sirs wanting something to eat? Some cakes or sweets or perhaps a chicken sandwich? Pindy knows tall young sir is liking chicken sandwiches best.'

Sirius looked surprised and almost pleased. 'You remembered that?' he asked.

The house elf's smile grew still more radiant. 'Why, yes, yes!' she said enthusiastically, bobbing her head. 'Everyone is knowing it!'

'Well…' Sirius said, clearly satisfied.

'Actually,' said Remus politely; 'we would like to bake something, if you wouldn't mind.'

Sirius turned, puzzled incredulity on his face. 'We would?' he asked.

Remus nodded. 'Biscuits,' he said.

'Oh, we is having all sorts of biscuits!' Pindy enthused, waving her hand at her fellows. 'There is sugary ones and crumbly ones and great gooey chocolate ones with icing…'

'Actually,' Remus said softly; 'we'd like to make our own. It's a gift, you see,' he added hastily, when a hurt expression began to appear on the elf's broad face. 'For my parents. I'd like to make them myself, because that's a part of the gift.'

'A gift!' the house elf squealed, her voice going so high that it was almost inaudible. 'For Christmas? Oh, lovely, lovely! Pindy makes a gift for her mother every year, she does. This year she is making a tea cosy.'

'That's a wonderful present,' Remus said earnestly. 'What colour is it?'

The house elf looked perplexed. 'Most colours,' she said. 'But not green. Pindy isn't liking green.'

Sirius chuckled. 'A lady after my own tastes,' he said.

Remus stole a sidelong look at him, worried that he was ridiculing the elf, but Sirius appeared to be genuinely amused. 'Would it be all right?' he asked quietly. 'I mean, might we have the ingredients and a little space to work?'

He might as well have asked for a mug of chocolate and a seat by the fire, for his wishes were carried out almost instantly. In under three minutes he and Sirius were established at the head of the Gryffindor work table, and Remus was listing off ingredients while Pindy and another obliging young elf ran back and forth to fetch everything he named. Mixing bowls and measuring spoons followed suit, and before he could even ask a rolling pin and an assortment of tin biscuit stamps were provided.

'Is young sirs needing help?' asked Pindy eagerly.

'I don't think so,' Remus said. 'Unless you'd like to join us?'

Sirius shot an irritated look over the house elf's head, but she did not notice. She was beside herself with excitement. 'Pindy, help students?' she said rapturously. 'Pindy make presents to send to parents? Oh, sir, it would be an honour, it would!'

Remus held his breath, frightened that Sirius would say something unkind or drive away the well-meaning elf. Instead he shrugged. 'I guess you can help,' he said. He wagged his finger. 'But don't you forget that Master Lupin is in charge.' He rubbed his palms together and surveyed the assembled ingredients with interest. 'What do we do first?'

'First we wash our hands,' Remus said solemnly. Pindy eagerly escorted them to one of the large marble sinks, where they were able to do just that. Remus rolled up the sleeves of his robe, very glad that he did not need to fret about the scars thus exposed. When he was finished washing he moved back to the table.

'First we're going to grind the ginger,' he said, picking up a knobbly desiccated root and a paring knife.

'Best let me do that,' Sirius said, wresting them from his fingers. 'It looks a bit too much like potions-brewing, and I'd hate to have you poison your mother or something.'

Not long ago Remus might have been hurt or shamed by such an implication. Now, he grinned. 'Very well,' he said. 'We shall need about an ounce.'

While Sirius diced the root and ground it finely, Remus sifted together the powdered ingredients. Pindy watched rapturously, offering up measuring spoons as needed. Then it was time to work in the butter.

'With our fingers?' Sirius said skeptically.

'Isn't sir wanting to add the sugar first?' asked Pindy.

Remus shook his head. 'It's Mother's recipe,' he said. 'She never adds the sugar before the butter.' He grinned at Sirius. 'You'll enjoy it, I promise.'

He thrust his hands into the bowl and began to rub in the butter. 'Just take a little at a time and work it until it's crumbly,' he said. 'Go on.'

Sirius dipped one hand uncertainly into the bowl, poking at a bit of butter and rolling it until it was coated in flour. Then he smudged it against the side of the bowl and grinned as it spread like a starburst beneath his finger. A moment later he was working enthusiastically, grinning like a fool.

When they had a mass of gingery crumbs, Remus asked Pindy to measure out the sugar. This she did gladly, and soon the boys were working the mixture into a grainy mass.

Next they added treacle, though a great deal of it seemed to wind up on Sirius's face. Remus talked his friend through the beating of the eggs.

'I can see the appeal of making your own,' Sirius said cheerfully. 'Does your mum do this every Christmas?'

'Every single year,' Remus said. 'She learned how after she married my father. Auntie Lee…'

He stopped, wishing he could claw back the words. Caught up in the vague but merry memories of long ago, he had forgotten that he was not meant to speak about his father's sister. Father always looked so sad and bitter when her name arose, and it was best not to think of her at all.

Sirius, of course, was insatiably curious. 'Who's Lee?' he asked. 'I didn't know you had family. Extended family, I mean. Are there any cousins?'

Remus shook his head. 'I haven't an aunt anymore, either,' he said. 'Not really.' He focused his eyes on the stiffening mass of biscuit dough so that he would not need to see Sirius's expression. 'She… she didn't want anything to do with us after she found out what had happened to me.'

There was a stunned silence, and Sirius whistled quietly. 'That's just… I'm sorry, mate,' he said quietly. Then he bumped his floury knuckles against Remus's wrist. 'For what it's worth, you're better off without that sort of relation.'

'Maybe,' Remus conceded. 'But I don't think Father feels that way. He really looked up to her.'

'Well, she's not worth the worry,' said Sirius stoutly. 'I'd drop Druella in a minute if she decided I wasn't good enough for her. Come to think of it,' he added with a smirk; 'I'd drop Druella in a minute just for the fun of seeing her land.'

'It isn't quite the same thing,' Remus said, but he could not help smiling at the idea of Sirius's bony aunt landing in a heap of orange robes. 'Here,' he said. 'I think we're ready.'

Sirius watched in fascination as Remus sprinkled flour on the table until they had an area of about a square yard to work with. He took a lump of the dough and began to roll it flat. Sirius picked at a crumbling edge and popped a little orb of dough into his mouth.

'Mmm,' he said, closing his eyes with pleasure. He grinned. 'Why are we baking this, again?'

'Because if you don't bake it then it won't hold a shape,' said Remus simply. He picked up one of the cutters, tapped it in the flour and pressed it carefully into the dough. With a little wiggle, a gingerbread man came free.

Sirius let out a barking laugh. 'Would you look at that!' he crooned as Remus transferred the biscuit to the baking tray. 'Let me try.'

He imitated Remus's movements meticulously, and soon had a gingerbread boy of his own. 'I made one!' he cried, leaping a little in place and looking for all the world like a child who had just made some wondrous new discovery. 'I made it all on my own!'

'See?' said Remus. 'It's fun, isn't it?'

Sirius did not answer. His tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully positioned his punch again. Then he looked over his left shoulder at the house elf, who was watching almost wistfully. 'Get in here, you,' he said jovially. 'You're missing out on the best part, you know.'

Pindy very nearly fainted with happiness at the invitation, and soon all three of them were working with happy efficiency. Remus gathered the scraps of dough, kneaded them, and rolled it out again. This time they cut other shapes: stars and trees and bells. Sirius insisted on rolling the next lump of dough, and then wandered off to fetch a paring knife.

'What are you doing?' asked Remus.

'You'll see,' said Sirius, leaning one elbow on the table as he bent low and began to cut out freehand shapes. He managed something that looked rather like a squid, another that had a vague resemblance to a sheep, and something that actually looked like a passable Gryffindor lion. Then he considered his work with a critical eye, shrugged, and squished the freehand biscuits into a ball to be rolled out again. 'Using the cutters is more fun,' he said.

When the trays were full and the dough finished (Sirius ate the last Galleon-sized piece) Pindy fetched a dish of currants that they could press into the biscuits, forming eyes and buttons for the gingerbread men and Christmas baubles on the trees. Then the trays were carried to the ovens, and a few minutes later they had hot, fresh gingerbread biscuits.

'Ooh, may I have one?' Sirius asked, plucking with his fingertips at a faintly steaming gingerbread lady.

'Of course you may,' said Remus. He was sorting the best looking biscuits to one side; he would send them home to his parents. 'Don't burn your mouth.'

'Foo lafed,' Sirius mumbled thickly, parting his lips to draw in a cooling column of air. Remus chuckled softly as his friend, undaunted, devoured the rest of the biscuit.

The others they dusted with powdered sugar, and when they were cool Pindy produced a roll of waxed paper and a beautiful box made of gold card so that they could be packaged. They had made almost forty biscuits, and they wrapped up two dozen to send to Mr and Mrs Lupin.

'I'm not sure Mother will make biscuits this year,' Remus said softly as he tied a red ribbon around the box. 'She's working very hard at the Post Office, and anyhow real ginger is expensive.'

'Money's still tight, is it?' Sirius asked sympathetically.

Remus nodded. 'Father hasn't found work yet,' he said; 'and there's the note on the house to be paid every month. I don't think it's very efficient to be changing Muggle money to Galleons.'

'Well, lines at Gringotts can be a bit of a hassle,' Sirius allowed; 'but I'm sure if he went in the middle of the afternoon it would be quieter.'

'That's not what I meant,' said Remus. He moved to gather up the dishes, only to find that Pindy was already on the other side of the room, wiping the mixing bowl dry. 'The goblins don't like paper money: they don't give a favourable exchange rate.'

'Oh.' Sirius had clearly never considered this before. 'You don't think… I mean, they wouldn't be in danger of defaulting or anything, would they?'

Remus's throat tightened. 'I hope not,' he said. 'They wouldn't be in this position at all if it weren't for me.'

Sirius chuckled. 'Got a bit of a gambling problem, have you? Loose the family savings at the races?'

Remus shook his head almost imperceptibly. 'They spent it on me,' he whispered. 'Trips to the Continent looking for cures, potions when I gored myself, clothes and food and school things…'

'Money well spent, then,' Sirius said firmly. 'You can't tell me your Mum doesn't think so. She loves you to pieces. Besides,' he added, picking up another of the leftover biscuits and biting into it with relish; 'there are things money can't get you.'

Sirius insisted on sending Hermes with the biscuits and Remus's Christmas letter. Remus was reluctant at first, remembering what Mr Black had said about using the owl to write to the _wrong sort of people_, but in the end Sirius won him over by pointing out that his parents' owl had been sent to the Lupins' home before, and therefore there was a precedent. Hermes accepted the parcel gladly and even deigned to tolerate Sirius's stern lecture about taking care of his burden and avoiding any particularly heavy clouds that might make the gingerbread go soggy.

_~discidium~_

Lunch on Christmas Eve was a lavish cold affair: sandwiches and pastries and all manner of savoury treats. Remus nearly choked on a satsuma when one of the sixth years smiled sympathetically and said, 'What happened to your face, Lupin?'

'It was my fault,' Sirius said ruefully, not even waiting to see if Remus had an excuse prepared. 'We were having a snowball fight and I had the rather brilliant idea to ice one of mine over. I am sorry, mate. You know that, don't you?'

'It's nothing,' Remus said with a grateful smile. He was uncomfortable with his friends lying for him, but Sirius did so with such smooth ease that it almost didn't seem like a lie at all. 'It will fade in a few days.'

'Well, I think you're too patient with him,' said the older boy, nudging Remus in the ribs and winking conspiratorially. 'Got to keep him in his place after all.'

'Sure,' said one of the girls. 'It's not as if _he's_ the Quidditch hero.'

'Oh, you wait!' said Sirius with a saucy grin. 'This time next year you'll be worshiping the ground I fly over!'

This sent up a roar of laughter at the Gryffindor table that made Severus Snape, sitting at the far end of the hall with his back to the wall, startle alarmingly. Remus's eyes darted warily towards him, but he averted his gaze quickly before Sirius could notice that he was staring.

They spent the afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, where Remus taught Sirius how to make paper chains. Sirius proceeded to swath himself in the garlands and clamber up and down the furniture making howling noises and aping the Bloody Baron. Then he wandered off in search of a hot bath, which gave Remus an opportunity to hurry up to the dormitory and wrap his friend's gift.

After supper they played chess on the hearth rug while Sirius hummed Christmas carols and cheerfully sacrificed piece after piece in an aggressive (and unsuccessful) bid for checkmate. Between them they ate the rest of their gingerbread, and then toasted crumpets over the common room fire. When at last it was time to trundle up to bed they did so satiated, warm and happy. Remus waited until he heard Sirius breathing the slow, deep breaths of slumber, and then crept out of bed to plant his gift on his friend's trunk.

_~discidium~_

'Christmas! It's Christmas! It's Christmas Morning!'

The gleeful cheers woke Remus with a start. He sat up in the cozy gloom of his four-poster, scrubbing at his eyes, and was nearly blinded when Sirius yanked open the curtains and let in the golden sunlight.

'Are you up? Are you awake? I waited as long as I could!' he crowed. 'Oh, Remus, do get up and let's open some presents! It's Christmas Morning!'

Remus climbed out of bed, watching his friend prance around the dormitory and wondering sadly whether Sirius had ever before felt able to raise such a cheery ruckus in honour of the holiday. He remembered years when he had made such noises himself, though never with Sirius Black's gleeful vitality. There had been many happy Christmases at home, despite transformations and hard times. He couldn't imagine the same was true at the grand house on Grimmauld Place.

'Come on!' Sirius said eagerly. 'You've got six, you know. Best open them at once: you never know when somebody might send you a Kneazle or something!'

'I doubt anyone would send me a Kneazle,' Remus reasoned, moving to settle on the rug where Sirius had already heaped their gifts in twin piles. 'A Puffskin, perhaps, but not a Kneazle.'

'Personally I'm hoping for a baby dragon,' said Sirius. He crossed his legs and surveyed the brightly wrapped packages. 'Do we take it in turns, or just tear in?' he asked.

'Let's take it in turns,' said Remus. 'You go first.'

Sirius picked up a box and rattled it. 'It's from Peter,' he said happily, looking at the label. 'What d'you reckon? Every Flavour Beans?'

It was indeed, and Remus had an identical package among his presents. Next Sirius opened a pristinely wrapped parcel that contained three new linen nightshirts with pearl buttons.

'Grandmother and Grandpa,' he said, wrinkling his nose. 'Which means Grandmother, of course. She's always insisted on these silly things. This summer I'm buying a proper set of pyjamas. You know; one with trousers.'

Remus's next gift was wrapped in paper that had been carefully smoothed but still bore creases from last year. He turned it carefully in his hand and unwrapped it. A dozen neatly rolled pairs of black socks tumbled onto his lap: half of them cotton and half of them wool. He smiled: his store of such garments had been dwindling dangerously, and Astronomy was far more bearable when one had warm feet.

'From Mother,' he explained when Sirius gave him a puzzled look.

They continued in this vein for a while, slowly unwrapping one gift at a time and watching one another. Sirius had a box of spun-sugar Snitches and a book entitled _Becoming a Better Beater_ from James. Regulus had sent him a new set of Gobstones, which Sirius regarded skeptically.

'He'll only expect me to spend the whole summer playing with him,' he said, but Remus could tell from his expression that he appreciated the gesture.

Father had found a pair of very interesting-looking books on the magical influences on Norman Conquest which, though clearly second-hand, were very gently used and inscribed on the endplates with Remus's name. He also had a little box of chocolate truffles that Mother would have chosen. James had bought him an enormous package of Chocolate Frogs. There was also a book: _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Inside the front cover James had scrawled; _I know you don't play, but read it anyhow, and we can talk!_

Remus held his breath when Sirius picked up the present he had left for him. Sirius peeled off the paper, took one look at the cover of the magazine, and sprung to his feet with a whoop of delight.

'How did you get it?' he cried. 'How did you know? Oh, it's the very best one! And the latest issue, too! How'd you manage it?'

'Mother sent it,' Remus admitted. 'Do you like it, then?'

'Like it? I love it! Thank you! Thank you!' Sirius flopped back onto the floor, flipped open the glossy periodical, and began to read.

Remus waited patiently while Sirius turned the page. He still had two gifts left to open, and Sirius had three, but there was no need to rush. If Sirius wanted to read an article or two Remus could indulge him.

Sirius was three-quarters of the way through the magazine when Remus finally tired of waiting and cleared his throat. 'Do you think we ought to finish?' he asked.

'Finish?' Sirius hummed absently.

Remus smiled. 'You still have presents, you know.'

Sirius sat bolt upright, shuffling the magazine aside. 'So I do!' he said eagerly. Perhaps forgetting that it was not his turn, he reached for the next one and tore into it to reveal a large foil box. He removed the lid unceremoniously and peeled back the layers of tissue. The spicy scent of tanned dragonhide filled the dormitory, and Sirius howled with delight as he lifted out a glossy black Quidditch helmet.

'From Alphard,' he explained, donning it and buckling it under his chin. He struck a bold pose. 'How do I look?'

'Well protected,' said Remus. He could not resist leaning forward to rap his knuckles against the crown of the helmet. Sirius grinned at the resulting noise and let his tongue loll out. 'It seems you have everything you need for trials in September,' Remus said.

'Everything but practice,' said Sirius gravely. 'But we'll set that right as soon as James and MacFusty are back, won't we? Go on: open mine!'

He pointed at a large gift wrapped inexpertly in very expensive paper. Remus opened it carefully, pulling out a cloth case. It opened in three sections, and inside was a vast assortment of things. There was a drawing pad with coloured pencils, a brass ring-puzzle, a book of crosswords, a pocket backgammon board, a volume of trick photographs, a flat little box with sliding panels that formed a picture to unscramble, and an assortment of other small things – all of which were just the sort of activities to keep a person occupied in bed.

'There's a couple of empty pouches so that you can put in a book or two,' Sirius said eagerly. 'And smuggle sweets past Pomfrey. I thought… I mean, it must get awfully dull sitting around the hospital wing while the rest of us are in lessons. I thought this might give you something to do.' When Remus said nothing, Sirius frowned worriedly. 'Don't you like it?' he asked. 'I mean, I thought about buying you some firecrackers again, but you haven't used last year's yet, and…'

Remus raised his eyes to meet Sirius's. 'It's wonderful,' he said rapturously. 'But Sirius, it's far too expensive. I don't—'

'If you say you don't deserve it,' Sirius declared; 'then I shall spend fifty Galleons on your birthday present.'

Remus flushed a little. 'I don't know what to say,' he mumbled. 'Thank you.'

Sirius grinned radiantly. 'That's all you need to say,' he promised. 'Next present!' he cried, his attention shifting swiftly.

His next gift was, oddly enough, an alarm clock. It was the Muggle sort with the two bells and the crank on the back. Sirius turned it over in his hands, studying it carefully. 'It's from Drommie's Beater,' he said. 'Why would Tonks think I needed a clock?'

'Perhaps he felt you'd find it interesting,' Remus suggested.

Sirius nodded sagely. 'That must be it,' he agreed. 'Go on: you've still got one left.'

Remus could not imagine whom his last parcel was from. His parents had already given him more than they should have, and he had a gift from each of his friends. He picked up the squashy package wrapped neatly in flocked paper with a curling bow on top, and unwrapped it carefully. Inside he found a pair of bedroom slippers made of heavy velvet in Gryffindor crimson. His initials were embroidered on the tops. There was a card tucked into one of the toes, and he opened it, still rather perplexed. Then he smiled. It read:

_Happy Christmas, Remus!_

_Wishing you a day full of joy, and many nights of cozy warm feet to keep out the chill._

_Madam Pomfrey._

He tried the slippers on, happy to discover that they fit perfectly.

'Very smart,' Sirius said approvingly. He looked at his last gift and grinned. 'Well, here goes nothing,' he said.

Remus waited, wondering what Sirius's parents would have sent him. He hoped it was nothing unpleasant or embarrassing. Sirius obviously felt the same way, for he peeled back the emerald-coloured paper with care. His jaw slackened a little when he saw what it concealed: a set of Muggle screwdrivers, tweezers and other small tools, and a book entitled _Basics of Timepieces_.

It seemed the very antithesis of a gift from Walburga Black, but Remus glanced at the clock that Ted Tonks had sent, and suddenly understood.

'Check the inside cover,' he said. 'I'll bet it's from Andromeda.'

Sirius complied, clearly too bewildered to give a second thought to it. He read the neat inscription and laughed. 'So I can dismantle the clock and put it back together again!' he chortled. There was something about his grin that was a little forced, though he sounded earnest enough as he said; 'Drommie and her mad ideas! She knew I couldn't resist the urge to open that thing up, and now I can do it properly!'

Then he looked at the heap of discarded paper and the twin piles of gifts, and his smile faltered for an instant. Remus felt his own chest constricting painfully. He did not know what to say, but he felt he had to say something. Sirius's parents had not sent him a Christmas gift.

There was an awkward silence, and then Sirius snorted. 'Just like Mum,' he said. 'If I can't be bothered to get myself home, why should she be bothered to send anything by post?'

'I'm sorry,' Remus whispered. He could not imagine what it must be to have a mother who could not be troubled to send some token at a time like this. His own parents had obviously scrimped in order to send him his presents, and they had taken great care to find things that he would use and enjoy. 'I'm so sorry.'

Sirius's eyes hardened, grey as granite and colder than the frosty windowpanes. 'Do you really think I care whether they bother to send me something for Christmas or not?' he growled.

Remus ran his tongue along his lower lip. 'Do you?' he said softly.

'Of course I do,' Sirius whispered, crumpling in upon himself. The mask of impassivity crumbled, and he looked suddenly rather miserable. 'It's not the presents, you know. I mean, I've got everything I could possibly want and even if something came along that I didn't have I've got eighty-five Galleons tucked behind my socks that I could use to buy things. But… but it's what parents are supposed to do, isn't it? Send their kid a gift at Christmastime. Your mum and dad have hardly any money at all, and they managed to do for you.'

Remus looked at his treasured assortment of simple gifts and felt the tears prickling in his eyes. He did not let them fall. Sirius would misconstrue his sorrow as pity, and he would thrust up all of his defences again. Obviously the other boy needed to talk this through. Remus had to let him do it.

'And they love you, your parents,' Sirius said. 'I mean sure, your dad's a little cross and morose, but he cares about you. He wants you. And your mum…' He gestured vacantly, as if he could not find the words to describe Mrs Lupin. 'Then there's Mr and Mrs Potter. They're the sort of parents you never find in real life. They're – well, you've been to his house, if only for a little while. You know what it's like there. All bright and warm and full of something… something…'

Remus watched Sirius soberly. He knew what he was trying to say: the Potter home was filled with love and that special tranquility that came from the knowledge that one's family was safe and secure, healthy and provided-for and free to live a long and peaceful life together. But if he said that aloud it would be the undoing of them both.

'And even Peter,' Sirius said. 'He's got a mum and a dad that he obviously cares about. Stands to reason that they care about him.'

'I'm not sure of that,' Remus murmured. 'I mean, it's all true of his mother, but his father… Peter cares about him, but I don't know that he's around anymore.'

Sirius blinked twice, slowly, as he processed this. 'Did he tell you that?' he asked.

Remus shook his head. 'It was just the way he behaved when he found his father's medal in the Trophy Room,' he said. 'I had the distinct impression that Mr Pettigrew isn't as present as he ought to be.'

'Well, that's something anyhow,' Sirius said with a heavy sigh. He grimaced. 'That's sort of an awful thing to say, isn't it? That I'm glad at least one of my friends hasn't got a matched set of perfect parents?'

'I don't think it's awful,' Remus offered quietly. 'We all want to know that we're not alone.'

'Not alone,' Sirius echoed. His head tilted to one side, pensively. Then, as suddenly as the melancholy had struck it was gone. 'We're _not_ alone, are we?' he said, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders and grinning gleefully. 'We've got each other, and there's James too.'

'And Peter,' Remus agreed.

'And Peter!' said Sirius emphatically. 'And you and I are here for the holidays and we're not going to brood about Mum and we're going to work on our plans for the feast!'

Remus recognized the curl of his friend's lip that meant he was waiting for a characteristic protestation. 'Oh, I don't know if we ought to…'

'Of course we ought to!' Sirius declared, gathering up his gifts from the Tonks family and climbing to his feet. 'And while we're planning I've got a clock to dismantle!'

He deposited his presents on the bed and proceeded to dress for the day, belting out a lively chorus of _Joy to the World_ which, although he did not seem to know any of the words, filled the dormitory with a wonderful air of camaraderie and festive good cheer.


	70. Detention With Meyrigg

_Note: The results of the Missing Moments poll have been posted. The story itself will go live on New Year's Eve, barring any unforseen mischance. _

**Chapter Seventy: Detention With Meyrigg**

'And what did Dumbledore say?' James asked breathlessly. Beside him, Peter was staring with wide, horrified eyes at the two storytellers as if he did not want to believe what he was hearing.

Sirius shrugged, smirking indolently. 'Nothing,' he said. 'He just fished the turkey neck out of the punch bowl and helped himself to another gobletful.'

'Mmm. Christmas punch and turkey grease. Sounds delicious,' James said.

'He seemed to think so,' Sirius agreed soberly, waggling his eyebrows so that Remus could not quite stifle a snort of laughter.

'And you!' James exclaimed, turning on him. 'What did everyone make of your part in all this?'

'I'm sure I don't know,' Remus said innocently. 'Though I daresay Professor McGonagall was rather taken aback.'

'I'll just bet she was,' James chuckled. 'All this time she's had you down as the perfect little pupil, and now suddenly you're an accessory to exploding fowl. Must've shaken her faith in humanity.'

'Did you get detention?' Peter asked worriedly.

Remus shook his head. 'I suppose that she reasoned that if the Headmaster was going to overlook it she ought to do the same,' he said. 'Though she was shooting us some very nasty looks.'

'All part of the fun,' said Sirius philosophically. 'If you're not going to annoy _somebody_ then what's the point of being a nuisance?'

'And speaking of nuisances, remind me again why you didn't go aft—'

James fell silent and turned around in his seat as Professor Meyrigg entered the room. She crossed to her desk with swift, sure strides and favoured the class with a radiant smile. As Remus had expected she looked much the better for her absence: clear-eyed, invigorated and obviously prepared to plunge into the challenges of the new term. She led them through a lively revision session in which she managed to get every single pupil to participate. Not until the lesson ended and the class began to file out did her smile waver, replaced with a rather stern expression such as Remus had never seen her wear.

'Sirius, Remus, may I have a word with you, please?' she asked, crooking her finger and locking eyes with the taller of the two boys.

Sirius shrugged indolently and put on a lazy grin. He elbowed Remus and winked. Emboldened a little by the knowledge that he was not in this alone, Remus approached the teacher's table to face the consequences of his carelessness.

They never had returned to Meyrigg's office. Remus had intended to, and indeed had mustered Sirius to go with him on the twenty-seventh in order to replace the hook. That was when they discovered that somehow over the course of the full moon or the Christmas festivities it had disappeared. Remus did not know if it had fallen from his pocket, or if the house elves had found it when they took his robes for laundering, or if a magpie had somehow got into the dormitory and carried it off. He could not say with impunity that the thing had not sprouted legs and made a bid for freedom. Whatever the cause of its absence, the result was the same: there was no hope of disguising the fact that someone had broken into the Defence Against the Dark Arts Office. Remus was a little surprised that he and Sirius were the prime suspects, but he supposed he ought not to be. Sirius's reputation among the staff was legendary, and his own part in the Christmas Feast mischief had doubtless been discussed at length.

'You may run along, James. Peter,' Meyrigg said, wafting her hand at the other two boys. 'This doesn't concern you.'

'Actually, Professor, it concerns us very much,' said James. 'If our friends are about to be accused of something—'

'Did I say I was accusing them of something?' asked the teacher. 'I merely wanted to make an appointment to meet with them. Half past four,' she said firmly, her gaze moving from one guilty party to the next. 'In my office. I trust I need not tell you the way.'

'Yes, Professor. No, Professor,' Remus said meekly.

Sirius batted his eyelashes. 'You're up on the fourth floor, aren't you, Professor?' he asked.

Meyrigg did not seem amused. 'Half past four,' she repeated. 'You may go now. I would hate to have you running late for Professor Binns.'

'You're always so considerate, Professor,' Sirius said sweetly. 'Thank you: we do appreciate your looking out for our punctuality.'

Professor Merigg's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. She was not quite as skilled as Professor McGonagall when it came to holding back her smiles. 'Quickly, now. I've another class to prepare for.'

_~discidium~_

'On the whole I'd call it very promising,' Sirius whispered, leaning across the aisle towards James while Professor Binns droned on in blissful ignorance at the front of the room. 'She seems to be taking it the right way.'

'What exactly is the _right_ way to take the fact that a couple of impudent second years broke into your office over the break?' James asked with a grin.

'Hey, you were told that in confidence, not so you could shop us to the faculty!' Sirius snapped.

'Do hush,' Remus begged, eyeing their aged History of Magic teacher warily. Professor Binns was still engrossed in his lecture, but he was not deaf. If the others didn't quiet down a little they would surely be censured, and Remus had already had his fill of that for one day.

'I suppose you're going to do the right thing,' James said.

Sirius wrinkled his nose disdainfully. 'What? Fess up and admit it was us, beg for forgiveness, and then take our detention like a couple of perfect little lambs?'

'Detention?' Peter said worriedly. 'You'll not get detention, will you? I mean, I know you don't mind it, Sirius, but Remus has never really been in detention before. Not properly, that is. Not with a sane teacher…'

'Actually, I meant use the opportunity to press her for more information,' said James slyly. 'After all, when adults are riled up they're liable to let things slip. Anger's better than alcohol for that.'

Sirius snorted. 'How would you know? Often get your old dad drunk, do you?'

'We ought to just apologize and accept our punishment,' Remus put in. 'If we try to get anything out of her she'll know we're looking for something. As it is we might be able to make her think that we did it for a lark, or on a dare, or something silly and childish like that.'

'You might be content to be thought silly and childish, but I'm not!' said Sirius haughtily. 'Best she know that we're on to her, and James is right. Angry grown-ups are careless grown-ups.'

'But when she calms down she'll be twice as careful as before,' Remus pointed out. 'Then we'll never get anything out of her.'

'Ooh, fair point,' James said, bobbing his chin. 'He's got a fair point there, Black.'

Sirius let his eyes narrow and crossed his arms over his ribs. 'Well, I'll give you that,' he said. 'But on the other hand if we get enough out of her today it won't matter if she does try to cover her tracks better. It's a gamble, but I say we ought to risk it.'

'Always the risk-taker,' James agreed. 'But there's also the matter of ratcheting up your punishment. It's not just your neck on the line this time, you know. There's Remus to think about. His last run-in with a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher ended rather badly.'

'Yeah, but like Pettigrew says Alfstin wasn't sane,' Sirius said with a shrug. 'It's not as if Meyrigg's about to start having flashes of her time in the trenches at Ypres or something.'

'Her time in the trenches at what?' asked Remus, momentarily distracted by Sirius's nonsensical analogy.

'Ypres.'

'Spell it.'

Sirius did so and Remus had to press his lips tightly together to keep from laughing. This was what came, he supposed, of learning bits of Muggle history in secret without anyone to discuss it with. Anyone who might have corrected one's pronunciation, for example.

'You two have lost me,' James said, shaking his head.

'It was a Muggle battle,' said Remus with what he thought was admirable restraint. 'Almost sixty years ago. In France.'

'Belgium,' Sirius said, looking very pleased with himself.

'Well she couldn't have been there,' James snorted. 'She's not a day over thirty-ish.'

'That's my point, Potter,' Sirius said. 'She's not some mad old warlock: she's just a clever young witch who's done a bit of duelling and is clearly mixed up in something extremely interesting that draws her away from the school every weekend and all through the holidays.'

'I don't suppose there's a chance that it isn't interesting at all?' asked Peter. 'I mean, maybe nobody talks about it because there's not much to talk about.'

'Don't be daft!' scoffed Sirius. 'The very fact that she's taking the trouble to creep around like she does is proof that there's something to talk about! The very fact it's a secret makes it interesting.'

'I don't know,' Peter said. 'Sometimes secrets can be dead boring. My cousin Ralph – he's seventeen, you know, but he still lives with his mum and dad – said he had a secret hidden under his wardrobe, and it turned out to be nothing but a bunch of magazines.'

James sniggered into his hands, but Sirius nodded gravely. 'All right, so maybe some secrets are necessary rather than interesting,' he said. 'I certainly wouldn't want my mother to stumble over the one Remus gave me for Christmas, but that doesn't mean it holds the key to my innermost thoughts.'

'Are you sure?' asked James, rapping his index finger on Sirius's forehead. 'I'll bet if we opened up that skull of yours all we'd find inside is a pair of rubber tyres and a canister of petrol.'

Sirius smirked and stuck out his tongue. Peter giggled. Three rows ahead, Charlotte White turned in her chair and hissed at them for quiet.

Subdued a little, James and Sirius settled into a reasonable approximation of a studious posture.

'Bet Meyrigg's secret has more to it than a handful of dirty magazines,' James whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Sirius's head whipped round, amusement and intrigue warring with a desire not to reveal that innocent twist his mind had put to Peter's story had been anything other than a joke. He let out a soft puff of air, rolled his eyes, and grinned. 'Half past four,' he said, _sotto voce_. 'We'll see what we can root out.'

_~discidium~_

'You needn't be so nervous,' Sirius said as Remus tried for the fourth time to make the sleeves of his robe cover the cuffs of the Muggle shirt underneath. As happy and proud as he might otherwise have been to find himself growing taller, he did wish there were some way that his clothes could grow with him. He was beginning to look rather rangy and ill-kept, and he did not want anyone to think his mother neglectful. It was his fault, not hers: his fault that he was growing like a weed, and his fault that there was no money for new robes.

'I'm not nervous,' he fibbed. Catching himself, he coloured a little. 'Well, not terribly nervous.'

'Then explain to me why you're turning that awful shade of grey,' Sirius challenged. 'And you hardly touched your lunch. The pheasant tart was delicious, you know, and you didn't even try it.'

'I wasn't hungry,' said Remus. That, at least, was true. He had been so anxious over their impending meeting with Meyrigg that he had not felt equal to more than the most desultory nibbling. 'Do you suppose she'll be very angry? Do you think she'll write and tell our parents?'

He regretted the words the moment they passed his lips. For him, such a letter meant the shame of knowing he had disappointed his mother and father, who had worked and hoped and prayed so hard that he might be allowed to come to school. For Sirius, it mean Howlers at breakfast, angry abuse hollered at him from five hundred miles away – and who knew what else when next he went home.

But Sirius did not seem to be thinking along those lines. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. 'It'll be interesting if she is,' he said. 'I've never seen an angry Welshwoman before. I wonder if they keep their accent when they start spitting.'

Remus's mind was filled with a sudden image of Professor Meyrigg apoplectic and red-faced, spittle flying from her lips. Remarkably, the picture was comic in its improbability, and he felt himself breathing a little easier.

'Here we are,' Sirius said, stopping in front of Meyrigg's door and consulting his watch. 'Half past four with bells on. Shall we?'

With a last painful gulp of air, Remus nodded. Whatever was coming, he could cope with it. Meyrigg was not the sort to fly into a maddened rage, and in any case their crime was scarcely deserving of that. At worst they were guilty of housebreaking – _officebreaking_ – and trespass. They had not damaged any of her belongings; they had broken nothing but a rule. They had not put themselves or anyone else in danger. Surely Professor Meyrigg would be reasonable, and with the new moon only just behind him Remus was more than capable of working off a couple nights' detention.

Sirius reached out and rapped upon the door. It swung smoothly inward, revealing the room they had ransacked almost three weeks before. There was no noticeable difference in the décor, save that Meyrigg's small suitcase was leaning up against the desk and there was a new painting on the wall. This one seemed to depict the view from the mouth of a sandy cave, from which one could see the rocks of a wild shoreline and beyond them the foaming, seething mass of the sea stretching away to a pale horizon. Just beyond it a black column of smoke rose skyward, billowing and swaying in the wind and spreading at last into a dark canopy that appeared to radiate back towards the land.

Remus was so engaged in staring at the picture that he did not at once notice Professor Meyrigg, seated at her desk with her wand upon the blotter. 'Come in, gentlemen, please, and close the door,' she said graciously. 'Meetings with a teacher are a very private thing, and as a person who values her privacy I make it a policy to respect others' desire for it – even when the same courtesy is not afforded to me.'

Her calm voice and courteous demeanor made Remus's innards wrench in a way that a shouted scolding never would have done. Of course Professor Meyrigg would be hurt to find her sanctuary violated. He thought of the safety of the dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, and how it would feel to know that strangers had rifled through it, pawing at his things and trying to sniff out his secrets. Wretchedly he wished that he had tried a little harder to talk Sirius out of the whole unhappy misadventure.

Sirius, however, appeared impervious to guilt. He closed the door, his eyes flicking ever so briefly to the brass loop set in the post, and the hole where the hook had hung. He shambled up to stand before the teacher's desk, hands in his pockets and shoulders thrown indolently back.

'Well, Professor, how can we help you?' he asked.

Meyrigg studied his face carefully for a moment, as if trying to get a measure of him. She raised her wand and twitched it, and the two armchairs slid away from the fire, turning and skidding to a halt before her desk. 'Please sit down,' she said, eyes never wavering from Sirius. 'You as well, Remus. We have a good deal to discuss.'

With a wary glance at his friend Remus took the nearer chair, gripping the cushion beneath him and keeping his back very straight. Sirius, on the other hand, flopped down lazily, stretching his long legs out and letting his head rest against one of the wings. 'Very nice,' he said. 'That bench in McGonagall's office might almost lead one to believe that teachers don't much care for creature comforts, but I'm happy to say you prove me wrong on that one.'

'I'm glad that you're feeling at ease,' said Meyrigg. 'Now, then. I understand that the pair of you were up to a bit of mischief over the holiday.'

'Maybe a bit,' Sirius said lazily. 'But you know, Dumbledore laughed it off, and I'm told the house elves managed to make a pretty good show of setting his robes right again. Silk velvet can be nasty to clean, but they managed. And that fourth year who fainted was more scared than hurt – silly bird. 'Most everyone else had a good laugh about it.'

'So it seems,' said the teacher. 'But I wasn't referring to your antics on Christmas Day, Sirius, as I think you well know.'

'Oh,' said Sirius. He grinned enormously. 'Well, you know we didn't actually claim responsibility for that jape with the fairy lights, and pretty much _anyone_ could have managed that snowman in the Entrance Hall. Between you and me,' he added, leaning in to offer a conspiratorial whisper; 'I think it was Pomfrey.'

'Quite possibly,' said Meyrigg with admirable restraint. Most other teachers would have been either laughing or perplexed or extremely annoyed by this point, but she appeared to be keeping her composure beautifully. 'However, I do not think it was Madam Pomfrey who decided to have a quick riffle through my desk drawers, was it?'

'Now, I don't know,' Sirius declared. 'That doesn't seem like Matey at all, does it? Remus?' He turned in his seat, looking quizzically at the other boy. 'Does that seem like a trick that Pomfrey would pull?'

'How should I know?' Remus mumbled, wishing with all his heart that he could tell Sirius to close his mouth before he raised any awkward questions. Professor Meyrigg was not privy to his secret, and he preferred to keep it that way. It would never do to have her wondering why he might be closely acquainted with the matron.

'Only I've been in and out of the hospital wing for hex-related care all year,' Sirius went on airily; 'and she's never tried to rifle through _my_ drawers, desk or otherwise. Never asks questions, either, really.'

Meyrigg smiled ever so slightly. Remus was beginning to get the distinct impression that she was enjoying Sirius Black's performance. 'Perhaps not,' she conceded. 'However, Madam Pomfrey does not often find herself in the position of having been robbed, does she?'

'Robbed?' laughed Sirius. 'Were you robbed, then? Because I haven't caught anyone trying to fence little china shepherdesses, if that's what you're asking.'

'You're very observant, Sirius, but rather imprecise,' said Meyrigg. 'Only one of them is a shepherdess, though I would never have expected you to notice her in your brief stroll from the door to the chair.'

Sirius's cheeks pinkened a little as he realized he had been caught. 'Oh, I've got an eye for figurines, me,' he said, attempting nonchalance and not quite succeeding. 'I spend hours browsing the china stalls down Portobello Road.'

Meyrigg made a humming noise, one eyebrow quirking skeptically upward. 'At first I was puzzled,' she said; 'as to what might draw intruders to my office. Then it occurred to me that the nature of my arrangement with the Headmaster might raise some questions among the more audacious pupils at Hogwarts. Is there something you would like to ask me, Mr Black?'

Blinded by curiosity, Sirius did not notice that she had used his surname, nor indeed that her eyes were colder now than they had been a moment ago. Eagerly he shifted forward in his seat. 'Yes!' he said, snapping his fingers. 'Just what is _the nature of your arrangement with the Headmaster_? Where do you go at weekends? Why did you take such trouble to lock your office like that? What didn't you want us to find?'

Remus buried his head in one hand, unable to quite supress the moan raised by Sirius's guileless shedding of all pretence. They ought to have just come out and confessed, if he was going to let the whole thing spill out at the first hint of an answer.

Silence filled the office, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Sirius, realizing what he had said, slunk backward in his chair and drew one knee up to his chest. 'Uh… Professor?' he said. 'I don't suppose I could convince you not to take that as an admission of guilt, could I?'

'No,' said Meyrigg simply. There was a lilt to her voice now that went beyond the melody of her accent. She sounded pleased, almost triumphant, as if she had just had one of her fondest suspicions neatly confirmed. 'Now that we've established who it was that went around breaking into my office, perhaps we can decide what to do about punishment.'

'It was me,' Sirius said, sitting bolt upright and letting his foot slip to the floor with a soft _thump_. 'I did it all myself. The whole thing was my idea, and I snuck off while Remus was busy in the library and I pulled out the tack so the hook fell down, and I—'

'Sirius, don't,' Remus said softly. If he was going to be punished, he was at least going to accept it with dignity. After all, they had broken the rules. Whatever Meyrigg deemed suitable, he could bear it just as well as Sirius. 'I was the one who saw the tack, and I checked the bookcase, and I put everything back in the drawers when you were finished. It was both of us, Professor. We both broke into your office. We're… I'm very sorry.'

He tugged his palm away from his face, forcing himself to meet the teacher's eyes. She was watching him thoughtfully, her head tilted to one side. 'I'm very pleased to hear that,' she said. 'You have a very loyal friend, and it must have been tempting to let him shoulder the blame, especially when he offered so willingly.'

'Tempting, perhaps, ma'am,' Remus whispered. 'But it wouldn't be right.'

'No,' said Meyrigg. 'It wouldn't be right. And it would be none too clever, either.' She reached into the top drawer of her desk and drew out the brass hook with its bolt. 'I needn't tell you whose pocket this was found in, I suppose.'

'No, ma'am,' Remus said.

Sirius was scowling. 'That was a dirty trick!' he snapped. 'You were trying to get Remus to lie so that you could catch him at it!'

'It was not I who tried to take sole responsibility,' Meyrigg pointed out. 'And it wasn't a trap so much as a test – a test that Remus passed, I might add.' She smiled earnestly at him. 'You are quiet and unassuming, but loyal and truthful. I can certainly respect those qualities.'

'Thank you, ma'am,' Remus mumbled, bewildered. She was supposed to be scolding him for invading her office, not commending him on his honesty.

'Indeed, I can respect the candour both of you have shown,' said Meyrigg. 'Though perhaps you have dissembled a little, neither of you have lied to me. If you had done so I promise the consequences would have been grave.'

'Why don't you just tell us what the consequences are, and we'll decide whether they're grave or not,' Sirius said. 'If we'd been caught rummaging through McGonagall's things she'd still be ranting about respect and privacy and off-limit files and things. If we'd tried it on Filch he'd be threatening to string us up by our toenails. Flitwick would fob us off with a night of trophy-polishing or something, and when we did the same thing to Dumbledore he just waggled his eyebrows. So what are you going to do about it?'

'I see I'm not the only one taking the opportunity to get a measure of somebody,' said Meyrigg. 'Well, Sirius, let us see. You broke into my office. You moved my duelling trophy a good three inches to the left. You obviously made a very thorough search of my desk, and from the marks on the bookcase it looks like you tried to pry it from the wall. Why didn't you look _inside_ the books, by the way? I've been wondering that all day.'

'Inside the books?' Sirius asked, his head whipping around towards the shelves in the corner. 'Why? Should I have done? What's inside your books?'

'A great deal of interesting information, though not about me,' said Meyrigg. 'I only ask because it's the first place I would check if I were looking for secret documents – or a holiday itinerary, or a diary of someone's darkest thoughts.'

Sirius's jaw slackened a little. 'You were spying on us!' he said. 'You were listening in! How? How did you…' His eyes migrated to the picture behind her head, in which the Phoenix atop the gatehouse was watching him with eyes like glowing coals. 'That painting, damn it. It is a proper portrait, after all.'

'I would have thought, growing up as you did, that you would appreciate the danger of underestimating portraits,' Professor Meyrigg said mildly. 'There's one in the Headmaster's office that has a great deal to say about you, you know.'

Sirius glowered. 'I know,' he groused. Then his eyes narrowed. 'But how do _you_ know?'

'He had some interesting remarks to add to my conversation with Professor Dumbledore on the topic of my two trespassers,' said Meyrigg. She smiled. 'You see, Sirius: when you simply _ask_ the questions you will find it much easier to get the answers. There's no need to go about rummaging through my quills and moving my papers.'

'All right then!' Sirius said, thrusting out his jaw defiantly. 'Answer me this: where do you go at weekends?'

'I go south,' said Meyrigg. 'Ordinarily I stop off in London in the small hours of Saturday, and from there I Apparate home to the family estate near Llanmadoc – usually before noon. I return by way of Hogsmeade late on Sunday evening.'

'Do you really expect me to believe that all this secrecy is just to cover up the fact that you go home to check on the ghillie?' Sirius asked.

'Gamekeeper,' Meyrigg corrected. 'We don't call them ghillies in Wales: that's Scots.'

'It's all the same thing,' Sirius said, rather disdainfully.

'He doesn't mean that, Professor,' Remus interceded. 'What he means is that he's never bothered to learn much about other parts of Britain: he's been too busy learning about motorcycles and Muggle wars and things.'

Sirius smirked. 'And what's wrong with that?' he asked.

'Not a thing,' said Meyrigg. 'I've often thought we in the magical community might learn a great deal from Muggle history, if we took the trouble to look at it. I'm pleased to see you've taken an interest, Sirius. And, I must say, a little bit surprised.'

Sirius's smile shifted into a tormented grimace. 'You don't know my parents, do you, Professor?'

Meyrigg shook her head. 'I have had some dealings with your grandfather,' she said. 'Though I would not call our acquaintanceship friendly. But the Blacks, like the Welsh, have a certain reputation that precedes them.'

Again Sirius flushed. 'Hey, it's Potter who likes to make the Welsh jokes,' he said. 'Comes from living too close to the border, I think.'

'Oh, don't worry: I'll not take offence,' said Meyrigg. 'After all, we have our sayings about English wizards too, you know. And it always did amaze me how quick they are to forget that Merlin himself was Welsh.'

'You know, I'd never thought of that,' Sirius said, clearly impressed. 'Is he any relation, then?'

Meyrigg laughed. 'Not all of us can trace our pedigrees back into antiquity,' she said. Her eyes twinkled as she added; 'Though I'm not denying it's possible.'

Sirius chuckled appreciatively. 'If I had a chance at an ancestor like that I'd take it in a minute,' he said. 'Sod modesty and probability.'

'Ah, well. It's not my way,' said Meyrigg. She folded her hands on her blotter and sat back in her chair. 'Now, as to your punishment. Obviously I need to do something, for we have to discourage this kind of behaviour. I had thought to dock fifteen points from Gryffindor—' Sirius groaned. '—but I am under the impression that there is a particular Prefect who would be most distressed by that. Therefore I think we'll make it one night's detention in remuneration for one night's snooping. That sounds fair, doesn't it?'

'Very fair, Professor,' Remus said before Sirius could try to beg off on his behalf.

'Not the trophy room, I hope,' Sirius said. 'I've spent enough time in there trying to find you on the Quidditch plaques – where you don't appear, I might add!'

'Oh, I do,' said Meyrigg. 'I certainly do. But no, not the trophy room. I'd like you both to report to my classroom at eight o'clock this evening. If you have a favourite quill you may bring it along.' She picked up her wand and jabbed it at the door, which swung open. 'You have a couple of hours for homework and supper,' she said. 'I suggest you take advantage of them. I don't believe in keeping students up until all hours of the night, whatever the infraction. Growing boys need their sleep.'

Remus found himself tugging once more at his cuffs, wondering whether Meyrigg had noticed. But he got to his feet and thanked her, then waited while Sirius did the same, more blithely. Not until they were halfway back to the Gryffindor common room did he realize that Meyrigg had not really answered any of Sirius's questions. They knew where she went, but not why – nor indeed what she did while she was away that left her so happy and rejuvenated afterwards. And nothing they had heard explained why Dumbledore and Hagrid seemed to treat it as a secret, nor why Professor McGonagall seemed inclined to worry when Meyrigg was away.

_~disdicium~_

Just before eight o'clock the four friends loitered in the corridor around the corner from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Remus had come prepared with a fresh roll of parchment, a pot of ink, and his best quill, but Sirius had disdained such concessions.

'She's bound to set us lines,' he had said as they left the dormitory. 'And if she's going to do that she might as well provide the materials. No sense in making it too easy for her.'

Now they stood waiting for the stroke of the hour, since both Sirius and James seemed to agree that turning up early to detention was disgraceful behaviour for seasoned troublemakers. Remus rather thought they ought to try to make a good impression, but his protestations had been neatly overruled.

'See if you can't do a little better this time,' James said. He had not been impressed by the dearth of information they had gathered in their meeting with Meyrigg. 'She'll be supervising you: get up a proper conversation. It's not enough to know where she goes – assuming that's even the truth. We need to know _why_ she goes!'

'It's the truth,' Remus said quietly. 'She wouldn't lie: she said she values honesty.'

'Maybe that was a lie, too,' said Sirius with an impish grin. 'Ever think of that? You're entirely too trusting, Lupin.'

'You'd better go,' said Peter nervously. 'I know you don't want to be early, but it wouldn't do to be late.'

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but James waved him off. 'He's got a point,' he said. 'You can test Meyrigg's limits another time, but tonight you've got to be considerate. It's Remus Lupin's inaugural detention,' he said fondly. 'It's a moment to cherish forever.'

Remus knew better than to protest that he had, in fact, been given detention before. It had been assigned by an unstable teacher and stricken from his permanent record, and the others seemed happy enough to forget it. He only wished that he could, too.

Sirius was strolling down towards the classroom, whistling _Heart of Oak_ as he went. Remus hurried after him, startled but not surprised when his friend threw open the door without bothering to knock.

'Ah, perfectly punctual,' Professor Meyrigg said with an air of hearty satisfaction. She was standing at the front of the room, where she had pushed too desks together so that the chairs faced one another. There was a bright candelabra on one desk, and each held a glass inkwell filled with red fluid. 'I see you've brought a quill, Remus,' she said. 'Sirius, you may choose one of mine.'

Sirius made a great show of picking through the selection on the teacher's desk, while Remus sat down and tucked his parchment and ink pot under his chair.

'What shall we write?' Sirius asked as he took the seat opposite his friend. '_I will not meddle in the affairs of teachers_? _Breaking and entering is for Slytherins? _Or maybe just _I must obey the rules of this institution like a good little boy_?'

'You'll not be writing lines,' Meyrigg said, setting down a square of parchment before each of them. It bore a column of numbers, beside each of which was a letter.

Sirius picked it up, holding it to the light as if looking for a hidden watermark. 'Code breaking?' he asked.

Meyrigg smiled and shook her head. 'My first years sat an exam this afternoon, matching terms. You're going to grade them.'

She produced a large pile of parchment and set it between the two boys. 'Just a simple tick next to each correct answer. Circle the incorrect ones. Tally the grade at the top of the sheet, and if you like you may make an encouraging comment. If any of the comments are _inappropriate_, Sirius, you will lose Gryffindor thirty points and spend the next month in the trophy room.'

'We're grading the firsties' exams?' Sirius asked incredulously. 'But there's more than a hundred of them!'

'One hundred seventeen,' Meyrigg agreed. She offered them another smile. 'I think you'd best get stuck into it.'

Then, to Remus's alarm and Sirius's astonishment, she left the classroom, closing the door behind her.

Sirius let out a great guffaw of laughter. 'She's not even going to watch us?' he asked. 'Why, we could take off to the dormitory and she'd never know the difference.'

'She would when she found the exams weren't graded,' Remus said, taking a sheet from the top of the pile and dipping his quill in the carmine ink. He set the answer key off to one side and began to move down the page, making small ticks as he went.

'This is ridiculous,' Sirius snorted. 'Second years grading first year exams. I've never heard the like.'

'There's nothing to puzzle over,' Remus said. He was already at the bottom of the page, and he swiftly counted up the correct answers before copying the total neatly at the top. He wrote _Well Done!_ beside it: the student had only made two mistakes. 'Just match the letters on the page to the letters on the answer sheet. And do be kind with your remarks: they're only firsties.'

'They're not getting remarks from me,' Sirius snorted. He snatched a page and dipped the borrowed quill. 'I've never heard of such a foolish detention.'

Sirius continued to grumble all through the ninety minutes it took them to work their way through the pile. After a while, Remus found himself tuning out his friend's humorous grousing. He found himself rather enjoying the steady rhythm of marking the papers, and he liked thinking of something kind to write on each one. The students who did well were easy enough: _Excellent, Bravo, _and _Well Done_ served for them. The half dozen who made no mistakes were treated to an exclamation of _Perfect!_ and three neat little stars. It took more creativity to encourage the underachievers to apply themselves, but he was quite proud of his results. On one exam, particularly, when he discovered only eight correct answers, he wrote _Very sound grasp of basic jinxes! Do read Chapter Twelve again_. He felt it struck the right tone: praise where it was due, and a firm suggestion for improvement.

Despite the extra time he put into his marking, he came out ahead of Sirius and completed more than two-thirds of the pile. When the last paper was marked, he took Sirius's exams and went through them to add comments as well.

'You don't need to do that, you know,' Sirius snorted. 'Nobody ever looks at those exams when they come back.'

'I do,' Remus pointed out. 'And I like to be told when I've done well.'

'What about that idiot who only got three right?' asked Sirius. 'How do you only get three right? This stuff is so simple that Peter could do it.'

'Don't be unkind,' Remus said. 'Peter did perfectly well in Defence Against the Dark Arts last year. Better than I did, I think.'

'Only because Alfstin hated you,' said Sirius. 'He never did stand for timid children. Wonder why he never cottoned on to Pettigrew. He's at least ten times more timid than you.'

'It's because I caught his attention on the first day,' Remus mumbled, keeping his eyes on the paper in front of him. 'When he talked about how a knee-reversing hex wouldn't stop a werewolf I… I startled. He thought it was because I was afraid of werewolves.'

'When really you didn't like the idea of somebody using a knee-reversing hex on you?' asked Sirius.

Remus shook his head. 'When all I could think about is how it _wouldn't_ stop a werewolf. How it wouldn't stop me from biting someone. I… I don't know what would, and that frightens me, Sirius.'

'Aw, pish!' Sirius said gaily, twining his fingers behind his head and leaning back so that his chair was balanced on its two rear legs. 'You'd never bite anyone, and anyway you'd never get the chance. That old house is burglar-proof, isn't it? Unlike Meyrigg's office.'

Remus raised his eyes to see if the mischievous expression was indeed spreading across Sirius's face. 'Oh, no,' he said, grinning in spite of himself. 'No, are you mad? We've already been caught once.'

'Which is precisely why she'll never expect a second attempt,' Sirius said philosophically. 'I'm still convinced that there's a secret door in there somewhere, and between the four of us surely we can find it. You and I were undermanned last time, that's all.'

Long after they had left the exams on Professor Meyrigg's desk and made their way back to the dormitory, Remus found himself wondering contentedly at the gleeful audacity of Sirius Black.


	71. A Dangerous Game

_Note: First of all, a little bit of housekeeping__. The new Missing Moment is posted. It is entitled 'His Overcharged Soul'. I'm thinking of running another poll very soon, for a Leap Day post, so read and review the new story and start thinking about options you'd like to see on the next poll. Second... full moon tonight!_

**Chapter Seventy-One: A Dangerous Game**

As it turned out, Sirius and James did not immediately turn their attention towards planning a second visit to Meyrigg's office. They were distracted first by preparing for Gryffindor's upcoming match with Ravenclaw, and then by an unpleasant brush with the Slytherins that occurred one afternoon while Remus was busy helping Peter with his Herbology essay. It clearly did not come out entirely in favour of Sirius and James, for neither of them would expound upon it in detail. Remus reflected uncomfortably that he was probably happier not knowing, but his mind only filled in the gaps with lurid imaginings too improbable to be anywhere near the truth. In any case, they spend the last three nights before the Quidditch match in detention, which James insisted was a ploy on the part of Professor Flitwick to ensure his team's victory by depriving Gryffindor's star Chaser of crucial practice time.

Every time he said that, Sirius laughed so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. He was in a sublimely good mood in those early days of January, and Remus wondered whether that meant he had managed, in the mysterious skirmish with the Slytherins, to exact some kind of revenge against Severus Snape at last. The lonely Slytherin boy had kept very much to himself over the Christmas break, and Remus had managed to keep Sirius happy and occupied throughout. He wasn't sure why Sirius didn't tire of his company the way that James did when there was no one else around, but he was glad that he didn't.

The full moon in January fell on a Thursday. James, Sirius and Peter skived off of charms so that they could spend an hour and a half with Remus before he had to go down to the Willow. At noon the following day Sirius appeared at the door to the little isolation room, pressing Madam Pomfrey with questions that the matron, fortunately, was able to field with little assistance from her semiconscious patient. Through the haze of potions and pain and exhaustion Remus managed to smile for Sirius, and he had a dim memory of his friend squeezing his hand and murmuring something reassuring. By the time he awoke again it was night, and all three of his friends were waiting to see him. They lingered as long as Madam Pomfrey would allow them to, and they returned the next morning to spend Saturday with him in the hospital wing. He was released on Sunday afternoon, already much improved and slowed down only a little by the ache in a tendon behind his left knee that the wolf had nicked rather badly in a frenzy of gnawing.

On Monday morning Remus sat in his desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom watching Professor Meyrigg, energized and radiant as she always was at the beginning of the week, as she strode up and down the front of the classroom lecturing on Manchurian water demons. There was a curious note to her voice, and her eyes kept scanning slightly above the heads of the pupils as if she was having difficulty focusing on the task at hand. Nevertheless she was smiling and appeared healthy and well-rested. When Remus hung back to hand in Friday's assignment she greeted him pleasantly.

'It's lovely to have you back, Remus,' she said as she tucked the sheet of parchment into her case. 'I trust your friends have passed along all of the relevant course notes?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said quietly. He found himself scrutinizing her face in search of the faintest hint of disapproval or insincerity, but he found neither. He had not been certain that she would forgive his act of trespass, and had been studiously avoiding her since the evening of his detention.

'Well and good,' said Meyrigg with a small nod. She eased herself into her chair with a little more care than was her wont and smiled broadly at him. 'I wanted to mention that Wendell Jacobs has been to see me for help on Shielding Charms.'

'Professor?' said Remus. He had no idea who Wendell Jacobs was or why the teacher would feel it necessary to inform him of the boy's interest in remedial lessons.

'On his start-of-term revision exam he did very poorly on that section, and his grader remarked that he might wish to apply his focus there since he is already well-versed in jinxes.'

'Oh.' Remus's eyes widened a little with the realization that Jacobs must be one of the firsties whose papers he had marked while in detention. 'That's… that's good then, isn't it?'

'Very good,' Meyrigg agreed. 'In fact I have to say that you did a lovely job all around. Your comments were encouraging and they were useful – which is every bit as important. I have been meaning to thank you for the effort you put into your work.'

It seemed strange, Remus thought, to be commended for doing well in detention. Nevertheless he ventured a small smile. 'I'm afraid it wasn't much of a punishment, Professor,' he said. 'I rather enjoyed it.'

'Ah, well,' Meyrigg said with a wry glimmer in her eyes. 'I'm sure that Sirius found it all dreadfully dull, and that was the point of the exercise. You haven't nearly his penchant for mischief and didn't warrant heavy punishment. Do be careful in future not to let yourself be led into trouble, Remus. It's easy enough to do when you've a pair of such strong-willed friends, but if I might offer you the benefit of my years I would suggest learning how to say "no".'

'Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor,' Remus said reflexively. His insides, however, were squirming with unease. He knew that it was valuable advice, but he also knew that he wasn't going to take it. With the Quidditch match and the transformation behind them Sirius and James were already working on ideas for invading Meyrigg's office, as Sirius put it, 'properly'. If they wanted to include him in those plans he would certainly go along with it. Sirius had made a great point of boasting to James and Peter of Remus's cleverness in finding a way into the office, and the others had applauded him. Detention seemed far less fearsome now than it had before, and what was a little punishment, after all, compared to the feeling that he was wanted and needed and welcome?

'One more thing,' Meyrigg said after a pensive pause. Remus, startled out of his guilty musings. 'Regarding your absences. I couldn't help but notice that they're becoming something of a regular occurrence, Remus. Are you expecting them to continue?'

His mouth went dry. If he said yes, then it would show that his problem was chronic and predictable. If he denied it, he would be shown to be a liar – or at least mistaken – and she would watch him all the more carefully for it. A ghost of the old terror reared up within his chest, and he drew in a thin tendril of air through each nostril. 'I'm… I'm not certain, Professor,' he said; 'but I think it's likely to happen again.'

Meyrigg sighed softly and nodded. 'Well, in future we shall just forget about missed assignments of this sort,' she said, nodding at her case. 'When I set you an essay I shall still expect you to finish it, but you needn't worry over these little pages of questions while you're away. You have been doing so well, and your work is so consistent that I don't think either of us need fret over the odd bit of classwork. And as for longer papers, if you need extra time to finish them do let me know.'

Remus was stricken momentarily dumb. He had been expecting a barrage of awkward questions. To be gently and tactfully excused of his schoolwork was not only unforeseen but rather peculiar. The last time a professor had made such an allowance he had taken it as immediate evidence that his secret was out – and he had been right.

'Have you been speaking with Professor Dumbledore?' he asked hesitantly.

'Professor McGonagall, actually,' said Meyrigg. 'You mentioned that she's been looking out for you, and when you weren't in class on Friday I took it upon myself to inquire after you.' She curled one lip in wry amusement. 'I was very firmly informed that the cause of your absences is confidential, but that Professor McGonagall is well aware of the situation and that others have the matter firmly in hand. Still, Remus, if there's anything that I can do to make things easier for you I am happy to do it. It's difficult enough to cope with being twelve years old, without having to worry about whatever it is that's been taking you out of lessons.'

He was not sure what to say to this. Gratitude for her tact and the undeserved respect she was showing for his privacy warred with remorse and the ingrained instinct for alarm. His jaw flapped soundlessly, and he could not muster a proper reply.

Thankfully he was spared when someone behind him coughed pointedly.

'Professor? Are you done with him or what?'

It was Sirius, of course, leaning on the doorpost with a lazily insolent grin on his face. He studied the back of his left hand, flexing his fingers. 'History of Magic, you see. I know how you like us to be punctual.'

Without a breath of hesitation Meyrigg smiled. 'To be sure, Sirius. You may run and tell the others that your friend will join you shortly.' She waited until Sirius launched himself out of the doorway and ambled lazily off before turning back to Remus. 'You're all very interested in one another's welfare,' she remarked.

'I have good friends,' Remus murmured, unable to quite keep the awe from his voice. There were moments, like this, when he still could not quite believe it all.

'Do think about what I've said, Remus,' Professor Meyrigg told him. Then with one last smile she waved him off.

James, Peter and Sirius were lurking just around the corner from the classroom door. `What was all that about?' asked James.

Remus wasn't certain how much of the conversation he wanted to disclose. The next class was beginning to fill the corridor and he started off towards Professor Binns's room without an immediate reply.

'No you don't,' Sirius warned, striding up beside him and nudging Remus with a companionable elbow.. 'What did Meyrigg want?'

'She said I needn't trouble with the little daily assignments when I'm away,' Remus said.

'Away for what?' asked Peter.

'You know,' James said pointedly. '_Away_.'

'Oh!' Peter nodded knowingly. 'I thought maybe you meant Remus was going home to visit his mum or something, since he didn't see her at Christmas. Only he doesn't go _away_ at all, does he? Not really.'

'Don't you try and get all precise about language,' Sirius said. 'You're the one who noticed there were _less_ oranges than usual on the table this morning.'

'Yeah,' James agreed. 'When even I know you've made a gaff, it's a pretty bad one.'

'Oh, don't tease,' Remus said, bumping against Sirius and clicking his tongue. 'It's a simple enough mistake.' In truth, he had been about to correct Peter, quietly and politely, when James had cut in – less than kindly. Meyrigg had said that it was just as important for a remark to be useful as it was for it to be encouraging, but where Peter was concerned Remus had found that such comments were only useful _if _they were encouraging. If Peter was made to feel stupid or foolish he was less likely to remember anything that was said to him, and therefore more inclined to make the same error in future.

'Aw, Pettigrew doesn't mind – do you, Pettigrew?' Sirius laughed, reaching down to ruffle Peter's hair. Peter danced out of the way, flushing scarlet and trying to smooth the limp blond locks back into place. They had reached the classroom door by now, and they slipped quietly into their seats near the back. Professor Binns was already embarking on the day's lecture, and he did not even seem to notice the latecomers. Lily Evans, however, looked up from her notes and frowned in disapproval.

_~discidium~_

'I've been giving the matter a great deal of thought,' James announced that afternoon as they stepped out into the snowy courtyard; 'and I've decided that we need to give serious thought to the matter of a name.'

'Serious thought, is it?' said Sirius, cocking his head to one side. 'Why this sudden urgency? I mean, we've been getting along just fine as the Second Year Boys in the Third Dormitory up until now, haven't we?'

'I suppose,' James said. 'But it's awkward and it's wordy and – although at the moment very accurate – it doesn't have much of a future. After all, we'd only have to change it in September, and somehow _Third Year Boys in the Third Dormitory_ doesn't have quite the same melodic ring to it.'

'Well, then, what do you suggest?' asked Sirius.

'I was thinking Gryffindor United,' James said thoughtfully, kicking at a powdery drift.

'Ooh, I like it!' Peter said. He struck a heroic pose. 'Gryffindor United!' he cried.

'It sounds like a battle yell,' Sirius groused. 'Or a Quidditch team. Surely we can do better than that.'

'Well, what do _you_ think we should be called?' James demanded.

Sirius shrugged. 'Names aren't my area,' he said. 'All of my creative faculties are occupied in thinking up a way to fool that phoenix painting in Meyrigg's office. It's only going to tip her off again, you know, the minute we try to break in again.'

'I've been thinking of that,' James said. 'Dumbledore puts a cloth over his portraits when he doesn't want them listening in. He did it that time he brought us in to talk about Remus's situation. Problem. Thingummy.'

'While you're at it, dream up a less suspicious way to say that, too,' Sirius snorted. A small group of first years hovered nearby, watching James Potter adoringly. Sirius wafted a derisive arm at them. 'Get out of here and stare at something else,' he said irritably. 'It's rude to be listening in on the conversations of your betters.'

The firsties scattered, and James frowned at his friend. 'You know, it's remarks like that which give rise to the popular opinion that you're only masquerading as a real Gryffindor.'

The hurt that flickered briefly through Sirius's eyes darkened into a scowl. 'Oh, shut it,' he said. 'I meant betters as in we're older than them, not betters as in social superiors, and you know it.'

'Of course _I_ know it,' James said with an affable smile. 'It's how it sounds to everyone else that you need to be thinking about.'

'Public opinion isn't nearly as important to me as it is to you,' Sirius said stiffly, but Remus could tell that he had been wounded by James's words.

'Why don't we go down by the lake,' he suggested. 'We'll have more privacy there and we can try to settle on a good name for our group.'

'Sure, why not?' Sirius sneered. 'We could be James Potter and the Incredibly Inoffensive Nancies.'

'Aw, get out of it!' James laughed.

'Try and make me!' said Sirius.

A moment later they were tumbling about on the cobblestones, grappling with one another and shouting creative and increasingly playful insults while they laughed and let out mock howls of pain. A knot of older girls stopped their gossiping to stare, horrified, at the spectacle. Remus and Peter took several careful steps back, watching in helpless bewilderment.

'Do you think we ought to stop them?' Peter asked timidly.

Remus watched as Sirius took a fistful of James's wild dark hair and used it to waggle his head from side to side. James countered by reaching into Sirius's cloak to pinch him under the ribs. 'I think we'd best let them wear one another out,' he said, retreating a little further to settle on one of the stone benches.

'What is going on here?' cried an irate female voice. Dorcas Meadowes came striding from one of the archways, robes billowing around her as her Prefect's badge glittered orange in the afternoon light. 'Black! Potter! Stop this at once! _Stop it_, I say!'

James released his hold on Sirius, straightening up and attempting to look dignified. Sirius seized the opportunity to ram him, but expecting resistance he misjudged the strength required. James went flying into a heap of snow and Sirius fell down on top of him with a loud grunt.

Dorcas closed the distance between them with four quick strides and clamped thumb and forefinger on Sirius's ear, hauling him to his feet.

'Ow, Meadowes, geroff!' Sirius yelped, dancing after her to relieve the pressure on his ear. He swatted at her wrist and somehow wrenched his head free. Retreating two paces from her, he cupped a hand over each ear. 'We were only playing.'

'He's right,' James said, getting to his feet and dusting off the seat of his robes. 'All in good fun.'

'Oh, I see,' said Meadowes, scathing sarcasm in her voice. 'All in good fun, until you crack your tailbone or he takes a fist to the mouth or one of the Slytherin Prefects catches you at it and dock Gryffindor forty points for brawling in the courtyard! This kind of behaviour just isn't funny, Black, and if you're going to indulge in it at least have the decency to go out behind the Quidditch Pitch where no one can see you!'

'I would,' Sirius said. 'Only the ground out behind the Quidditch Pitch is all occupied by fifth years sneaking off for a snog. Why are you singling me out, anyway? Potter started it.'

'Oh, did I?' James countered. He was trying to look indignant, but the urge to laugh kept coming over him in spastic waves that contorted his face until it was absolutely impossible to take him seriously. 'Seems to me that you're the one who grabbed _me_.'

'After _you_ took exception to my suggestion for a group name,' said Sirius.

'Because you _clearly _weren't putting any real thought into it!' James protested, giggling. 'I mean, come on. _The Incredibly Inoffensive Nancies_?'

'Well, seemed to fit with your stand on talking to first years,' Sirius said, shrugging indolently.

Up until this point Meadowes had been listening to the exchange with a sort of long-suffering expression on her face. Now she threw up her hands and made a noise of disgust. 'You two deserve each other,' she said. 'No more wrestling in the courtyard _or_ the corridors _or_ the common room _or _the second-floor girls' loo!'

Sirius's rather wicked expression clearly communicated that she had omitted several prime locations for staging another such disturbance. Cognizant of this, Dorcas snapped her fingers right under his nose. 'Nor anywhere else you're likely to be caught!' she added.

'Well, you heard her, mate,' Sirius said, brushing his hands on the front of his robes and straightening the ornate clasps of his cloak. 'It's off to the Forbidden Forest if we want to settle this like men!'

The Prefect's noise of exasperation was lost in a distant wailing sound that cut through the frosty air and chilled Remus's blood. Everyone in the courtyard stiffened, and as the noise shifted to a chorus of panicked screams Dorcas whipped out her wand and bolted for the gate that led out onto the grounds.

'What the devil is that?' Sirius asked, staring perplexedly after the Prefect as the other students followed after her.

'Don't know,' James said, ears pricked as he tried to pick out the words that were being shouted. Remus was striving to do the same, but he could not decipher anything from the commotion on the other side of the high stone wall.

'Perhaps we ought to go and see if we can be of any help,' he suggested.

'I think we're better off right here,' said Peter nervously. They could hear Dorcas now, bellowing for order and sending someone off to fetch Professor Flitwick.

'Why Flitwick?' Sirius asked. He turned to look at each of his friends in turn. 'Come on, let's go!'

James nodded firmly and Remus got to his feet. 'You can stay if you want to,' he said softly, seeing Peter's anxious expression.

'Not if you all go,' Peter said. He was trying very hard to look brave, but a panicked sob ripped skyward and he scuttled close to Remus, eyes wide. 'What was that?'

'It sounds as if someone's been hurt,' Remus said, quickening his pace as he followed James and Sirius around the corner and out onto the grounds.

The scene of the disturbance was immediately apparent. A throng of students were gathered on the slope below the Whomping Willow. Some hung back in horror or fear. Others seemed to be trying to budge up to the front to get a clearer view. A contingent of older students struggled to round up a handful of panicked first years. Sirius and James bobbed up and down as they ran, attempting to catch sight of whatever had caused the commotion.

The front door of the school flew open and Serena Smythe came running out with Professor Flitwick on her heals. They hurried down the path, brushing past James and Sirius before they reached the edge of the crowd. The throng parted for the teacher and his escort, and Remus was able to catch a glimpse of Dorcas Meadowes kneeling in the snow over the crumpled body of a little boy. There was blood on her gloves and blood on the snow, and the boy's face was a bloody mass of bruises. Flitwick bent down to grope for a pulse and there was a whispered conference between the professor and the Prefect before someone Conjured a stretcher. The injured student was lifted onto it and Flitwick hurried off to the castle once more, guiding the bier with his wand while several of the older students followed and Serena ran ahead to hold the front door.

As they disappeared into the castle the crowd was silent. Then Dorcas Meadowes got to her feet, plucking off her stained gloves and tucking them into her pocket. She looked down at the carmine smears in the snow and jerked her wand at them. They vanished.

'How many times?' she said. Her voice was low and ominous, yet it carried well down the hill and probably as far as Hagrid's cottage in the opposite direction. 'How many times have we told you little idiots that this bloody tree is _dangerous?_'

The distressed firsties cringed, tears forgotten in their terror of the Prefect's wrath. Remus felt the blood draining from his face and his limbs.

'How many times have we told you to find some other game to play?' Meadowes was prowling now, glaring through her horn-rimmed glasses at each of the young faces in turn. 'How many_ sodding times_?'

She paused as if waiting for an answer. There were marks in the snow: sets of footprints leading up to the edge of the Willow's reach and then retreating, and a long, deep groove that showed how far the little boy had been thrown. Under the weight of his cloak Remus was shivering. The firsties had been trying, yet again, to touch the trunk of the tree. He had known all along that something like this might happen, but he had never once spoken up against it.

The first years looked as guilty as he felt. One of them kept glancing at the place where the body had been. For a horrible moment Remus wondered whether the tree had broken the little boy's neck.

'You'd all better hope Madam Pomfrey can put him right again,' Meadowes said. 'And I should think you'll all be thanking God you weren't the one who happened to get goaded into running that time. Now get inside and go back to your dormitories! I'll be speaking to your Heads of House. Shoo!'

The first years dispersed, running in the same direction their classmate had been borne. Dorcas surveyed the rest of her audience with a cold eye. 'If I find out any of you lot have been encouraging this stupid bloody game, I'll feed you to Poppet!'

She turned on her heels and strode back into the castle. Slowly the crowd began to disperse.

'Silly ickle firsties,' Sirius said at length. 'Meadowes is right, you know. It's a sodding dangerous tree if you don't know the secret.'

James made some manner of retort, but Remus could not hear it. He was hurrying off towards the little side door that opened on the staircase to the hospital wing.

_~discidium~_

He knew better than to trouble the matron while she was working. Remus stayed in the corridor outside the main ward, pacing anxiously with his arms pressed across his abdomen. He had to know what had happened to the first year. He had to find out if Madam Pomfrey could help him. It had been fifteen minutes, surely no more than twenty. Half an hour at the outside. It was still too early to knock at the door making inquiries. He ought to wait until Professor Flitwick came out; that's what he ought to do. Then he could slip in and ask. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't mind. She'd understand.

'Why'd you take off like that?' Sirius asked, rounding the corner with a concerned frown upon his face. 'You gave us a right turn.'

Remus whirled around, startled by the unexpected intrusion. 'I have to know… I have to know if he's going to be all right,' he said.

'I knew it,' Peter said, coming up with James behind him. 'I told you that's what he wanted. Remus and I know Davey; he's one of our Quidditch-watching friends. I taught him my Gryffindor cheers.'

'Davey?' echoed Remus. His knot of remorse tightened. Davey Gudgeon, the little Ravenclaw boy whom they had met on the Hogwarts Express. Davey Gudgeon, who so admired James and Sirius. He tried frantically to remember whether Davey had been among the first years Sirius had spurned in the courtyard that afternoon, but he could not recall. It didn't matter anyhow. Sirius was not the one to blame for this.

The tree, that tree, that dangerous tree that had tempted the first years and led them to endanger themselves, had only been planted because of him. It had been brought to Hogwarts two years ago, transplanted from an estate in Essex to protect the entrance to the tunnel that led to his safe house. It was there to ensure that no one stumbled unwittingly upon his hiding place – or worse, upon the wolf. It was his doorwarden, his safeguard. But it, unlike him, was dangerous all month long. It was deadly. Last spring two very-nearly-qualified NEWTs students had just barely escaped it unscathed. An eleven-year-old boy didn't stand a chance.

'Oh, you know him?' Sirius asked, shrugging his shoulders. 'Well, we'll wait with you then. Poor kid. Not very bright, really, but unlucky.'

James nodded sympathetically. 'Who knew?' he said. 'They've all been charging that thing for months and nobody's been seriously hurt yet. Silly game.'

'I don't know,' Peter said, sitting down on one of the plinths and fidgeting uneasily. 'It seems like the sort of game you'd like to play, if you'd thought of it first.'

'Yes,' said Sirius; 'but _I_ wouldn't be daft enough to get whacked in the face, now would I?'

'Do hush,' Remus begged, turning away so that the others could not see as he battled against the temptation to cry. 'It isn't his fault.'

'True enough,' James said. 'At least no more his fault than any of the others who were doing it. Lucky he's at a top school. Matron will put him right in no time.'

'That she will,' Sirius agreed. 'Pomfrey can fix anything. Stop fretting, Remus: you know she's the best there is.'

Remus nodded unsteadily and moved to crouch at the base of the pillar beside Peter's. 'She is,' he said softly. He wanted to pour out his remorse so that the others could naysay it, so that they could promise that this was not his fault, and reassure him that he ought not to feel guilty over it, but he could not. That was what they would say, all right, but it was not the truth. If he had never come to Hogwarts, the Whomping Willow would still be far away in Essex. If Dumbledore hadn't had to make provision for a werewolf, this never would have happened.

'The Whomping Willow Warriors,' James said, a dreamy look in his eyes. 'That would be a good name for a gang.'

'Hardly suitable, though, is it?' Sirius said. 'I mean, Remus and I know the trick, but none of us have ever—'

'You know the trick?' James asked, straightening eagerly. 'Why didn't you say? Remus? Why'd you tell Black and not the rest of us?'

'Aw, leave him be, Potter,' said Sirius. 'It came up over the break and I didn't think to mention it. There's a knot at the base of the trunk, you see…'

'Sirius, don't,' Remus said. Despite his anxiety for Davey he felt a pang of shame at keeping secrets from James and Peter. 'I'll explain. There's a knot—'

The hospital wing door opened and a head of curly auburn hair appeared. Serena Smythe frowned down at the four boys. 'Matron says that if you're not here for medical attention you'd best run along. She won't have loiterers making noise in her hallway!'

_~discidium~_

That night at supper Professor Dumbledore gave a long and very grave lecture on the dangerous nature of the Whomping Willow. He announced that the tree and its surrounding knoll were now strictly off-limits, and that the penalty for violating that ban would be severe. He went on to announce that although Davey Gudgeon was very badly hurt he was expected to make a full recovery. Even with this news to comfort him, Remus found himself unable to eat. While James and Sirius and Peter debated names for their group over steak and gravy, he stared down at his potatoes with nausea roiling in his stomach. When they made their way to the dormitory he followed mutely. He disappeared, as was his wont, behind his bed curtains. He did not, however, change into his nightshirt or lie down to rest. He sat cross-legged on the mattress instead, and waited until he was certain the others were asleep. Then he crept out of bed.

The Fat Lady yawned enormously, mumbling drowsy questions as he slipped through the portrait-hole. Halfway to the hospital wing Remus realized that it might have been prudent to bring the Invisibility Cloak. The truth was that he didn't care if he was caught. He deserved to be punished, and one of Mr Filch's nasty detentions might go some way to allowing him to atone for the trouble he had caused. As fortune would have it, however, the caretaker did not appear to be abroad that night. Remus reached the door of the hospital wing without interruption, and he turned the handle carefully before slipping into the main ward.

One lamp was burning in the far corner, dimmed out of deference to the patient but still bright enough to light the way. The third bed in from that wall was occupied. Easing the door closed, Remus moved on silent toes towards it. He had to see what had happened. He had to know that Davey was going to be all right.

The hand descended on his shoulder so slowly and gently that Remus did not even jump, much less cry out. The familiar scent of starched muslin reached his nostrils, and a gentle voice whispered, 'I wondered whether you might stop by, dear.'

Remus tried to make some reply, but a fingertip brushed his lip and he was led around the corner into the matron's office. Madam Pomfrey eased the door towards the post so that only a sliver of firelight spilled out into the ward beyond. Then she flicked her wand at the lamp on her desk.

'Please!' Remus cried. Remembering that there was an injured child asleep in the next room he clamped his hands over his mouth for a moment before whispering, urgent and low, 'Please, Madam. How badly is he hurt? Can you mend it? Will he be all right?'

'Hush, Remus. Yes. Yes, he'll be all right,' Madam Pomfrey said, her voice calm and soothing. She took hold of his elbow and drew him over to a high-backed settee that sat along the wall before her desk. Remus sat, and she settled beside him, turned so that she might look him straight in the eye. 'His nose is broken and he's cracked his left cheekbone, but I've put all that straight. He shall have some nasty bruises for a week or two, but nothing that won't mend. He was very lucky. Another quarter-inch higher and he would have lost his eye.'

A wave of nausea swept over Remus and he buried his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with the effort of reigning in his emotions. Once again the pitiful plea for forgiveness hovered on his lips, and once again he bit it back.

'I didn't realize the two of you were such close friends,' Madam Pomfrey said, laying a consoling hand squarely on his back. 'Don't worry: Davey will be himself again in no time, and hopefully a little wiser for it.'

They sat like that for another minute or two. Remus felt himself growing calmer, soothed by the matron's familiar presence. Davey would be himself again in no time. Professor Dumbledore had forbidden any further toying with the Whomping Willow. It had been a near miss: that was all. A near miss.

'I hope that you don't—' Madam Pomfrey halted mid-sentence, straightening a little so that her fingers pressed more firmly against Remus's ribs. He sat up, momentarily puzzled. Then he heard it: the sound of the hospital wing door swinging quietly open. 'Stay here, dear,' the matron instructed. She got to her feet and slipped out around the door, closing it before Remus could catch more than a glimpse of the shadowy figure beyond. A glimpse was more than enough, however, to tell him that Sirius had not come after him. He relaxed marginally. It would have been just like his friend to charge in and make a scene, when that was the last thing that he wanted.

Madam Pomfrey was muttering something about foolish children and dangerous games, and Remus realized that the other visitor must not be a student. His suspicion was confirmed a moment later when the matron said; 'But surely you didn't get out of bed just to ask after one of your pupils?'

'No, I'm afraid not,' whispered Professor Meyrigg. In spite of himself Remus found his curiosity piquing. He slid down to the end of the settee nearest the door, holding his breath so that he could hear. 'The truth is that I'm feeling a little off-colour, and I was wondering if you might have something to take the edge off.'

'Off colour?' Pomfrey said. 'I did notice you hardly touched your plate tonight, but I thought perhaps it was just worry putting you off your feed.'

'Not this time, Poppy,' Meyrigg said. 'I feel like my gizzard is sitting just about here, and when I try to lie down it's almost unbearable.'

Madam Pomfrey made a soft scolding sound. 'You've been pushing yourself far too hard,' she said. 'You ought to take a weekend just to stay at school and _rest_.'

'It's worse when I stay, Poppy. Truly,' Meyrigg said. There was a note of melancholy to her voice that Remus had never heard before. 'I can't do much, but at least there's that.'

'All the same,' scolded the matron. 'The first years aren't the only folk around here who have been playing a dangerous game.' Her key sounded in the door of the dispensing cabinet, and the faint tinkling of potion-bottles was heard. 'And wizards don't have gizzards you know, Brynna.'

'Anatomy never was of much interest to me,' Meyrigg said in an attempt at her usual bracing tone. 'Though if you could make up clever rhymes for all of the organs I might find them easier to remember.'

'Hush, now, and drink up. Good girl. That'll take effect before you get back to your office, so you ought to start out now,' said the matron in precisely the tone she used with sick students. 'Do be sure to let me know if you're still feeling ill tomorrow.'

'I will, thank you,' murmured Meyrigg. 'And Poppy? He will be all right, won't he? Davey, I mean.'

'Yes, he will,' Madam Pomfrey said firmly. 'And if I've anything to say about it, so will Owyn.'

There was a brief silence. When Meyrigg spoke again, her voice was curiously strained. 'Then I hope you've something to say about it, Poppy.'

A moment later the door closed and Madam Pomfrey came back into the office. She seemed to have forgotten that Remus was there, for she startled a little when she caught sight of him. Her fretful expression changed at once to a gentle smile.

'And off to bed with you, young man,' she said fondly. 'Davey is going to be all right in no time, and you remember what I told you and don't fret about it.'

Remus nodded and left the hospital wing. He was so wrapped up in his puzzlement about the conversation he had overheard that he didn't pause to wonder what Madam Pomfey thought she had told him.


	72. Dogged Determination

_Note: Well, here it is at long last! I spent way too much time last week trying to figure out what was wrong with the last chapter: everyone's still reading it, but I got half the usual number of reviews. If you like this one, please do comment. Please. Please._

**Chapter Seventy-Two: Dogged Determination**

For almost four days Remus kept his own counsel, determined to respect Meyrigg's privacy. He kept an eye on her at meals, noting how very little she ate, and he watched as she grew paler and more distracted as the week wore on. On Friday morning she greeted the Gryffindor second year class with a rueful sigh instead of her customary jaunty smile, and asked them to break into small groups to revise together. While they did so she settled at her desk, folding her arms across her abdomen and tucking her hands into the sleeves of her robe. She fixed unseeing eyes upon her students, her lips drawn as if she were in dreadful pain.

'Doesn't look well at all, does she?' Sirius whispered as the four of them pulled their desks together and Remus opened his textbook. 'Sort of… green about the gills.'

'She looks like she's been up all night,' Peter said, looking worriedly at their teacher. 'Do you suppose she's upset about something?'

'Plenty enough to be upset about today,' James said grimly, fumbling with his bag and his copy of the morning's _Daily Prophet._ The lead story that day had dealt with the murder of a Gringotts employee whose body had been found on the Thames embankment two days earlier. A Muggle ambulance had been summoned and the body carried to a Muggle hospital. The witch in question was Muggle-born and carrying a Muggle driver's permit, and her brother had consented to an autopsy before the Ministry of Magic was informed of the death. Representatives of the Magical Catastrophes office had to intercede when the Muggle pathologist had discovered that the woman's internal organs had been virtually liquefied. As yet, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had made no statement as to the curse used upon the victim, nor indeed had they given any indication of the motive or identity of the killer. Yet even Remus, at twelve years old, was able to connect this death to the string of murders and disappearances of successful Muggle-born witches and wizards that had been plaguing the London area over the last year.

'You don't suppose she knew that lady, do you?' Sirius asked, blanching abruptly. 'I mean, they said she was sixty-eight. That's too old to be a friend of Meyrigg's.'

'Unless you're right, and she really is older than she looks,' James said in a half-hearted attempt at humour. He sighed heavily. 'Maybe we ought to say something.'

'It isn't that,' Remus said. The less time they all spent thinking about this tragedy, the better. Narcissa Black had been heard at breakfast, boasting about an ancestor who had tried to legalize Muggle-hunting. Sirius had pretended not to hear her, but Remus had caught him shoving one of the Slytherin firsties on his way out of the Great Hall. 'Professor Meyrigg's been feeling ill all week.'

He didn't realize his indiscretion until Sirius's eyes narrowed, two piercing lights trying to plumb the depths of his conscious mind. 'Has she really?' he asked. 'I hadn't noticed.'

Remus offered a feeble smile and started thumbing through his copy of _Rudiments of Magical Pest Control._ 'Where shall we start?' he asked. 'Peter, you were saying that you didn't quite understand what to do about a Kappa…'

'Oh, no,' Sirius said, reaching to curl his long fingers over the top of the book as he drew it inexorably from Remus's hands. 'You know something: I can tell.'

'I don't know anything,' Remus declared. It was true, he reasoned. Or at least, mostly true. He hadn't obtained any answers about Meyrigg, but only a fresh bundle of questions.

'Bollocks,' scoffed Sirius. 'You're getting all pink about the ears, like you used to when we started asking uncomfortable questions. Go on: what is it you know?'

Remus squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't want to set Sirius off on a fresh quest to uncover their teacher's secrets, nor did he want to explain the circumstances under which he had overheard the conversation. But despite his yearning to the contrary he knew that he would speak out in the end. The new trust between the four of them, now that his great secret had been uncovered and accepted, was too precious to jeopardize over this. As much as he liked Professor Meyrigg he couldn't put her privacy ahead of his friends' approval.

But he could, at least, delay the inevitable for an hour or two. 'Not now,' he whispered, nodding surreptitiously at the front of the classroom, where Meyrigg sat with the eyes of the dead now trained upon the window. 'She might hear us.'

'Good point!' James said. 'Spoken like a true member of the Gryffindor Four.'

'The what?' Sirius demanded, clearly nonplussed.

'The Gryffindor Four!' James announced with an enormous grin. 'It's perfect, isn't it? And it rhymes.'

'It's awful,' said Sirius. 'I'm sorry, Potter, but that's the worst one yet.'

'Is it?' James asked, ruffling indignantly. 'What's wrong with it, then?'

'Well, for one thing it _rhymes_,' said Sirius. 'And for another, what if we decide to add another member someday? What if one of us gets expelled or something? We'd have to change our name! It isn't efficient.'

James rolled his eyes enormously. 'Oh, come off it! Why would any of us be expelled? And you're the one who said we can't just go around adding members willy-nilly. Or have you changed your mind about Meadowes?'

'Well, she's got a good head on her shoulders and I'll give her that,' Sirius said with grudging respect. 'But no, I wasn't talking about Meadowes. Just suppose we come across some younger student with a bit of potential? One of next year's firsties or something? Then we'd regret being so hasty to close the register.'

There was something else underlying his words, a peculiar defensive note that Remus could not quite explain. He didn't have much time to mull over it, however, because James laughed.

'All right, then!' he said. 'We need a name that doesn't use any numbers. Any suggestions?'

'Not at present, no,' said Sirius primly.

'Because you've been naysaying every single one of mine,' said James; 'and I haven't heard you offer even one so far. Why don't you start actually participating in the process instead of just complaining?'

'All right then!' Sirius countered, crossing his arms and thrusting out his jaw. 'I'll think of a name for us. Just you see if I don't.'

There was a good thirty seconds of silence. 'Well?' asked James. 'We're waiting. We're _dying_ to see what the great Sirius Black could possibly cook up for us.'

'Well, I'm not going to make one up _now_!' Sirius exclaimed. 'This sort of thing requires thought, Potter. Maybe the reason all your ideas have been right stinkers is 'cause you don't put in the proper effort.'

'Focus on your work, please,' Professor Meyrigg said, her voice hollow and alarmingly absent.

'Yes, ma'am!' Sirius said crisply, flashing a saucy smile. He ducked low over the purloined textbook. 'You'd better tell us what you know,' he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. 'She's not herself at all today.'

_~discidium~_

Somehow Remus managed to avoid having to tell his tale in History of Magic. At lunch James and Peter kept up an unending stream of loud conversation clearly intended to muffle any more unwanted anecdotes from the Slytherin table. And even Sirius understood the prudence of behaving well in Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall was very much _her_self and clearly on the alert for trouble. When lessons were through for the day, however, the four boys retreated to the relative privacy of their dormitory so that Remus could tell his tale.

He did not explain what he had been doing in the hospital wing in the dead of night, and if any of the others wondered they soon forgot about it. Remus could not help noticing, as he related what he had overheard, how the others listened with rapt attention. Almost from the beginning Sirius wore an expression of vindicated pride, as if he had known all along that his friend would uncover something like this. Peter's lips curled up into a smile of awed delight, clearly impressed by Remus's luck and competency. And James, who at first had looked a little sceptical, was soon nodding and grinning with genuine respect growing in his hazel eyes.

The realization that he had done something to make the others proud tamped down the last of Remus's remorse, driving it into a little corner of his heart that still could not help but feel that it was ungrateful of him to pry into Meyrigg's secrets when she was so obviously restraining herself where his were concerned. The part of him that had enjoyed the thrill of breaking into her office – at least until his imagination had started toying with him – was equally gratified that he was the one who was able to supply the next piece of the increasingly intricate puzzle. He worried sometimes that he was not good enough to be part of their as-yet-unchristened group; that he was not clever enough, or brave enough, or mischievous enough, or _interesting_ enough. Yet here they were: James, Sirius and Peter, all watching him as if he had lit upon some priceless treasure.

'…and then a minute later she left,' he concluded, breathless with the exhilaration of holding his audience spellbound.

Peter let out a little huff of air, as if he had been holding it in anticipation. James drew up his knees and rested his chin upon them, turning his pensive gaze upon the lattice of the window. Sirius grinned wickedly and rubbed his hands together with glee.

'Well, well, well,' he said, savouring each syllable. 'It seems our dear Professor has been fibbing after all.'

'Oh, no, I don't think she's done that—' Remus began. He stopped speaking as Sirius wafted a dismissive hand.

'No, she's been telling porkies,' he said firmly. 'No doubt about it. A morning in London and a poke 'round the old estate don't warrant staying at school over the weekend to rest. And who's this Owyn character, anyway?'

'Another student, maybe?' James asked. 'Or a friend, or her brother.'

'Or the man in the photograph on her desk,' Remus suggested.

'That's it!' Sirius said, snapping his fingers. 'I'll bet that's who it is. We should've checked to see if there was a name on the back of the picture or something. She didn't have any letters in her desk drawers, so they don't seem to be in touch. Or was it Owyn who signed that postcard from Greece?'

Remus shook his head. 'Laura,' he said.

Sirius deflated. 'Oh. Well, at least we've got a name.'

'A _first_ name,' Peter pointed out. 'And we don't even know that he's the man from the picture. She could have been talking about anybody.'

'True,' said James; 'but whoever this chap is she's obviously anxious over him. Why else is she all sickly and distracted? I think Sirius might be right: what we need to do is search her office again, and this time make a proper job of it.'

'I'm not so sure she was joking about checking the books, either,' Sirius muttered. 'Did you notice any of them written by somebody called Owyn?'

Remus shook his head. 'I'm not sure I would have noticed,' he confessed. 'I was looking at titles, not authors. There was a whole shelf of Welsh books, though. Owyn's a very Welsh name.'

'I knew a Welsh teacher would be trouble,' said James with a click of his tongue. When Sirius rolled his eyes, James laughed. 'Oh, do stop taking this all so seriously, Black,' he said. 'It's supposed to be fun, and it's not as if we're going to uncover _another_ grim and painful secret this year.'

Sirius shot James a look of purest exasperation, and Peter bit down on his lower lip. Remus felt the colour rising to his cheeks. 'Damn it, Potter, there's absolutely no comparison,' Sirius growled. 'Meyrigg's not hiding because she's afraid of what we'll do; she's hiding because she thinks it's none of our business.'

'Well it isn't,' Remus murmured. 'Not really. She's a teacher. She must have a good reason for keeping quiet about whatever it is, and if Professor Dumbledore doesn't want word getting out…'

'D'you know, I've been wondering about that,' said James. 'What's Dumbledore's part in all this? I mean, Meyrigg said something to McGonagall about how he was accommodating her, but you said that Hagrid seemed to think _Dumbledore_ was the one who wanted the secret kept.'

'Maybe we should go and talk to Hagrid again,' suggested Sirius.

'No, thank you,' Peter said, shuddering nervously. 'That dog of his is frightening. I'm always afraid she's going to pounce.'

Sirius rolled his eyes and James chuckled. 'You would,' he said, not unkindly. 'But I don't think we ought to be pestering the groundskeeper with this. He doesn't seem the sort to keep things to himself: if we try to put the touch on him it's bound to get back to Meyrigg that we're asking questions, and then we'll have no chance of catching her in a slip-up again.'

'What do you mean, again?' Sirius asked. 'She's pretty bloody careful. She's got spying portraits in her office.'

'True,' James agreed; 'but she's also been overheard by us twice now. Maybe we'll manage it a third time.'

'Maybe,' Sirius conceded. He frowned. 'There's still the matter of the trophy room, too.'

'Perhaps we ought to make a list of everything we know about her?' Peter asked. 'Or a list of the things that don't make sense?'

'A list?' scoffed Sirius. '_That's_ your brilliant suggestion? Well, why didn't you say so earlier? There's not a problem in this world that can't be solved with a list.'

'I think it's a capital idea,' James said. 'The more we talk about it the more muddled it's all getting in my mind. Must be downright perplexing for you, Peter.'

Peter did not seem to hear the rather deprecating cast to his idol's words: James's approval of his idea seemed satisfying enough. He hefted himself onto his feet and trundled off to collect a quill and parchment. Remus cleared a space on top of his trunk to serve as a writing surface and accepted the implements when Peter offered them. It was an unspoken consensus: he was the record-keeper of the group. He dipped the quill.

By the time they broke off for the evening meal, the four boys had assembled half a roll of parchment detailing the various clues and questions concerning Professor Meyrigg. Remus followed the others to the Great Hall, chafing ink-stained fingers against one another and trying to decide whether he ought to be relieved or disappointed. They had absolutely nothing to go on. It did not make the least bit of sense and the more they talked about it, the more questions arose. James and Sirius were once again speculating about Meyrigg's motives for misleading them about her Quidditch record, while Peter looked from one to the other with avid eagerness – as if he expected them to reach an epiphany at any moment.

Remus's attention was drawn away from the matter of Professor Meyrigg when they reached the Great Hall. There was a crowd near the foot of the Ravenclaw table: students from each House jostling together. From the snippets of conversation he overheard while shuffling to his customary seat, Remus deduced that the centre of the disturbance was once again Davey Gudgeon. The first year had, so it seemed, been released from the hospital wing. Remus would have liked to catch a glimpse of the younger boy to reassure himself that Davey was indeed on the mend, but the crush of curious students obscured his view. He settled on the bench and hid unsteady hands beneath the broad tabletop. He hoped that Davey did not mind the attention he was getting. In his place, Remus would have been terrified to be under such scrutiny.

Guilt once more tore through his viscera. He wasn't certain whether it sprang from his remorse over prying into Professor Meyrigg's private life, or from the lingering feeling that the trouble over the Whomping Willow was somehow his fault and his fault alone. Whatever the case, he knew he would not be enjoying his supper.

_~discidium~_

The following morning, Remus went down to breakfast with a giddy head and a pinched stomach. He filled his plate quickly and kept his eyes fixed upon it as he ate. He did not want to see the empty place at the staff table where Meyrigg usually sat, nor could he bear to watch a crowd of curious onlookers harassing little Davey Gudgeon. James was having a bit of a lie-in, and Sirius was down the table talking to Betta MacFusty. Peter, who despite his love for sleeping late would never suffer himself to miss Saturday breakfast, was munching happily on a slice of ham.

'Looks awful, doesn't he?' he asked as he reached for the pitcher of milk.

'Hmm?' said Remus, chewing carefully and laying his utensils neatly on the plate before raising his eyes.

'Davey,' Peter said, nodding towards the Ravenclaw table. 'He looks awful.'

Remus's resolve not to delve deeper into his remorse was forgotten. He turned on the bench, his eyes seeking out the skinny little figure at the foot of the Ravenclaw table. Davey was alone this morning, abandoned by the hordes of students that had dogged him the night before. He was trying to work his way through a bowl full of porridge, hampered considerably by the lingering injuries to his face. Madam Pomfrey had mended his nose perfectly, but the place where the branch had broken his cheekbone was still swollen and shiny with bruises. Both his eyes had been blackened, and although the purple of the skin was beginning to fade to a sickly green he still looked alarmingly wounded. His lower lip was still swollen all along the right corner, and he was having difficulty swallowing his breakfast without trails of milky oats trickling down his chin. Every time this happened he dabbed hastily at his mouth with a napkin, shooting frightened and furtive looks at his scattered housemates as if to be sure that no one had noticed.

'Don't stare,' Remus mumbled, casting his eyes away as his shoulders stooped involuntarily.

'I can't help it,' Peter said. 'He looks so _strange_.'

'Don't stare,' repeated Remus. 'It isn't polite, and you wouldn't like it if you were in his position, would you?'

Peter flushed scarlet and hung his head. 'I s'pose I wouldn't,' he mumbled. He took a forkful of scrambled eggs and sighed. 'How do you always do that?' he asked. 'How do you always know just what everyone else must be feeling?'

Remus did not answer him. The words struck deeply, and he realized that there was something else he would have wanted in Davey's place – something beyond the courtesy of refraining from gawking. He did not want to face the consequences that might come of it, but he knew that it was the right thing to do.

He got up from the bench and walked away from the Gryffindor table. Peter called after him, asking where he was going. Sirius, who would not have let the question hover in the air and die away unanswered, was still laughing at something Betta had said. Remus reached the far end of the Great Hall unassailed, and moved around to approach the Ravenclaw table. He hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage, and then he moved forward. Although he was not at all certain that it was allowed, he slid onto the bench next to Davey.

'How are you feeling?' he asked softly.

Davey turned in his seat, dropping his spoon and dabbing once more at his lips. Remus resisted the impulse to stare at his inflamed cheek and his bruised jaw. Instead he focused on the other boy's eyes. They were a dark blue, flecked with brown, and their startled look gave way to sudden gratification as Davey recognized the intruder.

'I'm all right,' he said. 'I mean, I'm still a little bit sore but I'm feeling much better. Thank you.' His fingertips grazed a dark blotch to the side of his chin. 'I just wish I _looked_ like I was feeling better,' he mumbled.

'Madam Pomfrey is very gifted,' said Remus. Perhaps it was imprudent to imply a close association with the matron, but in that moment he felt a kinship with Davey that he needed to express. They had both benefited from the matron's careful ministrations – and they had both experienced firsthand the limit of her talents. 'The bruises will go away in a few days.'

'I know,' said Davey with a heavy sigh. 'But in the meantime everyone's watching like they expect them to explode or something. You're the first person who's talked to me all week without staring at them.'

He seemed surprised by this confession, and turned hurriedly back towards his bowl. He lifted his glass and took a cautious sip of milk, groping for his napkin before it could dribble over his swollen lip. Remus knew that he ought to say something pleasant and withdraw before he made Davey any more uncomfortable, but there was something that he needed to say first.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm so sorry.'

He poured into those words his regret and the burden of guilt that he had been carrying all week. He wanted to say more: to beg forgiveness, to pledge that he had never meant to hurt anyone, to protest quietly that Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey thought that he had a right to go to school like any other child. Of course he could say none of that, and he had to be content with the simple apology that he knew would not be understood.

'I'm sorry,' he said again, his throat prickling.

'It's all right,' said the younger boy, shrugging his shoulders and offering a lopsided but genuine smile. 'At least everybody knows who I am now. They're all talking about me: I got closer to the trunk than anyone else, you know.' He glanced up the table again and then leaned closer to Remus. 'Can I ask you something?' he whispered.

'Of… of course,' Remus said, unsure of what it was he had just agreed to.

'Do _they_ know what I did? James Potter and Sirius Black? Do they know I almost touched it?' asked Davey. His eyes were glittering eagerly.

Remus could not find the words he was looking for. After everything this boy had been through – after very nearly losing an eye, and suffering a broken nose and cracks in his skull – he wanted to know if Sirius and James had heard of his exploits. He had injured himself while showing off for others, and he wanted reassurance that the effort had not been a vain one. It was ridiculous. Yet there was a part of Remus's mind that could not help thinking it was also wonderful. Davey was battered and bruised, but clearly his injuries went no deeper than the bone. He was still cheerful and innocent and rather foolish: he was not traumatized, and he would not awaken in the middle of the night reliving his painful ordeal.

'They know,' Remus sputtered, bobbing his head frenetically. 'They know all about it. But—'

'What's this?' a familiar voice demanded, carrying across the hall. James had just entered, and he came striding down towards Remus and Davey. 'Defected to Ravenclaw, have you, Lupin?' He glanced at Davey briefly, then focused more intently upon him. Remus cringed as he realized James was studying the bruises.

He tried to signal his friend off, but James grinned, reaching out to brush a knuckle against Davey's chin. 'Marks of battle,' he said approvingly. 'Pity they're healing so quickly.'

Davey sat up a little straighter on the bench, his chest puffing out slightly. 'The branch came out of nowhere,' he boasted. 'Matron says if it had hit a little higher I might have lost an eye! I almost touched the trunk, you know.'

'How d'you know you didn't?' asked James, winking. He jerked his chin towards the Gryffindor table. 'You coming, Remus? Or have you actually decided to throw in your lot with another House?'

He strolled off to drag Sirius away from MacFusty, and Remus followed. He supposed he ought to be responsible and scold James for encouraging dangerous behaviour, but he was all too aware of the delighted smile that Davey Gudgeon was now wearing. Surely it didn't hurt to say such things, if it made the boy feel better. James meant well, after all.

_~discidium~_

James and Sirius planned the forthcoming search of Professor Meyrigg's office with the care and intensity ordinarily reserved for the most essential of military campaigns. Instead of charging off on Saturday to ransack the teacher's room – as Remus might have expected – they spent the whole weekend labouring over a sketch of the office. Sirius relayed everything he could remember to Peter, who drew draft after draft until at last the others grew tired of the imperfect recollections and the equally imperfect images and cajoled Remus into helping. He had a better memory for spaces than Sirius, and he was certainly better able to explain himself in a way that Peter could understand. On Sunday night they at last had a neatly scaled rendition of Meyrigg's office that both Remus and Sirius could agree upon.

The next step, as Sirius saw it, was to map out the other rooms opening on the corridor. James acquired a book on wizarding architecture from the library, and the four of them learned a charm for taking quick and accurate measurements of an indoor space. They spent every evening that week poking about in the empty rooms and marking them on the sheet of parchment. They had the precise dimensions of the hallway and of the other seven rooms that opened onto it, but their measurements of Meyrigg's room were merely estimates based upon the recollections of Remus and Sirius.

Even so, it was obvious that there was far more space between the west wall of Meyrigg's office and the east wall of the room beside it than could be accounted for by a closet or a crawlspace or even a stairwell. By Friday they had eliminated the possibility of any hidden doors in the vacant room and the most likely explanation was that Sirius was correct: there was indeed a secret room of some kind off of Professor Meyrigg's office.

Sirius would have gone looking for a way in that very evening, except that James pointed out it was entirely possible that Meyrigg was still busy finishing her week's work. They had established that she liked to linger at school until she was finished with her grading and other duties: it would be safer to wait until Saturday. Swayed by this logic, Sirius consented to a quiet evening in Gryffindor Tower. This meant that while James read his Quidditch magazine and Remus helped Peter with his Charms homework, Sirius lay down on his bed with yet another book on werewolves.

Remus was at once touched and dismayed that the search still continued. Sirius did not talk about it anymore, nor did he make a point of enlisting the help of the other three boys. He did not pour the boundless energy into it that he had before. Yet still he continued, working his way slowly through volume after volume. Sometimes he read with such intensity that he could not be drawn back into the goings-on around him without physical intervention. At other times he merely stared vacantly at a page of text with blank and unseeing eyes while his mind mulled over the problem without conscious prompting. Now and then Remus caught Sirius watching him fixedly as if expecting the answer to be written across his brow. Always the message was clear: Sirius Black had not given up. His enthusiasm had waned and his hope was flagging, but he was determined to keep hunting.

When Sirius made up his mind, Remus realized, no puzzle stood a chance. His classmate's guilty secret, Professor Meyrigg's private life, the proven assumption that there was no way to appease a werewolf's lust for violence – nothing that Sirius Black chose to challenge could endure forever. Once he had chosen to find an answer he would continue to push until the obstacles caved under the pressure, or he would continue to drive himself forward until he was at last crushed under the weight of his own obsession. Remus knew that Professor Meyrigg's secrets would eventually crumble, but he was not nearly so confident about the other problem. He was beginning to fear that his wretched predicament might prove his friend's undoing.

'It's a pity we can't keep you company, you know,' Sirius said in a lull between Peter's increasingly competent incantations. 'I mean, if it helps to have us there beforehand surely it would help even more if we could be there right through it.'

'What in the name of Merlin's drawers are you talking about?' asked James quizzically, looking up from his glossy periodical.

'I said no, Sirius.' Remus fixed firm eyes upon his friend. 'It isn't possible and it wouldn't solve anything and I've _told_ you.'

'What are you talking about?' James repeated. He twisted his torso to look at Remus. 'What's he talking about?'

'I know,' sighed Sirius, rolling onto his stomach and propping his head up with the palm of his hand. 'But if it _was_ possible…'

'It isn't,' said Remus bluntly, not even pausing to consider whether he ought to correct his friend's tense. He could not quibble over the niceties of the English language when Sirius was once again toying with such a deadly idea. 'I do wish you'd stop reading those books. They're only frustrating you.'

'It's my business if I want to be frustrated,' Sirius said, thrusting out his jaw defiantly. 'And it's _bloody_ frustrating, you know. I can't stand it. We can't do anything to help you, and we can't do anything about Meyrigg, and we can't think of a proper name for the four of us… what good are we, exactly?'

James chuckled. 'I didn't realize our naming issue ranked _that _highly,' he said. 'Have you come up with an idea yet?'

'What about the Prowlers?' Sirius asked, shoving aside the heavy old book and grinning. Remus felt his spine relaxing a little. James always knew how to divert Sirius's attention. The taller boy began ticking off points on his fingers. 'We like to sneak around the school in the dead of night. We've got an Invisibility Cloak at our disposal. It sounds appropriately impressive.'

'True,' James said. 'Unfortunately it also makes us sound evil. If word got 'round that we're calling ourselves Prowlers, McGonagall would start to wonder whether we're spending our time sneaking into the girls' dormitories or something.'

'I still like Gryffindor United,' Peter put in.

'I don't know why _you_ don't suggest something,' Sirius said, gesturing at Remus. 'You're the one who's well-read. Think of something dignified and imposing.'

'The Hogwarts Irregulars?' Remus quipped. He didn't really expect the others to catch the joke, but he much preferred this sort of conversation to the one they had just been having.

'Hmm. Not bad,' Sirius allowed, apparently giving it genuine consideration. 'But still not quite us, you know?'

'There ought to be people who do this sort of thing for a living,' said James. 'I'd pay for the right name, I would.'

'I'll remember you said that when I come up with it!' Sirius said. 'Ten Galleons?'

'Fair enough,' said James. 'And I'll take ten from you if I'm the one who finds it.'

Meyrigg and werewolves and Charms were all forgotten as the four of them launched enthusiastically into the challenge. Long after they should have been in bed they sat up offering suggestions, but all of them were ultimately rejected. 'The Scuttlers' was deemed to be too antiquarian. Peter's suggestion of 'the Wild Ones' was laughed off at once. Half a dozen of James's ideas were torn down by Sirius on the grounds that they were too posh or too silly or too awkward to say. After a while the names themselves seemed to become less important than the banter surrounding them. When Sirius started positing titles that incorporated dirty words, and even Remus was laughing until his sides ached, it became plain that they were all overtired. Still they continued, spinning an endless litany of nonsensical names, until Aeolus Andrews came to hammer on their door and demand a bit of quiet. Even after that they kept on for a while, whispering and giggling uncontrollably in the dark. But when at last they fell silent and dropped off to sleep they still had not settled upon a name.


	73. In Blazing Offence

_Note: First let me say thank you to everyone for your lovely and enthusiastic reviews! It's always so wonderful to know that you're all still enjoying the story: keep up with the feedback. In appreciation, I've posted the new Missing Moments poll earlier than planned. So stop by my profile and cast your vote!_

**Chapter Seventy-Three: In Blazing Offence**

Remus awoke with a snort as Sirius grabbed hold of his shoulders and gave him a good, firm shake. He made an inarticulate noise that was meant to be a question: _what is it_? Sirius obviously understood his cursory attempt at communication, because his blurry face shifted into an enormous grin.

'We're going to raid Meyrigg's office!' he exclaimed gleefully. 'She's bound to be long gone by now.'

Remus shrugged off his friend as he propped himself up with an elbow. He blinked thrice, rapidly, and his field of vision cleared. Sirius had opened his right-hand curtains, but the light was coming from the other side of the bed and it took Remus a moment to realize it was not the flush of dawn: James had merely lit his lamp.

'What time is it?' he asked, raising his hand to stifle a yawn.

'Half past four,' Sirius said proudly. 'C'mon: get up! I've got your clothes ready and everything.'

He thrust a bundle into Remus's arms and yanked the curtains closed. Remus fumbled for a minute until he was able to sort the garments by touch. He wriggled out from under the blankets and dressed as quickly as he could. Beyond the hangings he could hear Sirius doing the same.

He emerged tugging instinctively at his cuffs, only to realize belatedly that Sirius had pulled out his cotton robes – the ones purchased that September and dyed black by his mother. Unlike the two woollen sets, these still fit him decently. Remus wondered briefly whether he ought to change into his other robes, but he was distracted by a hissing noise from the far end of the room. He moved over to peer around Sirius, who was leaning against James's bedpost and smirking broadly. James, also fully clothed and ready for action, was bending over the amorphous shape beneath Peter's counterpane, poking at it with his index finger.

'Peter,' he whispered. '_Psst_, Peter.' Clearing his throat, he said loudly, 'Hey, _Peter_!'

There was a low rumbling noise from somewhere amid the pillows and Peter rolled to the right, away from the predawn disturbance. James threw up his hands in defeat.

'I give up!' he said. 'He's dead as a stuffed dragon. We're going to have to wait.'

'Absolutely not!' Sirius declared, crossing his arms defiantly. 'We're ready and we're going to do it _now._ We all agreed we'd be better off trying in the morning, when there's no one about. I've been remarkably sodding patient, and I'm not going to delay a minute longer.'

'We can't leave him behind,' James declared. 'After all the hard work he's put into the plan it wouldn't be sporting.' He bent over the bed again and shook Peter soundly. 'Wake up! It's time to go!'

Peter made a soft, contented sound and smacked his lips together, but he did not awaken.

'Here, let me,' Sirius said, elbowing James out of the way and yanking back the bedclothes. Peter was lying curled on his side, one leg tucked up towards his stomach and the other trailing down the mattress. The cuffs of his pyjama trousers were hiked nearly to his knees, and his bare toes curled ever so slightly with the influx of cold air.

Sirius wove his hands together, stretching his fingers and then flexing them eagerly.

'Don't…' Remus said. He was unsure what the other boy was planning, but whenever Sirius wore that particular wicked expression it was bound to be something unpleasant.

Ignoring him, Sirius reached out and played the tips of his fingers up and down the sole of Peter's outstretched foot. They brushed noiselessly against the tough skin, and a moment later Peter was sitting bolt upright, letting out a squeal of involuntary laughter and clutching at his ankle. His expression furrowed into one of annoyance when he saw Sirius standing over him.

'Why'd you do that?' he asked petulantly.

Sirius shrugged. 'It was Potter's idea,' he said.

'What?' James sputtered. 'No it wasn't!'

'Yes it was,' said Sirius smugly. ' You called him a dragon. _Draco Dormiens Nonquam Titillandus.'_

Remus hid his smile behind his hand and James rolled his eyes. 'You do know what _nunquam_ means, don't you?' he asked. Then he smiled at Peter. 'I tried to wake you in a more civilized fashion,' he explained. 'We're going to break into Meyrigg's office.'

Peter's face was riven by a tremendous yawn. 'It's not morning yet,' he protested half-heartedly, but he was already groping for his cupboard door.

Ten minutes later the four of them were creeping out into the corridor. Sirius brought up the rear, easing the door carefully closed. Cautiously they crept past the neighbouring dormitory and onto the winding stairs. The common room was deserted, the last dying embers of the fire glowing on the hearth. James halted beside it to snag a pillowslip from one of the overstuffed chairs. He rolled it up and rammed it into his left pocket. The right-hand one was already burgeoning with the Invisibility Cloak.

The Fat Lady was sleeping with her hands folded atop her ample belly. She mumbled something drowsily as the boys passed her. Not quite certain that Sirius would be considerate about swinging the portrait gently to, Remus made sure he was the last one through. He held his breath as the frame made contact with the wall, but the Fat Lady merely sighed happily and let her head loll in the opposite direction.

The corridors were indeed deserted. Even the caretaker was abed at this hour, and their progress to Meyrigg's office was unimpeded. They didn't even come across a ghost: only the occasional slumbering portraits and a very dignified-looking tabby cat who crossed their path just as they were heading towards the corridor that led to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office. It paused in its stride, studying them carefully before vanishing around the corner.

When they arrived at the door, Sirius reached at once for the place near the top where the brass tack had been located last time. His fingers scrabbled for a moment and then he looked up, frowning.

'It's not there,' he said, sounding rather annoyed.

'I expect she's using something else now,' Remus said quietly, glancing up the empty hallway. 'The hook didn't stop us last time.'

'I realize it's rather old-fashioned,' said James; 'but what about _Allohomora_?' He jabbed his wand at the lock, uttering the incantation with purpose.

Sirius snorted. 'Don't be daft,' he said. 'No Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher worth her salt is going to lock her office with a charm that a twelve-year-old can break.'

James reached out and turned the handle, pushing the door ever so slightly ajar. He smirked at Sirius. 'You were saying?' he asked.

'That's not right,' Remus hissed, hastily tugging the door closed and stepping back from it. 'She wouldn't just leave it like that: she's bound to suspect we'll try to break in again.'

'Why would she think that?' Sirius said. 'We've already been told off and punished. No one in their right mind would try again.'

'And yet here you are,' James mused philosophically. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. 'Don't worry, Remus. I'll bet she's just gone complacent. After all, it's been almost six weeks since you last tried, hasn't it? Well, hasn't it?'

'Yes,' Remus admitted. 'But all the same…'

'Well, there you have it,' said James. 'She probably expected us to make our move long before now, and since we haven't she's getting careless. Simply adult psychology.'

Remus wanted to protest that Professor Meyrigg did not strike him as the complacent sort, but James was already shaking out the pillowslip. He held it by two corners and nodded at Sirius. 'You said you knew how to do this,' he prodded.

Sirius nodded resolutely, though there was a knot at the corner of his mouth that told Remus he was not as certain as he wanted to seem. He drew his wand. '_Impervio_,' he said, tapping the fabric. There was the briefest flash of light, and Sirius's face relaxed a little. 'There. That should do it.'

James cracked the cloth sack so that it let off a puff of dust. Then he whirled around and plunked it squarely over Peter's head. Peter startled and groped for his face, yanking off the pillowslip.

'…a fellow before you do something like that!' he exclaimed, frowning indignantly. 'Why'd you do it, anyway?'

James and Sirius were both smiling enormously. 'You were talking underneath it, weren't you?' asked James. 'You said something before "_a fellow_", didn't you?'

'Yes,' said Peter, rather crossly. 'I said you ought to take a moment and _warn _a fellow before you… oh!' He smiled, teeth glittering in the torchlight, as realization dawned. 'You didn't hear me: it worked!'

'It worked,' James confirmed. He took the pillowslip from Peter and vanished under the Invisibility Cloak. 'Stand back,' he said.

The others shuffled away from the door. A moment later it opened just far enough to admit a lean twelve-year-old boy. James did not trouble to close the door, and within they heard a rustle of fabric and the soft _thump_ of a heavy piece of furniture being struck by an errant foot. Then the lamp on Professor Meyrigg's desk flared brightly, and James peered out around the door.

'The coast is clear,' he announced, not troubling to whisper.

Quickly they piled into the room, closing the door firmly. Remus made a quick survey of their surroundings, and he breathed a little easier when he was reassured that they were alone. The problematic painting was covered by the purloined pillowslip: the others contained neither people nor animals, with the exception of one of the Muggle paintings that depicted a pair of hares near a glassy pool. The room looked just as it had when last they had intruded, save that there was a new china figurine on the mantelpiece. Remus supposed it had likely been a Christmas gift.

'It must be somewhere on this wall,' said James, moving towards the fireplace. The logs were laid but unlit: the ashes had been carefully swept away. The room did indeed look as if it had been set to rights to greet its occupant when she returned on Sunday night. James bent down and stuck his head into the flue, rapping the soot-dusted stones with the tip of his wand. 'Seems solid enough to me,' he said, his voice echoing in the chimney.

'You don't really think it would be _that_ obvious, do you?' Sirius asked, casting a sidelong glance at the bookcase – which was set against the opposite wall. He stepped forward to rest his palm on the smooth oaken panelling. 'There'll be a password or something, of course. Anybody know the Welsh word for "bedroom"?'

'Or "open"?' said James.

'Or "door",' said Peter; 'or "secret", or "hidden", or "show yourself". Maybe it's not even a Welsh word. It could be a spell, or the Latin name of some kind of Dark creature, or the name of her puppy or _anything _at all!'

'Well, that's no good!' Sirius said indignantly, marching over to one of the armchairs and flopping down into it. 'We could be here all day trying to figure it out.'

'I, for one, refuse to miss breakfast,' James announced, emerging from the fireplace and ruffling his hair so that a cloud of ash billowed around his head. 'I'm sure at least one of the party will stand behind me on that one.'

'Absolutely,' Peter said, bobbing his head. 'I don't see why we need to do all of this anyhow. Couldn't we just let it alone?'

Remus wanted very much to voice his agreement with that sentiment, but he knew that argument could not be won. He slipped past the desk and went to stand near the window, squinting past his reflection at the grey expanse of the sky.

'Well, this is sodding perfect,' Sirius said. 'We come all this way, only to realize we haven't a hope of guessing the right password. Might as well call ourselves the Dead-End Donkeys and have done with it.'

'Oh, that's just the name to inspire terror in the hearts of the Slytherins,' James said sarcastically. 'Buck up, Black. We'll figure it out. Now, what _is_ the Welsh word for "bedroom"? I don't suppose there's an English-Taffy lexicon on that bookcase, is there?'

'Why would a native Welsh speaker have an English-Taffy lexicon?' Sirius demanded crossly. 'Honestly, Potter, for being such a bright young prodigy of a fine old house you're remarkably thick at times!' Suddenly he sat up, so sharply that Remus rather fancied he could hear his spine popping. 'The bookcase! That's it!'

He sprang to his feet and brushed past Remus, reaching for the first book on the top shelf and pulling it down. He opened it, flipping to the title page and then to the rear endpaper. With a snort, he tossed it onto the floor and took down another one.

'What are you looking for?' James asked, sidling over just in time to have another heavy tome thrust into his arms.

'Looking for the password,' said Sirius. 'Meyrigg was perplexed that we hadn't gone through her books. She said that's the first place she would have looked if she was searching for information about someone. And she said there were interesting things in her books. I'll bet you anything the password is here somewhere!'

'There have to be at least a hundred books here,' James said, grunting as Sirius offloaded yet another volume. 'Do you really think we'll find anything?'

'Here's one that should interest you, Peter,' Sirius said, tossing a slender leather-bound quarto of poetry to the smaller boy. 'It's inscribed _To Brynna from Owyn_.'

'So is this one,' Remus said, opening one of the Defence texts. He reached for another. 'And this one: _Brynna, I thought this would interest you. Ti yw fy nghariad i, Owyn_.'

'Tea-why-fie?' snorted Sirius. 'What the devil does that mean?'

'It's Welsh, you berk,' said James. He nudged Remus and winked. 'Your pronunciation's rubbish, by the way.'

Remus resisted the urge to bow his head and mumble an apology. 'I-I'd like to see you do better,' he said with a timid smile.

James laughed. 'Not a chance. Here it is again, though. _Ti yw fy nghariad i_.'

'You're right, Potter,' said Sirius with a sombre nod. 'That's at least twice as English as Remus's attempt. So whoever this Owyn person is, he speaks Welsh and he gives her books.' He let another volume fall. It landed on top of a larger one with a soft _thud_.

'We ought to put them back,' Remus said, suddenly ill at ease. These books did not belong to them. They were not even library tomes, amassed in an impersonal collection under the watchful eyes of Madam Pince. These were the personal belongings of Professor Meyrigg, chosen with care and carried all the way across Britain so that she could have them near her. Some of them – _many _of them – had been given to her by someone she cared about, someone she worried for. It was impolite to rifle through them, but it was cruel to cast them away as if they had no worth. He knelt down and began to gather the fallen volumes into his arms.

'We've scarcely even started looking,' Sirius said, reaching for another book and thumbing to the front plate. 'Owyn again. Whole bleeding thing's in Welsh this time. _Brynna, 'm Cariad…_' He tossed it onto the rug.

Remus was on his feet again, arms straining under the weight of the books. He did not think he would be able to hold another without dropping the lot, much less bend to collect it. 'Pick it up, Sirius,' he said.

Sirius made a deprecating sound and reached for the next book on the shelf.

'Pick it _up_, Sirius,' Remus said, more firmly.

The taller boy turned around, puzzlement furrowing his brows. He didn't seem to know what to say: he frowned at Remus. James and Peter were both watching wordlessly, like sailors who had spotted an oncoming gale. Remus felt his courage failing him. If Sirius lashed out, shouted at him, unleashed his fearsome temper, he was not certain that he could bear it. If Sirius told him, scornfully, that he was foolish and sentimental and unworthy of his place in their little band of mischief-makers, he did not know what he would do.

'Please,' he whispered, fixing his eyes as steadily as he could upon the other boy's face. 'Please, Sirius, pick it up and put it back.'

For a long, awful moment there was silence. Then Sirius shrugged his shoulders, bent down, and gathered up the fallen book. He slid it back into its place and began to unload Remus's arms. 'You've got a point,' he said. 'If we don't keep 'em in order she's sure to know we've been in here.'

'I think that ship has sailed, Mr. Black,' a low, hoarse voice observed.

The four boys whirled around, Sirius nearly dropping one of the books. Where a minute ago there had been uninterrupted panelling there was now an open doorway, and leaning against the lintel was Professor Meyrigg. She was wearing a blue flannel nightgown and a quilted silk bed-jacket. Her hair, let down from its pins, fell in a long plait. In one hand she was holding a rumpled handkerchief, and her face was a ghastly greyish hue. She seemed neither angry, nor indignant, nor indeed surprised to see them. The expression she wore was one of harried exhaustion and quiet disappointment.

Remus felt his stomach shrivel within him. He waited, hoping that Sirius or James would say something bold and charming. Neither of them spoke. He could hear Peter's breathing, shallow and panicked. He tightened his grip on the two books remaining in his arms.

'I'm sorry, Professor,' he said, his voice coming out low and unsteady and awkward. 'We didn't mean to disturb you. We thought…'

'You thought that I had gone away for the weekend,' Meyrigg said leadenly.

Remus nodded. 'It was wrong of us to break into your office again,' he said. 'We're wicked and disobedient.'

He wanted to spare her the ordeal of scolding them. She scarcely looked well enough to be standing: she was certainly not equal to the task of cutting James and Sirius back to size. Meyrigg closed her eyes, pressing the handkerchief to her lips. She swallowed convulsively.

'Look, obviously we didn't know you were here,' Sirius said, awash with false bravado. 'But even if you had been away you'd have figured it out. So just set us detention and let us—'

He fell silent as Meyrigg opened her eyes, fixing them upon him. There was a keen light in them now, wrathful and sudden as a springing flame. Her lips moved, her tongue undulating in the prelude to the tirade they so roundly deserved. Then her jaw snapped closed and the fire died from her eyes. She looked from one guilty face to the next, hovering briefly upon each one of the perpetrators.

'Please go,' she said, her voice very quiet.

They stared at her.

'Go,' Meyrigg repeated. 'Please leave. Get out of my office. _Go_.'

'B-but Professor,' James protested; 'what about our punishment?'

Meyrigg's eyelashes fluttered, as if she did not quite know how to respond to such a question. 'Your punishment,' she echoed. She tried to straighten up, but her whole body wavered and she clutched with both hands at the doorpost.

Before he knew what he was doing, Remus had closed the distance between the bookcase and the secret door. He shifted the books onto his left hip, reaching with his right hand to grip Meyrigg's elbow. For a moment she resisted, and then leaned heavily upon him as he guided her to the nearest armchair. She sank into it with a soft breath of air, once more raising the handkerchief to her lips.

'Thank you,' she murmured, screwing her eyes closed. She dug out her wand and flicked it at the desk. A glass of water appeared. 'Mr. Potter, would you oblige me?'

James brought her the cup, and Remus averted his eyes so that he would not notice the way her hands were trembling. She took a cautious sip of the fluid, swishing it around her mouth. She handed the glass back to James.

'You know,' Sirius said, setting down the books on the blotter and coming around to squat in front of Meyrigg; 'I don't think you ought to be left alone just now. You don't look right at all, Professor. Peter will run for the matron if you want him to.'

From Peter's expression it was clear that he was not in the least eager to carry out that errand, but he bobbed his head hastily. 'I can run faster than people think,' he said helplessly.

'That won't be necessary, thank you,' said Meyrigg, using the arms of the chair to lift herself up a little. 'I shall be quite all right, I promise you. James?' She reached out for the glass again, and this time took a longer swallow.

'Professor…' Sirius said. Remus shook his head hastily. He could see that his friend was burning with questions, but this was not the time to be interrogating their teacher. Sirius either did not see him or choose to ignore him. 'Why didn't you go away this weekend?'

Meyrigg's mouth curled into a tiny, wry smile that fell short of her eyes. 'As you can see, Sirius, I am not well this weekend. I decided it would be imprudent to Apparate all the way to Croydon. I'm no use to anyone in two or more pieces.'

'I suppose not,' Sirius said, but his eyes were narrowing and the colour was gone from his lips. 'I think… that is, if you don't need anyone to go for the matron I think we ought to leave you alone, Professor. Just as you suggested.'

Meyrigg nodded, taking another careful draught of water. 'I think that would be best, Sirius,' she said. 'We'll discuss appropriate disciplinary measures on Monday.'

'Only fair, Professor,' Sirius said. 'Give you time to think up something fitting.' He backed away from the armchair. 'Remus, James, let's go,' he said.

James inclined his head and moved to the door, gesturing to Peter. The plump little boy scurried after him.

'Remus?' Sirius said, digging into his robes and closing his fist over something that could only be his wand. 'You heard the professor: we ought to be going now.'

Remus cast another pained glance at their teacher's haggard face. She looked like she had aged ten years since yesterday morning, and her throat was spasming again. She took a tiny sip of water and raised her handkerchief in an almost ritualistic gesture. 'Professor, are you sure you don't want us to fetch Madam Pomfrey?' he asked.

She looked at him, her expression softening marginally. 'Quite sure, Remus, thank you,' she said. 'Now please go. I'm afraid the four of you have been disruptive enough this morning.'

The patient lilt in her voice stung his conscience, and Remus hesitated. But Sirius, standing so that Meyrigg's back was to him, gestured urgently. 'Come _on_, Lupin,' he said. 'You heard the lady: let's go.'

Remus obeyed, shuffling over to join James and Peter as they slipped out into the corridor. Sirius followed, taking long steps backward so that he remained facing Meyrigg until they were all out of the room. He closed the door.

'Let's get the hell out of here,' he muttered grimly.

'Oh, relax, Sirius: she's not going to come chasing after us!' James said. 'She could hardly stand up.'

'You don't suppose she's dying, do you?' Peter asked anxiously. 'She looked dreadful.'

'Can we please just _get out of here_?' Sirius asked, herding the others down the corridor and around the corner.

'Would you stop shoving?' James asked, wrenching away and planting his hands on his hips. 'What's got into you all of a sudden?'

'Croydon, you berk!' Sirius hissed. His eyes were wide and alight with zeal and fear. 'She said she didn't think she ought to Apparate all the way to Croydon. What would a respectable witch with a background in duelling be doing in _Croydon_ every sodding weekend?'

'I don't know,' James said, casting his gaze heavenward and gesturing in expansive bewilderment. 'Shopping? Sightseeing? Feeding the birds?'

'Does she look like a sodding twitcher to you?' asked Sirius hoarsely. 'And even if she was, don't you think she'd do it on her estate in Wales, instead of going after gutter pigeons?' He looked wildly around as if he expected someone to burst in upon their conversation. 'Dumbledore. We've got to talk to Dumbledore.'

'About _what_?' demanded James, stamping his foot. 'You're talking nonsense, Black. Take a deep breath and calm down.'

Sirius shot him a frantic look, trying to yank his wand out from the folds of his robes. His hand came away empty and he swore loudly. 'Croydon!' he hollered.

'Hush: she'll hear us!' Peter said, bobbing anxiously on the balls of his feet. 'James, _do_ make him calm down.'

'Sirius,' said James, trying to get a hold of the other boy's shoulders. Since Sirius was once more trying to wriggle his wand free this proved almost impossible. James shifted tactics and cupped his hand under Sirius's chin, forcing his head to stop moving. '_Sirius._ Take a deep breath and talk sense for a moment. What's all this about Croydon?'

'Don't you see?' Sirius cried, though his mad gesticulation had ceased and he was focusing on James's eyes as if the world had narrowed to two hazel orbs. 'She's been running off to Croydon. To the hotbed of the blood purity movement. _Every sodding weekend_. She's one of _them_.'

'One of who?' asked James.

'Whom,' said Peter, glancing at Remus for approval that could not be given in a moment like this.

'One of the zealots. One of the Muggle-hunters. One of those people running around after that nutter.' Sirius's eyes flashed again, and for a moment he looked like he was going to shriek with rage and frustration. 'That's why she's so secretive. That's why she sneaks off: she's one of _them_.'

James loosed his hold on his friend's head, taking a step backward. His jaw was slack and his expression betrayed a dawning horror.

'You see?' cried Sirius. 'It makes sense, doesn't it? _Doesn't_ it? No wonder she doesn't want us poking about in her business. No wonder she's not on the Quidditch trophies. She's probably using an alias so that nobody suspects she's really some kind of pure-blood fanatic who spends her weekends trying to infiltrate the Ministry and looking for Muggles to murder.'

Peter's eyes were enormously wide, and his lower lip trembled. James was beginning to look ill. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

'I don't believe it,' Remus said. The sound of his voice startled him, and all three of his friend riveted their eyes upon him. 'That's a terrible thing to say, Sirius. It can't possibly be true.'

'But it fits,' Sirius protested. 'What else could she be doing in Croydon?'

'Maybe she has family there,' said Remus. 'Maybe… maybe she goes to see the pictures or something.'

'There aren't any art dealers in Croydon!' Sirius scoffed.

'No, the _moving _pictures,' said Remus. 'The Muggle cinema.'

He had hoped that the mention of such things might distract Sirius with eager curiosity, but the older boy only frowned. 'That's ridiculous,' he said.

'So is saying that Professor Meyrigg is a blood zealot,' James said, finding his voice at last. 'She's polite to everybody, Muggle-borns and half-bloods and pure-bloods and all. I think I agree with Remus: it's an awful thing to say, and it doesn't make sense.'

'But don't you see?' Sirius protested. 'That's probably part of her cover. She _has _to seem nice, or Dumbledore would give her the sack. He can't condone that kind of philosophy.'

Remus shook his head. 'You're wrong, Sirius. She's got nothing to do with those people. Remember? When she was talking to Professor McGonagall about Healer Ferrinby she was sick with grief. She didn't have anything to do with his d… his disappearance.'

'She's not the sort,' added James with his most reassuring smile. 'You're just flying off in search of wild theories again, like you always do when you can't make the facts fit.'

'How would _you_ know the sort?' Sirius asked. There was a note of disdain in his voice that frightened Remus. 'You don't understand, James. These are bright people. Powerful people. _Rich_ people. Meyrigg's just the sort they'd want. You… you don't know.'

'About Meyrigg I do,' said James. 'Whatever it is she's hiding, it can't be that.'

Sirius did not look convinced. He glanced sidelong at Remus, and his expression shifted. He sighed. 'Just because she's kind to you,' he said softly; 'doesn't mean she's a good person.'

'You're right,' Remus said earnestly. Suddenly he thought he understood Sirius's line of reasoning, but he couldn't confront his friend outright in front of James and Peter. Not without betraying the secrets he was determined to protect. 'But she's kind to you, too. That doesn't mean she's lying. It doesn't mean she's evil.'

Sirius's eyes grew wide. His throat rippled and he was about to give voice to whatever he was truly thinking, but Peter cut in. 'She's nice to _everyone_,' he said. 'You couldn't be a bad person and be nice to everyone, could you? Besides, you said that Hagrid said that Dumbledore knows what she's up to.'

'No, Hagrid said that Dumbledore said it was meant to be kept a secret,' Sirius argued, but at last he seemed to be wavering. He exhaled and let a shudder run up his spine and into his neck so that his head wagged from side to side and his hair flew in every direction. He thrust out his chin like a swimmer surfacing after a deep dive, and let out a long breath through his nose. 'All right,' he said. 'It's one of my mad theories, like the time I thought Remus's mum was putting him through the mangle.'

'Remus's mum?' James echoed, looking in horror from one friend to another.

Remus managed a sad smile. 'You weren't right about that,' he pointed out softly. 'You're not right about Meyrigg, either.'

'I still think we ought to talk to Dumbledore, just to make sure he knows where she's going,' Sirius said. 'It's our responsibility.'

Peter plucked at his friend's sleeve. 'Sirius,' he said timorously.

'I mean, if he knows she's down in Croydon ever week then fine,' Sirius went on. 'But if he doesn't then he ought to. Do you see what I mean?'

'_Sirius_!' said Peter, tugging harder.

Sirius turned on him and frowned. 'What?' he demanded.

'The cat's back,' said Peter, shrinking away and fumbling for is pockets.

'What cat?' asked Sirius, shooting a querying eye on James. James shrugged.

'The cat with the spectacles. I just saw it walk down the other corridor. I think it's been listening to us.' Peter pointed down towards the end of the hallway, where another passage ran perpendicular to the one in which they stood.

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Peter, we're trying to work out what to do about an increasingly suspicious teacher,' he said. 'We haven't time for your babbling about cats with spectacles.'

'Cat's don't wear spectacles,' James said, absentmindedly toying with his own.

'I know that,' Peter said; 'but the markings 'round its eyes look like spectacles to me. It was following us before, too.'

'The school's infested with cats,' Sirius said dismissively. 'What's so special about this one?'

'It was watching us like Mrs Dashwood does,' insisted Peter. 'What if Mr Filch has a new cat?'

'I wouldn't worry about it, Peter,' said James. 'If it did belong to Filch it would've shopped us before now, wouldn't it?'

'I suppose,' sighed Peter.

'Well, there: you see?' James said. 'It's probably just somebody's pet out for a jaunt.'

Now that the conversation was turning from slander to felines, Remus felt himself relaxing a little. As the muscles in his arms loosened he realized that there was a weight within them. He looked down in horror. He was still holding Professor Meyrigg's books.

'I… I have to go back,' he said, not caring how abrupt he sounded. 'I have to go back and return these.'

'Don't be loopy,' James said. 'If you go in there Meyrigg'll only get angry and slap us with double whatever she's planning to dish out.'

'If you're going back, I'm going with you,' Sirius said, elbowing past James and squaring his shoulders. 'Maybe she's not one of the Croydon nutters, but I don't trust her.'

'You're mad, Black,' James snorted, swatting at Sirius. 'You're bound to say something tactless and land us in even _more_ trouble. Talk sense, Remus: give them back to her in class on Monday, when everyone else is around and she's had time to cool down.'

Remus paused, for a moment considering his friend's suggestion. Slowly he shook his head. 'No,' he said quietly. 'No, she'll only be hurt and angry if she thinks we've stolen her books. I'm going to take them back.'

'Well, then I'm—'

'You're not,' James said with an authoritative wave of his hand. '_I'll_ go with him. I'm less likely to lose my head. You wait here with Peter. Peter, if he tries to come charging after us you have my permission to put him in a body bind.'

Peter looked simultaneously horrified at the prospect of trying to hex an agitated Sirius Black and delighted that James was trusting him with such a responsibility. Sirius slouched irately and moved to lean against a suit of armour.

'All right then,' he said sullenly. 'But be bloody careful!'

Remus turned on his heel and hurried back around the corner, clutching the books to his ribs and listening for James's footsteps behind him. He halted four feet from Meyrigg's door.

'Wait out here James, please?' he begged, looking up at his friend with anxious eyes. 'You know she won't hurt one of her students.'

A protestation hovered on the other boy's lips, but he nodded anyhow. 'You're right,' he said. 'I'll only be playing into Sirius's wild flight of fancy if I insist on being your bodyguard. Go on. I'll be right out here if I'm needed.'

'You won't be,' Remus said. With more confidence than he felt he moved up to the door and rapped lightly upon it.

'Enter.' Meyrigg's voice came low and unsteady from within.

Cautiously Remus pushed open the door and slipped into the room, closing it gently behind him.

'Put it on the desk. Thank you,' said Meyrigg. She was still sitting where the boys had left her, huddled in the armchair. The fire was now blazing, however, and the room seemed rather more cozy.

Wondering how on earth she had known the purpose of his return, Remus moved to set down the books carefully on top of the one Sirius had abandoned.

'I'm sorry, Professor,' he said softly. 'I didn't mean to take them.'

At the sound of his voice Meyrigg spun in her chair, clutching the arm and peering around the back with wide, startled eyes. 'Remus! Faith, I thought you were the house elf with my tea!'

The lapse of composure was frightening, but Meyrigg regained control almost at once. Her eyes fell upon the books and she relaxed noticeably. 'I see,' she said. 'You had them in your hand when you hurried off.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus murmured. He dared to move closer, edging around the chair so that she could look at him without contorting. He kept his eyes lowered penitently. 'I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I know we were wrong to be prying…'

'Remus,' said Meyrigg, her voice gentle but very firm. 'Do you realize that you said just the same thing the last time you were caught in my office?'

'Yes, ma'am,' he breathed.

'Do you realize that an apology is meaningless if it is not also accompanied by a genuine intention to do better in the future?'

His abdomen wrenched with guild. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Do you understand why I might be reluctant to believe that you are sincerely sorry this time, when last time your repentance was so fleeting?' said Meyrigg.

'Yes.' It was scarcely more than a puff of air with the faintest flavour of sound.

Meyrigg exhaled softly. Her hand moved as if she wanted to reach out for him, but she gripped her crumpled handkerchief instead. Remus noticed for the first time that it was soiled with a yellowish fluid.

'Professor,' he whispered; 'why do you go to Croydon? And who is Owyn?'

'What?' Meyrigg's eyebrows arched and her lips formed a startled ring.

'I… I'm sorry,' Remus said hastily. 'It's none of my affair. I know that, I do. It's just that Sirius… he has wild notions, you see, and he… I'm sorry. Please, forget that I said that.'

Meyrigg tried to smooth the square of linen, but seemed to decide almost at once that the endeavour was pointless. She closed her fist around it again. 'Remus, what I do with my weekends is no business of yours. Nor is it a matter for Sirius Black to investigate. I don't understand why you boys are fixating upon my absences. They do not affect my ability to do my job, and Professor Dumbledore is fully aware that I leave the school every Friday.' Something flickered through her eyes and her lower lip trembled. 'Almost every Friday,' she amended softly. She closed her eyes ever so briefly, and then looked at him, puzzled. 'How do you know about Owyn?'

'His name is in the books,' Remus said, not quite daring to raise his head. Instead he shifted his eyes so that he could see her face more clearly. 'A good many of the books, anyhow. _Ti yw fy nghariad i, Owyn._'

'_Ti yw fy nghariad i,_' Meyrigg said. On her tongue the strange syllables sounded musical, and her eyes glittered as she spoke. 'Well, I suppose there's no harm in one little answer after all your hunting. Owyn is my husband. That's his photograph on the desk.'

Remus felt like a perfect fool. Of course, that was only logical. Professor Meyrigg was married. Strangely, it had never occurred to him that teachers might have husbands. Though Professor Flitwick had children, so he must have been married at one time or another. He wondered abruptly whether any of his other professors were married.

Finally he dared to raise his eyes. Professor Meyrigg's pale face occluded his vision. 'I'm sorry that you're ill, Professor. Please, is it something serious?' he asked.

Meyrigg tried to smile, and did not succeed. 'No,' she said. 'It's nothing dangerous. Nor indeed contagious. I shall be myself in no time.'

Looking at her now he could see that her eyes were veined in red, and the skin around them was puffy as though she had been weeping.

'Professor?' he said timidly. 'What is it? What's wrong?' He remembered what Madam Pomfrey had said about Owyn – Mr Meyrigg, as he ought to be called – being safe if she had anything to say about it. The gnawing realization that their professor's husband might be in some sort of danger struck him with painful force.

Meyrigg shook her head once, almost gingerly. 'Remus, there are troubles in this world that you cannot understand, and troubles you are too young to be burdened with. Don't ask so many questions. You may discover that you never really wanted to know the answers.'

'I know how to cope with troubles,' Remus said. The words astonished him and he realized abruptly that in that moment he had sounded much older than he ought to. He flushed and cast his eyes back down to his shoes. 'I'm sorry,' he said yet again. 'It's none of my affair.'

'You're growing up too quickly,' Meyrigg said. Her voice was strangely absent, as if she were not speaking to Remus at all. 'Children are already growing up too quickly. That is why we do what we do, Remus. So that you will not need to grow old before your time.'

She seemed to be trying to give voice to something important, but the words were eluding her. 'I don't understand, Professor,' Remus said quietly.

Her eyes shifted back to lock with his. 'I hope you never have to,' she said gravely.

At that moment there came a knock at the door, quiet and respectful. At Meyrigg's bidding the house elf entered, bearing a tea tray and a plate of dry toast. He set it down as he was instructed and withdrew from the room with a bow.

Professor Meyrigg rose from her chair and moved to sit at the desk. She seemed still a little unsteady on her feet, and she moved the toast away from the rest of the tray as if it turned her stomach. 'Off you go, Remus,' she said, smiling at last. 'You may tell your friends that I accept your apology on their behalf, and that we will consider the matter closed. However, if I catch any of the four of you in my office again there will be dire consequences.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said meekly. 'Thank you, Professor. I know we don't deserve it.'

'Yes,' said Meyrigg. 'Unfortunately I'm sure Sirius and James will not look at it that way, but I would prefer to forget this incident ever happened.'

Remus slipped from the room just as she began to pour out a cup of tea. James was waiting for him, and Sirius and Peter were right around the corner. The little burst of delight that always struck him when he realized his friends were there and always would be was tempered a little by dilemma of deciding what parts of his conversation with Professor Meyrigg could be shared with them.


	74. Voices of Authority

_Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the Missing Moments poll! Only half of the responders to the last poll have had their say, and even then it was less than ten percent of the total readers. Even council by-elections have better voter turnout than that!_

**Chapter Seventy-Four: Voices of Authority**

It was plain that they had left Peter in an awkward position. James and Remus came around the corner to find Sirius standing with his spine rammed up against a pillar, arms crossed wrathfully. Three feet away from him, Peter shifted from one foot to the other. Although his wand was drawn his grip was too tight to be truly effective, and as soon as he heard the other boys' approach he retreated, shooting a plaintive look at James.

'Well, the books are back with their rightful owner,' said James. 'And as you can see both of us are still well and breathing, limbs fully intact, the right number of nostrils, normal in form, colour and faculty. Meyrigg may be offended, but she isn't dangerous.'

'Fine,' Sirius said. His jaw was tight and his words came out crisp and clipped. 'I'm still going to talk to Dumbledore about it. We have to make sure that he knows where she's been going.

'Of course he knows,' James said, now beginning to look rather exasperated. 'Dumbledore knows everything. He's Headmaster, isn't he?'

'Does he know you have an Invisibility Cloak?' challenged Sirius. 'Nobody knows everything, and sometimes people miss what's going on right under their own noses. It's happened to us.'

'Fair point,' said James. 'But Dumbledore knows she's gone at weekends. Doesn't it stand to reason that he knows _where _she goes as well?'

'Everyone knows that she goes,' snorted Sirius; 'and I do mean quite literally everyone. But maybe Dumbledore trusts her, or maybe she's been feeding him some rubbish story about going home to Wales to meet her intended.'

'Her husband,' Remus corrected reflexively. The others looked at him.

Sirius's eyes narrowed. 'Say again?'

'She hasn't got an intended: she's married,' said Remus. 'Owyn's the name of her husband. That's why we haven't been able to find her on the Quidditch trophy: Meyrigg isn't her maiden name.'

'Of all the bally nerve!' Sirius exclaimed, shoving off from the plinth and planting a fist on each hip. 'Why couldn't she just sodding _say_ that? It's not as if we didn't ask over and over again. Is it so bloody hard to tell us she's in there under a different name?'

'She's married?' Peter mused. 'I suppose that's him in the picture, then.'

'You have to admit _that's_ suspicious, Potter,' Sirius said, at once triumphant and anxious. 'Why wouldn't she just admit to it? It's the sort of thing people usually admit to, isn't it? Why should we believe anything she says if we can't even trust her to own up to having a husband?'

James went through the contortions of several awkward expressions before settling on one of vague helplessness. 'I don't know, Sirius. She probably didn't think it was important.'

Or, Remus realized, she had neglected to mention it in order to keep them busy, to bend their curiosity to a harmless puzzle so that they did not delve more deeply into her personal life. For a moment he felt certain that he was going to explain to the others, to scold them as they all ought to be scolded, and to demand that they let the matter alone, but his courage failed him. He had already defied Sirius once today, and he was not certain that either of them could weather a second difference of opinion.

'I don't like it!' Sirius said firmly. 'I'm going to Dumbledore, and I'm going now. If you don't want to come you needn't do so, but _I'm_ going!'

He started down the corridor at such a pace that the others had to trot to catch up to him. 'He's probably still fast asleep,' James said. It was a half-hearted attempt to reason with Sirius: clearly even James did not think this tactic likely to succeed. 'We could wait until breakfast, at least.'

'And give Meyrigg a chance to get to him first?' Sirius exclaimed. 'Not bloody likely, mate!'

'But we'll have to admit we were in her office,' protested Peter, already growing short of breath.

'And so we'll get an extra detention,' said Sirius dismissively. So what? We'll already be serving punishment with Meyrigg. One more night won't make a difference.'

Remus wondered whether he ought to tell the others that Professor Meyrigg considered the incident closed. He decided against it. If he said anything now it ought to be that they should let the matter drop, and go quietly back to their dormitory. Somehow his silence seemed less offensive if it was complete.

For the same reason he did not speak up as they passed an alcove in which the tabby cat – whose markings did look uncannily like spectacles – was sitting. It tracked them with glittering eyes, its back remarkably straight. As soon as they were past, it sprang out into the corridor and ran back soundlessly towards Meyrigg's office. Striving to shake the eerie feeling that the cat could see right through to his innermost thoughts, Remus quickened his pace as Sirius turned into the nearest stairwell.

Whether Sirius and James were having difficulty finding the way or whether the castle had decided to be unusually belligerent Remus could not say, but they encountered no fewer than twelve uncooperative staircases on their way to the seventh floor. Hampered but not discouraged, Sirius was so intent upon his destination that he stormed right through Nearly Headless Nick, whom they left behind, blustering and trying to right his skull upon his shoulders. Remus looked back even as he hastened forward, but even the much-warranted apology could not break past the barrier of his lips. It was almost as if he had forgotten how to speak.

Certainly he had forgotten how to listen, for suddenly he realized that Sirius was asking him for the password to the Headmaster's office, and that he had posed the question at least three times in the span of a minute.

'I don't…' he stammered in reply. 'I can't…'

But before was forced to explain that Dumbledore had made him promise to keep the password to himself the gargoyle leapt out of the way and the rotating stairs appeared. They were turning in the wrong direction, however, and Sirius's attempt to mount them ended with long limbs in a heap at the foot of the stair. Letting out a string of curses that made even James blush a little, Sirius sprang to his feet and was preparing to launch himself at the staircase again, when a slipper-clad foot appeared near the top, followed by a long silvery dressing gown with a lavender sash. A flowing beard appeared, and arms and shoulders and brilliant blue eyes, and a moment later Professor Dumbledore was alighting in the anteroom at the foot of the staircase.

He looked from one boy to the next with a mild expression upon his face, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be awakened before dawn by four wild-eyed second years. 'Well, well,' he said, smiling briefly at Peter before turning his gaze back onto Sirius. 'Good morning, my boys. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?'

No one seemed able to answer that question, and Remus suddenly wished that he had taken the opportunity to fall behind and double back to Gryffindor Tower. As much as it pained him to disappoint Professor Meyrigg, he was sick with guilt and shame and trepidation at the prospect of listing his transgressions before the Headmaster. He thought of the day he had first come to Hogwarts, ten years old and terrified to let go of his mother's hand. He remembered how Dumbledore had smiled, and greeted all three of them graciously, and shaken his hand as if he were an ordinary wizarding child considering Hogwarts among a plethora of opportunities around the world. At first Remus had thought that there had been some mistake: that Dumbledore had taken him for someone else because no one who knew the truth could bear to be so civil to a werewolf. But Dumbledore had smiled. He had offered him a sweet and assured him gravely that he was familiar with Remus's _particular situation_. He had smiled.

He was smiling now too, waiting patiently for someone to explain. Yet where he had found the courage in Meyrigg's office Remus discovered only abject terror now. It was James, finally, who broke the silence.

'Well, sir,' he said, trying for all the world to sound as if they were making cordial conversation in some elegant drawing room. Yet his eyes shifted ever so slightly to evade the Headmaster's eyes, and Remus could see how the index finger of James's left hand twisted into the cuff of his robe. 'Well, sir, we've had quite an interesting morning and Sirius was wondering if he might have a word with you.'

Sirius shot a look of disbelief at his friend. If Dumbledore saw it he was too tactful to let it show. He turned his pleasant expression on Sirius. 'Yes, Mr Black,' he said; 'certainly you may have a word. Would you like to do so in private, or are your friends privy to the matter at hand?'

'W-we were all there, if that's what you mean, sir,' Peter confessed. His lower lip trembled and he edged nearer to James. 'I s-suppose you'll have to punish us?'

'Punish you?' said Dumbledore, mildly taken aback. 'For coming to me with what I assume are questions? Why, I hope you think better of me than that, Peter.'

Peter's eyes widened a little, as if he was surprised to hear the Headmaster using his given name. Sirius had found his voice in the interim, and he cleared his throat purposefully.

'It's about Professor Meyrigg,' he said. In his effort to sound firm and confident, a defiant note was creeping into his voice again. Remus bit down on the tip of his tongue, once more wishing with all his heart that he might be anywhere but here.

'Professor Meyrigg.' There was no surprise in Dumbledore's voice, but neither did his smile waver. He nodded pensively. 'Very well,' he said. 'What about Professor Meyrigg?'

Remus closed his eyes, waiting for the tumult of questions and accusations and wild theories that Sirius was sure to let loose. But two seconds passed, then three, then five. When the count reached twelve he dared to crack his lids just enough to peep out from under them. Sirius was staring at Dumbledore. James and Peter were staring at Sirius. The Headmaster's expression remained unchanged.

'She…' Sirius breathed at last. His voice cracked a little, and he inhaled before trying again. 'We…' He shook his head almost imperceptibly. 'You… she…'

'_Psst_,' hissed James, whispering out of the corner of his mouth although it was obvious that Dumbledore could hear him perfectly. 'Time to commit, Black: pick a pronoun and run with it.'

'Meyrigg goes away at weekends,' Sirius blurted out. He hesitated for a moment before pressing on, clearly unwilling to risk losing any momentum. 'She goes south. She goes to Croydon. Did you know she's going to Croydon?'

'I cannot say that Professor Meyrigg's travels are any of your concern,' Dumbledore said serenely; 'but in answer to your question, yes. Yes, I am aware that she journeys to Croydon every week. I am, however, curious as to how you acquired this piece of information.'

Sirius looked as though he had just been struck in the back of the head with a speeding Bludger. His mouth gaped, and his tongue flapped as if he had forgotten what to do with it. 'But… but… you _know_?' he stuttered.

'Certainly,' said Dumbledore. 'Professor Meyrigg and I have had numerous discussions about her absence from the school each week. I take a healthy interest in my teachers' activities, and she is obliging enough to keep me well informed.'

'But sir… but _Croydon_,' Sirius protested. He was growing increasingly incoherent, and Remus began to get the uncomfortable feeling that someone would have to intervene quite soon in order to make any sense of the conversation at all. 'Do you know what they're _doing_ in Croydon?'

'A great deal of innovative construction work, from what I understand,' said the Headmaster. 'Muggles are so very inventive, don't you find?'

Remus wasn't certain, but the remark sounded oddly like his own attempts to distract Sirius by playing upon his other interests. Though how Dumbledore might know of Sirius's affinity for Muggle devices he could not say. In any case, Sirius did not rise to the bait. He let out an irritable sigh and shook his head.

'Not Muggles, wizards!' he said. 'There are wizards in Croydon, talking, planning…' He glanced over his shoulder at the other boys and then turned back to Dumbledore, desperately earnest. 'They're blood-purists,' he said, his voice very low. 'Following that nutter, that zealot who's been trying to get influence in the Ministry. That lot's in Croydon, sir, and everyone knows they're mixed up with the ones who have been doing the killings. The… the Death Eaters.'

For a moment the light vanished from Dumbledore's eyes. When it reappeared, the usual cheerful glitter was an unsteady gleam. The Headmaster exhaled softly. 'I suppose it's only to be expected that intelligent young men such as yourselves read the papers,' he said. His gaze fixed on Sirius and his voice grew very quiet. 'Though I do not think _The Daily Prophet_ has given credence to the name under which they style themselves.'

'Definitely not,' James said. He turned to his friend. 'What did you call them? Death Eaters?'

Peter made a frightened noise and Dumbledore's gaze shifted towards him. Something akin to regret seemed to ripple across his kindly face, and he put a hand on the plump boy's shoulder. 'Do not give it too much thought, my boy,' the Headmaster said gently. 'They've chosen their name with care, expressly for the purpose of engendering fear in others. You mustn't let them do it.'

'Yes, sir,' Peter said breathlessly, bobbing his head with vigour.

Dumbledore turned back to Sirius. 'If you are concerned for Professor Meyrigg's safety, Sirius, I can assure you that she is a powerful witch and an accomplished duelist. Wherever she travels I have full confidence that she is capable of looking after herself.'

Sirius frowned, briefly bewildered. 'No, it's not that, Professor,' he said. 'It's… I mean, how do you know she's not one of them? She's just the sort they're looking for.'

For a long moment Dumbledore said nothing, merely studying Sirius's face with the grave air of one trying to unravel an impossible cypher. Finally his eyelids closed over the brilliant blue irises, and he nodded slowly. 'I see,' he said quietly. 'First let me say that Professor Meyrigg is not in the employ of the Death Eaters, nor indeed – how did you put it? – the zealot in Croydon. She is a woman of courage and integrity, and although she comes from a prominent old family she is no more a blood-purist than your friend here.' He nodded at James, who grinned. 'You have my word, Sirius.'

Sirius's doubt wavered for a moment in his eyes, but he was not so easily swayed. 'How do you know?' he asked. Perhaps he did not mean to sound insolent, but the abruptness of his tone certainly gave that impression.

'I know,' Dumbledore said. The gentleness was gone from his expression, replaced with a steely undertone that communicated without ambiguity that argument would not be tolerated. Remus wished very much that he might suddenly disappear. Peter's eyes grew wide with fright and he edged further from the Headmaster. James's dignified expression wavered.

Yet Sirius, it seemed, was undaunted. 'I'm afraid that's just not good enough,' he said. 'If you can't explain how you know then how do you really _know_ that you know? Maybe she's fooling you, too. Did you ever think of that?'

Remarkably, Dumbledore smiled again. 'My dear boy,' he said; 'just because I do not see fit to explain it to _you_ does not mean that there is not a concrete and rational explanation. I _know_, and that will have to be enough to satisfy you. This is not a matter that ought to concern you, and although I suspect you have never been told this, the personal lives of your teachers are none of your concern. I believe that curiosity and rational thought are qualities to be encouraged, but you have carried the curiosity rather too far in this case – and your reasoning is anything but rational. If I cannot entreat you then I must command you: let the matter drop.'

Sirius's brows furrowed, and his grey eyes grew stormy. Remus recognized the expression and knew that he was about to muster an angry retort. He wanted to cry out in order to divert attention and to distract his friend before he said something that even Dumbledore in his apparently infinite patience could not forgive, but words failed him.

Thankfully, James did not suffer the same impediment. He swooped forward and closed his hand on Sirius's elbow. 'Understood, sir,' he said crisply. 'Meyrigg's an upstanding lady and her visits to Croydon are perfectly innocent. Thank you for clearing that up for us.'

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'You're most welcome,' he said. 'Thank you for coming to see me, and I hope you feel able to do so in the future. Now, if you'll excuse me—' He lifted his hand to his mouth to cover a small yawn. '—it is rather early in the morning to be abroad. I think I shall see if I can't get a few more hours' sleep before breakfast. Good day, gentlemen.'

'Good day, Headmaster,' James said before Sirius could protest. 'Thank you again. I don't know what we were thinking. Obviously if Meyrigg was mixed up with the Croydon gang she couldn't just take a weekend off to stay at school, even if she is feeling poorly. I mean, they'd think it was some kind of defection, wouldn't they?'

Remus expected the Headmaster to offer a mild agreement before turning to ascend the stairs, but Dumbledore's eyes darted to James. 'A weekend off to stay at school?' he repeated. 'When was this?'

'Just now, sir,' James said mildly. 'That's how we got into this position: she's in her office and she caught us.'

Until that moment there had been no mention of how they had acquired this information, and Remus reflected ruefully that they might have got away with the break-in if James had minded his tongue. Close upon the heels of that thought came an angry, recriminating voice. They did not deserve to get away with it. By rights they ought to be punished, and as Professor Meyrigg was not going to do it then someone would have to. It was just as well that James had let it slip.

But though Dumbledore's smile vanished the ensuing expression was not one of anger, or even annoyance. His brows knit together and his lips grew thin beneath the silken strands of his beard. 'I'm sorry,' he said, his voice strangely hoarse. 'You boys will have to excuse me. Run along and enjoy your Saturday. I… I have business elsewhere.'

With one outstretched arm he herded James and Sirius out of the threshold of his office, brushing past them and taking off down the corridor at a great pace. The four boys stared after him, stricken dumb. The gargoyle sprang back into place.

'That was odd,' James said dryly.

Sirius scowled. '_Run along and enjoy your Saturday_? He's treating us like children! He didn't answer any of our questions, and I don't think he's taking us seriously! If there's one thing I can't abide it's when adults won't take me seriously!'

'Siriusly?' asked James, ducking as soon as the word was out of his mouth in order to avoid his friend's fist.

'This is no time to be poking fun at my name!' snapped Sirius. 'There's something going on here, and I mean to find out what it is! If you can't be bothered to take an interest I'll press on without you, but I'm simply not satisfied.'

At last Remus discovered that he could be silent no longer. 'Perhaps Professor Dumbledore is right, Sirius,' he ventured softly. 'It… it does seem like it's none of our affair, doesn't it?'

'Bollocks!' Sirius tossed his head disdainfully. 'If everyone just minded their own affairs nothing would ever get done. I don't care if Dumbledore's got his own private explanation: why can't I have one, too?'

'Just a guess, Black,' said James, stroking his chin thoughtfully; 'but I'd have to say that it's because Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Supreme Mugwump and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and you're just a saucy snot-nosed kid.'

Sirius's expression of astonished effrontery would have been positively comical under other circumstances. His head jerked backward and his mouth went slack as he stared at James in wounded disbelief. Then James grinned and Sirius let out a sharp laugh. 'You're a right prat, Potter, you know that?' he snorted.

'I've certainly tried,' said James gravely. 'But honestly, don't you think we ought to let the matter rest awhile? Obviously Dumbledore's aware of the situation and you've got his assurance that she's not off Muggle-hunting in her spare time. That's good enough for now, isn't it?'

'No,' Sirius said crossly, avoiding his friend's eyes.

James sighed. 'I don't understand why you're so worked up over this,' he said. 'It's just one of—'

'If you say it's just one of my mad theories again, Potter, I'll hex you into next week,' growled Sirius. 'You don't understand, and you can't understand, so don't pretend you understand!'

'Understand _what_?' James demanded, planting his fists on his hips and staring defiantly up into his friend's face. 'As far as I can see you're just making outrageous accusations as an excuse to upset everybody. You dragged us up here to wake up the sodding _Headmaster_, and then you wouldn't even take him at his word. What's wrong with you?'

'Oh, I should just take him at his word, should I?' Sirius cried. 'I should just throw up my hands and say "Well, if Dumbledore says so it _must_ be true". That's what I should do, is it?'

'Well, yes,' James said simply. 'The rest of us do.'

'Well, maybe the rest of you have never been lied to by an adult, but I have!' bellowed Sirius. 'You can't just trust them, Potter. They've all got secrets, and things they talk about behind closed doors, and strange friends who come and go in the dead of night, and – and other sorts of things they're hiding. You have to use your own brain: you can't just do what they tell you! Damn it, why do you always just do what they tell you?'

He was positively apoplectic, the whites of his eyes webbed with scarlet blood vessels. His hands were balled into fists that gesticulated helplessly at his sides, and with the last exclamation a spray of spittle shot from his mouth, spattering James's glasses.

James removed the spectacles, wiping them carefully on his robes. Sirius stood before him, seething, clearly waiting for some kind of argument or protestation that would allow him to continue his tirade. Yet at the same time his eyes kept darting up and down his friend's body, as if pleading for some reasoned remark that would give him an excuse to stop.

Replacing his glasses on his nose, James looked thoughtfully at the taller boy. 'There's a time to question and to rebel,' he said calmly; 'and there's a time to just listen to Dumbledore. He's a great man, Sirius, and he's very wise and important. We can trust him, you know.'

'No,' Sirius said, deflating as his anger was replaced with a look of wretched frustration. 'No, I don't know. What makes you so sure we can trust him?'

'My father trusts him,' said James resolutely. 'He thinks very highly of Dumbledore. He's one of the greatest wizards the world has ever known, and certainly the greatest man of our time.' He nodded once, very firmly. 'And Mum says he's got a good heart and he's a brilliant scholar and he used to be a top-rate Transfiguration teacher, back when he still had time for teaching. He's very open-minded, and he believes Muggle-borns are just as good as anybody else, and… well, he let a werewolf come to Hogwarts, even.'

Peter's eyes left Sirius for the first time in minutes, pivoting to Remus. 'He did, didn't he?' he said quietly.

Remus nodded. 'Headmaster Dumbledore is very kind, and generous. He's sensible, too, Sirius. I know we can trust his judgment.'

Sirius did not seem to have heard him. He was looking at James with a curious glint in his eyes. It was somewhere between skepticism and wonder, but there was another emotion at play as well. When he spoke, Remus recognized it: envy.

'Your father thinks very highly of Dumbledore,' he muttered, shaking his head at James. 'Well, there it is, isn't it?'

Squaring his shoulders and raising his chin he turned on one heel and strode away, every muscle in his spine straining for dignity.

James gawked helplessly until Sirius approached the turn in the corridor. 'Hey!' he yelped, taking an abortive step forward. '_Hey!_'

He sprinted down the hallway, leaving Remus and Peter where they stood. Sirius glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of James bearing down upon him. He broke into a run, vanishing around the corner. James went flying after him. The clatter of their footfalls faded away into silence, and a few seconds later there was an enraged yelp somewhere far off.

'What should we do?' Peter whispered, reaching for Remus's wrist.

'I don't know,' admitted Remus. He was still straining to hear what was going on, but there was no further sound loud enough to carry. He wanted to go after them, because he thought he understood the source of Sirius's agitation and he was not at all certain that James did. Yet Sirius's retreat made it obvious that he did not want to be pestered by his friends just now. James had no more qualms about invading Sirius's privacy than Sirius had about invading Meyrigg's, but Remus did not share that freedom. Sirius had painful secrets, secrets that Remus had only glimpsed. As his friends they owed it to him to respect that.

'I don't understand,' Peter said. 'Is Professor Meyrigg dangerous? Is Professor Dumbledore lying to us?'

'No,' said Remus. 'No, it has nothing to do with them: it has to do with Sirius.'

'I don't understand,' Peter repeated, his voice low and tremulous.

Neither did James. Right now, Remus realized, he was probably trying to shake some sense into Sirius, repeating over and over again that Dumbledore could be trusted and Meyrigg was innocent and Sirius was overreacting. The difficulty was that Remus was not at all sure that Sirius _was_ overreacting. Certainly he was mistaken: he had misinterpreted Meyrigg's words and he was not being rational about the Headmaster. Yet Sirius's reluctance to trust was not as unreasonable as it seemed.

'I'm going to see if they need me,' Remus said. He was not certain that he wanted to be involved, but his wishes were secondary to Sirius's needs. 'You can wait here if you like: I'll come back for you.'

Peter looked sorely tempted to take him up on the offer, but he shook his head. 'We're in this together, aren't we? Gryffindor United?'

Remus managed a small smile and nodded. He took the other boy's hand and they started down the corridor.

His fear that they might not be able to locate the others without resorting to rousing the portraits dissolved when James's voice rang out in a sharp expletive. Remus quickened his pace, tugging Peter along after him as he followed the sound. There was a cacophonous crash and a startled yelp, and the two boys rounded the corner into an alarming tableau.

Sirius and James were squaring off over the remains of a suit of armour that had been toppled from its alcove. Sirius had his wand drawn and James was groping for his while trying to keep both eyes on the other boy. Remus felt Peter tugging away from him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the smaller boy scurry to hide behind a pillar. James finally managed to free his wand from his robes, and he levelled it at Sirius.

'Calm down!' he shouted. 'Just sodding calm down!'

'Don't you tell me what to do!' roared Sirius. A small shower of sparks shot from his wand. 'You've got no right to tell me what to do! You don't understand, you silly sanctimonious brat, and I won't put up with it!'

'Understand _what_, you sodding great baboon?' shouted James. 'If you'd take half a second to _explain_ yourself instead of talking in riddles, maybe I could try and figure you out. But no, you've got yourself into a strop and you're throwing a tantrum like some little kid, and—'

'I'm not in a strop!' Sirius hollered. 'You're not being sensible! You're not being _reasonable_! Don't you understand you have to think things through for yourself? What've you got a mind for, if you're just going to believe everything they say?'

'For the seventeenth time, I _am_ thinking for myself!' James roared. He was now nearly as angry as Sirius, if slightly more rational. 'You don't get to pass judgment on the rest of us just because we're not buying into your paranoid delusions. Meyrigg isn't a Muggle-hunter and Dumbledore isn't a fool, and _you're_ the one who's not being reasonable!'

'DAMN YOU, POTTER!' shrieked Sirius. 'YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!'

Another burst of energy crackled from the tip of his wand, this time crisp and white as lightning. James took a defensive step backward, sliding into a duelling stance. In another moment their difference of opinion would degenerate from heated shouting into violence. Someone would surely be injured, and even if they managed to avoid wounding one another's bodies the harm to their friendship might prove impossible to repair. Someone had to do something to stop it, and there was no one else to act. Remus stepped forward.

'Sirius,' he said, careful to keep his voice level and calm. 'Sirius, I think you ought to take a deep breath.'

Steely eyes riveted upon him, flashing with fury and something frighteningly akin to panic. 'So now you're on his side?' he snarled.

Remus shook his head. 'We're all on _your_ side,' he said. 'Let's just put the wands away.'

'Tell that to Potter!' said Sirius, jerking his head towards his friend.

Remus turned to his right. 'James?'

'He'll hex me!' James protested. Remus gave him a steady, plaintive look, and he sighed ponderously. 'All right,' he said. Reluctantly he tucked his wand into his belt and held up his hands. 'Wands away, Sirius,' he said.

Sirius was still seething, but now there was uncertainty in his eyes. He looked from James to Remus and back, his resolve faltering. Then his hands dropped to his sides and his wand fell from his fingers, clicking against the floor. He slouched in upon himself and sank down onto his knees, clearly exhausted in the wake of his hysteria.

'That's better,' said James, navigating the detritus of the suit of armour to crouch down beside the older boy. 'You know you can't go flying off the handle like that.'

Sirius looked up at him. His eyes were silvery and glittering as if he were dangerously near to tears. 'You can't just believe everything adults say,' he whispered.

'But what reason would Dumbledore have to lie?' challenged James, bristling a little again.

'Don't,' Remus said, moving in to kneel next to the others. He tried to meet Sirius's eyes, but Sirius seemed determined to elude him. 'It's true that we need to think for ourselves, and we do. We've just reached a different conclusion than you have, Sirius.'

It was precisely what James had been shouting, but Sirius seemed to be hearing it for the first time. He looked at Remus at last, earnest and somehow entreating. 'I suppose that's fair,' he said hoarsely. 'After all, you shouldn't blindly believe everything _I _say, either.'

'Nobody's blindly believing anything,' said James. 'Why are you so stuck on this?'

Sirius shrank away, staring down at his hands where they lay limp in his lap. 'Not everyone understands, that's all,' he mumbled. 'I've tried to explain, but he doesn't like to rock the boat.'

'What are you talking about?' James asked, snorting good-naturedly. 'I _love_ to rock the boat. I'd overturn it in a minute, except Remus doesn't know how to swim.'

The play upon the idiom should have made Sirius laugh, but it didn't. Suddenly he looked even more miserable than before. 'I didn't mean you,' he whispered.

'Then who?' said James.

Sirius looked up at him, eyes flashing briefly. His expression froze into a resolute mask and he forced his shoulders into what was clearly meant to be a lackadaisical shrug. 'Nobody,' he said flatly. 'No one at all.'

For a moment Remus was certain that he ought to let the remark slide by. He could distract them both with the business of reassembling the suit of armour. He could make jokes about how they didn't want to get caught. It had to be nearly time for breakfast: he could convince James and Peter to run off to the Great Hall so that he could talk to Sirius privately. But then they would all be in the same position the next time something like this happened.

'It's Regulus, isn't it?' he ventured quietly. 'It's Regulus who believes everything the adults say.'

Sirius's whole body stiffened and his head whipped around, frantic eyes locked upon Remus's face. He looked as if he rather wanted to slap his betrayer, but then he nodded. 'Silly little git,' he muttered. 'Always did dote on every word Mum said. But at least when I was around I could try to talk a little sense into him. I don't like the thought of him all alone with those people, callers coming by the house at odd hours, Grandfather's contacts from the Ministry… he's young. He's bound to get the wrong ideas.'

'Has something happened?' Remus asked. 'Have you had a letter from him?'

Sirius shook his head. 'That's part of the trouble,' he admitted. 'He hasn't written me since Christmas. He doesn't usually go this long without one of his annoying little notes.'

'What's stopping you from writing to him?' asked James, batting at his friend's arm. 'So you're missing your brother. No shame in that.'

Sirius let out a short, cracked chuckle. 'I s'pose not,' he said. 'It's just I don't want him to get the wrong idea. I don't want him thinking I miss him or something soppy like that. I just… it'll be better when he's at school too, you see.'

'Sure it will,' said James. He sounded very much as if he meant it, though he still seemed bewildered.

'We'll be able to show him how to break into the kitchens,' Peter added, venturing at last from his hiding place and moving to stand over his friends. 'And we won't let him try to tackle the Whomping Willow.'

Sirius snorted rather wetly and smirked. 'If any firstie could touch the trunk, it'd be Regulus,' he declared. He reached out and picked up one of the iron gauntlets. The scales of the fingers creaked against each other as he turned it in his hand. 'I suppose I'd better reassemble this thing. Meadowes will have a fit if she hears about it.'

James grinned. '_If you lose Gryffindor any more points, Black_…' he mimicked, wagging a finger under Sirius's nose.

'I don't want to get on the wrong side of her,' Sirius added, hefting himself to his feet and bending to retrieve his wand. 'She's got quite the Evil Eye when she's angry. Pretty nearly as bad as McGonagall. _Reparo_!'

Several pieces of the suit of armour twitched, and one of the feet shot across the floor to join itself, bizarrely, to the base of the cuirass.

'Damn,' Sirius said mildly. 'I suppose we'll have to do it the hard way.'

'Just because you can't cast a simple charm doesn't mean the rest of us are incompetent,' James needled good-naturedly. He produced his wand. '_Reparo_!' he declared.

This time the helmet scuttled over the ground, bouncing against the wall.

'I'm not sure that's the right spell to use,' Remus ventured. He was still watching Sirius for signs of further madness, but so far none were forthcoming. 'It isn't broken, after all. It's just disassembled.'

'All right, then,' said Sirius, swooping to collect the vambrace that matched his gauntlet. 'What sort of a spell do we use, O Perfect Student? A Reassembly Charm?'

Peter giggled. 'There's no such thing,' he said.

Sirius bowed elegantly. 'How well you understand me, Sir Pettigrew,' he said.

'There probably is, you know,' James said, eyeing the greaves critically. 'What do you think?' he asked. 'Right? Left?'

'Does it really matter?' asked Sirius. 'After all, it's not as if the thing is going to be walking around.'

Remus moved to retrieve the other gauntlet. As he did so he caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see the tabby cat sitting rigidly at the end of the corridor, watching them intently.

Sirius and James were arguing now about which edge of the knee plates ought to face up, and Peter was occupied in affixing the visor back onto the helmet. Remus tried to turn away, but the cat's gaze was strangely hypnotic. He felt compelled to meet it, and once again he had the uncanny sense that the animal had a deeper understanding of his thoughts and behaviour than a cat had any right to have.

'I'm telling you, it's wider on this edge!' Sirius said, playfully exasperated. It was a drastic change from his earlier agitation, and most welcome.

'Give over!' said James. 'It's the concave bit that goes on top. The wide part belongs on the outside.'

'Have you never taken a moment to look at one of these things?' demanded Sirius. 'Honestly, Potter, you can't see past the end of your nose!'

'Would you give it here, and I'll show you?' James reached for the partially assembled leg. Sirius tugged, reluctant to yield, and they both lost their grip. The bits of armour fell to the ground, clanging noisily. Remus turned instinctively towards the sound, forgetting the cat as Sirius and James began to laugh. It was a joyous sound, washing away the lingering stigma of their quarrel and restoring balance to their friendship.

'My word, you boys have gone quite far enough!' A stern voice cut across the corridor and all four of them turned to find Professor McGonagall striding towards them. She was dressed for the day in robes of dark green velvet, her hat set squarely over her neatly dressed hair. As she approached she produced her wand, flicking it smoothly through the air. Peter ducked, sheltering his head, as the bits of armour flew off of the ground, reassembling themselves and taking a long, slow step backward into the alcove.

'That artefact is more than four hundred years old!' McGonagall scolded. 'If you insist upon ignoring the authority of the Headmaster and invading the personal space of the staff and stampeding about the school in the small hours of the morning, at the very least you could show a little respect for the relics of history!'

James and Sirius both had enough sense to hold their tongues. It was best, when McGonagall was angry, to let her have her say. When she wanted their input, she would ask for it.

'I was going to wait and speak to you all after breakfast,' the Assistant Headmistress went on; 'but I fear that if I delay we might not have a castle left in which to hold that discussion. I would give you the opportunity to explain yourselves, but as I understand it the Headmaster has already done so, and I have no reason to believe that you will be any more forthright with me.'

She put away her wand and crossed her arms and regarded them severely. 'I do not need to tell you that what you did this morning was entirely unacceptable. Professor Meyrigg has the right to your respect, not only as an instructor at this school but also as a woman of great courage and strength of character. It is bad enough that you saw fit to pry into her personal affairs, but to persecute a lady in her condition, so obviously ill, is a violation of the most rudimentary rules of civilized society. She has quite enough to worry about without being interrogated in her own suite of rooms by four insolent little boys!'

Remus was quite sure that his heart had stopped. Peter's complexion was blotchy and greyish. James had his mouth clamped tightly shut, eyes widened ever so slightly as the well-deserved tirade washed over him. Sirius had his head tilted to one side. He was studying McGonagall very curiously.

'I cannot express how disappointed I am in your deplorably bad behaviour!' she went on. 'I may be foolish to think so, but I have come to expect a higher standard of Gryffindor House. Professor Meyrigg does not seem to think that punishment will produce any lasting effect upon you, and I am afraid I am beginning to agree with her. However, that does not mean that punishment is not warranted, nor that it shall not be meted out. You will all be serving detention with me every night this week, and I promise it will not be pleasant.'

Peter swallowed painfully, and James relaxed a little. Clearly he had been expecting worse, and having served detentions with Professor McGonagall before he was undaunted by the proscribed penalty. Sirius was still studying the teacher's face as if he had never before seen it.

'As for your ridiculous theory, Mr Black,' McGonagall went on; 'I can only say that I hope you were merely reacting in the heat of the moment. Brynna Meyrigg is not a Death Eater. If you ever repeat – or indeed stoop to believe – such slanderous accusations again I will have to consider very carefully your place in my House and in this school.'

Sirius blanched, startled out of whatever reverie he had been lost in. 'Professor, I only…' He hesitated, glancing sidelong at James, and clearly thought better of his protest. He closed his mouth. 'Yes, ma'am,' he said meekly.

McGonagall nodded curtly. 'I understand that you may have a deeper understanding of the recruitment practices of the people in question than a boy your age ought to have,' she said, her tone softening marginally. 'But you must not give way to wild flights of fancy and absurd paranoia.'

'You're right, Professor,' said Sirius. 'But why does she go down to Croydon every weekend, then? It's too much of a coincidence.'

Professor McGonagall's mouth vanished into a thin line of displeasure. 'Mr Black,' she said; 'you have violated school rules and thrown aside the fundamentals of manners and good taste in your pursuit of information that is not only no affair of yours, but also quite sensitive to all those involved. What on earth would induce you to think I would reward this unacceptable behaviour by giving you what you want?'

She waited as if expecting an answer. A faint flush appeared on Sirius's cheekbones. At last, it seemed, he was beginning to feel ashamed of himself. 'Nothing, I suppose, Professor,' he said.

'Precisely,' said McGonagall. 'Now, I expect all of you to leave Professor Meyrigg alone. _All of you_, Mr Potter.' She turned her gaze onto Remus. 'As for you, Lupin, I would have thought that given the discretion Professor Meyrigg has shown where questions about your personal life are concerned, you might have seen fit to extend her the same courtesy.'

Remus bowed his head, unable to look into her eyes. It did not matter that the same thought had been running through his head all morning: he deserved no more credit than any of the others. He was just as guilty as they were – guiltier, perhaps, because James didn't really understand the nature of personal boundaries and Sirius was driven by a desperate need to comprehend and control the world around him and Peter just did whatever the others asked of him. 'Yes, Professor,' he murmured. 'I truly am sorry, Professor.'

'I am not the one to whom you should apologize,' Professor McGonagall said. 'I trust that each of you will be on your very best behaviour from now on, and if there is any doubt as to what that behaviour ought to be I suggest that you consult someone with more sense than yourselves. Now off to breakfast with you: I shall see you all in my office at nine o'clock this evening.'

'Yes, ma'am,' all four boys chorused. McGonagall shot them a last long, stern look before brushing past and vanishing around the corner.


	75. Salt, Scouring and Silence

_Note: Now, I was going to hold off until Tuesday to post, because that's the full moon and it's getting awfully close, but I decided to go ahead anyway. So everyone be nice and review, to keep me focused while I hammer out another chapter in three short days! Also, vote on the poll: last chance! It closes on Monday morning._

**Chapter Seventy-Five: Salt, Scouring and Silence**

McGonagall's departure left a vacuum of silence in the corridor. Peter stood paralyzed, as if he could not quite comprehend the scope of the scolding they had just received. Remus, unable to quite raise his head, caught sight of Sirius out of the corner of his eye – just a long enough glimpse to know that he was fidgeting uncomfortably. Just when the hush seemed likely to suffocate them all, James spoke.

'Well that's that, chaps!' he said cheerfully. 'I'm of the opinion that we got off quite easily. We haven't lost any House points, and therefore don't need to fend off rabid Prefects. Furthermore, it's nearly time for breakfast!'

'But a week's worth of detentions!' Peter exclaimed. 'I've never even had one before!'

'Ah, but we might have had detentions from Meyrigg and Dumbledore as well,' James said sagely. 'And if you've got concerns about your punishment, thank Sirius. If we hadn't gone charging off to see the Headmaster we might have escaped McGonagall altogether.'

'How do you mean?' asked Peter. 'She said she was going to talk to us about it later on anyhow.'

'Tempers cool with time,' James reasoned. 'We're some of her best students, you know. Well, _three_ of her best students, anyhow. She can't stay angry at us for long.'

'I'm not so sure of that,' Remus whispered. His hands were trembling and he hid them in his sleeves, suddenly glad that Sirius had laid out his one well-fitting set of robes. 'She threatened to expel us.'

He closed his eyes, the better to weather the wave of terror that rocked him to his core. His one chance, his only hope of living a happy and useful life was to get his education at Hogwarts. Sirius, energetic and resourceful and fearless, would always find some way to get by. James, with his parents' love and their fortune behind him, had nothing to fear from the future whatever befell him. Perhaps the Potters' influence was even such that the Board of Governors would never dare to ratify an order of expulsion. And although Peter admittedly had very little to fall back on he was at least fully human, and might make a living by his other talents – Professor Meyrigg, at least, had use for those gifted in painting and drawing. But there was no future for an unqualified werewolf but misery and starvation and despair. Wounding oneself deliberately for a few days' respite at St Mungo's. Wasting quietly away on the margins of society.

Yet as much as he feared for a life without the protection of a first-rate education, it was in fact the other consequences that turned his stomach and stripped away any ghost of defiance. He could imagine all too clearly the disappointment and betrayal on the Headmaster's face as he shook his head and pronounced sentence upon the wretched, ungrateful part-human whom he had allowed, against all reason, to attend his school. He could see the sorrow and the voiceless terror in his mother's eyes as she tried to protect him from the horror of an empty future. And he could hear the shame in his father's voice as he tried, hopelessly, to apologize for his son the werewolf.

'She threatened to expel _me_,' Sirius contradicted grimly, looking down at his palms and scrubbing them against the front of his robes. 'Or at least toss me out of Gryffindor. Where d'you suppose I'd go?' he asked abruptly, as if it had only just occurred to him. 'I'd rather die than turn Slytherin, and I'm not bookish enough by half to be wanted in Ravenclaw.'

'You know what that means,' said James in a cautionary singsong voice. 'Sirius Black, prince among Hufflepuffs!'

'Give over, Potter,' Sirius said, shoving at his friend. There was a phantom of a smile tugging at his lips, however, and the smallest of sparkles appeared in his eyes. 'Anyway, she only said she'd have to give _careful consideration_ to my place in her House. That's not really a threat, is it?'

'No,' James agreed. 'Now, if she'd said she was thinking about giving it _sirius consideration_ we'd know you were in trouble.'

Sirius snorted, but he was grinning now. 'The day that McGonagall starts making smart remarks about my name is the day we'll all have to head for the hills,' he said. 'She wouldn't know a pun if it came up and bit her on the nose.'

'Cheer up, you two!' James said, moving around Sirius in order to clap both Remus and Peter on the shoulder. 'Would you look at them? You'd think they'd never been told off before.'

'I _haven't_,' Peter protested, his ears growing pink. 'At least not like that. Professor McGonagall's frightening when she's angry.'

'Oh, pish. Underneath the daunting exterior she's a right kitten, I promise. What bothers me is how she knew everything we've been saying and doing all morning,' James said, furrowing his brows. 'D'you suppose she had the portraits spying on us or something?'

'You know, I was wondering about that, too,' said Sirius. 'She hasn't got a cat, has she?'

'A cat?' James echoed.

'A tabby cat with markings like spectacles,' Sirius said. 'Because Peter saw one in the corridor by Meyrigg's office, and I saw it too – while you and I were arguing over the leg.' He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the suit of armour. 'It's funny, too, how much they look like _her_ spectacles.'

'Oh, I see,' James drawled. 'It's another mad theory by Sirius Black. McGonagall can turn into animals now, can she?'

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. 'It was good enough for Morgan le Fay,' he said. 'She just doesn't strike me as the sort to keep a pet.'

'It's just a coincidence,' insisted James. 'Either that or Peter had a fish paste sandwich in his pocket again.'

There was an audible rumbling of the smaller boy's stomach, and he smiled self-consciously. 'No,' said Peter. 'Though I'd quite like to go down for breakfast if you don't mind. It should be just about time.'

'So it should,' said James, consulting his wristwatch. 'Let's budge along, gentlemen. I was very firm about not missing breakfast, and James Potter is a man of his word.'

'Oh, dear,' Sirius mused, falling into step beside his friend while Peter and Remus brought up the rear. 'Does that mean we shan't be breaking into Meyrigg's office a third time?'

_~discidium~_

Professor Meyrigg was not seen at breakfast, nor indeed at lunch. The four boys slept through supper, having decided unanimously that a nap was in order after the morning's adventures. Remus woke out of a vague and unhappy dream to the sound of James's voice, rousing them all cheerfully for their detention.

The walk to Professor McGonagall's office was a long and awkward one. Peter was beside himself with nerves, and James kept trying to coax a smile out of him. Sirius seemed lost in thought, and Remus was very quiet, humbled by his guilt and prepared to endure whatever punishment he had earned.

The door stood ajar, but in an uncharacteristic show of deference Sirius knocked upon it and waited for the teacher's command to enter. McGonagall was seated at her desk, her posture so perfect that her spine did not touch the back of her chair. She regarded the four culprits through her spectacles as they shuffled into the room. Remus was the last to enter, and he moved to close the door only to be waved off.

'That will not be necessary,' McGonagall said, rising from her seat and smoothing her robes. 'I have other duties to discharge this evening that will hinder me from overseeing your punishment myself. Therefore I will be turning you over to the hands of the groundskeeper.'

'Hagrid?' Sirius blurted out, unable to quite contain the expression of glee that sprang across his face. He forced a studious frown as quickly as he could when McGonagall launched a disapproving eyebrow towards her hairline.

'Indeed, Black,' she said. 'And in order to protect him from any encounters with your particular flavour of mischief I must ask that the four of you surrender your wands.'

'Seems sensible,' James said, holding his out for the Deputy Headmistress to take. Peter did so next, and McGonagall held her hand out to Remus.

His fingers fumbled with the handle of his wand, and although the sensible voice in the back of his head insisted that Professor McGonagall was not going to snap his wand – that she would return it in perfect condition at the end of the evening – he could not quite make himself release his grip. McGonagall waited with her hand closed lightly upon the shaft, watching him intently. Her expression was inscrutable, but there was an unstrained curve to her mouth that told Remus she was neither angry nor impatient with him. That realization was enough to loosen his grip, and he watched as his wand joined the other two on the desk.

Professor McGonagall then turned to Sirius, palm outstretched. He grinned cheekily at her and shrugged.

'Left it in the dormitory, didn't I?' he said. 'I figured you'd have us polishing trophies with a rag and a little pot of greasy blue stuff.'

'Considering that your unhealthy interest in the Trophy Room is part of the issue at hand, Black, that would seem most unlikely,' McGonagall said coldly. 'Your wand, please.'

'I told you,' Sirius said sunnily; 'it's up in the dormitory. Pat me down if you want to.'

McGonagall cleared her throat ominously and fixed an exceedingly cold gaze upon Sirius. 'I shall ask you once more, and not again, Mr Black,' she said, enunciating each syllable as if her voice had the power to etch her words in stone. 'Give me your wand.'

A brilliant light ignited in Sirius's eyes and he squared his shoulders, his face set into hard lines of defiance. He glared fiercely at the teacher, and for an awful moment Remus was terrified that he would say something bold and rebellious and utterly unforgiveable. Then Sirius's pupils followed the contours of the professor's spectacles, and he relaxed into a lazy grin.

'Oh, all right,' he said, pulling his wand out of his pocket and surrendering it with a flourish. 'Just don't you let Moggie use it for a scratching post.'

'I beg your pardon, Black?' McGonagall said coolly.

'You know: your tabby cat,' said Sirius. 'Or isn't he yours at all?'

McGonagall's eyes fluttered closed in what appeared to be a moment of long-suffering exasperation. 'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Black,' she said. 'Now, hurry and put on your outdoor things. Hagrid will be waiting at the castle doors.'

'But we didn't bring our winter—' James began to protest, but McGonagall flicked her wand and four cloaks appeared upon her desk, accompanied by familiar caps and gloves. '—things,' he finished lamely.

'Hardly seems right,' Sirius grumbled, picking up his own cloak and tossing Peter's at its owner. 'Nicking things from our room without so much as a by-your-leave. Invasion of privacy if you ask me.'

Remus hurried to fasten his cloak, donning his hat and gloves with haste. Professor McGonagall had not summoned their mufflers, and he wondered whether he ought to mention the oversight, but by that time the others were dressed and ready to go and the Deputy Headmistress was herding them out of the door.

She escorted them swiftly and efficiently to the Entrance Hall, throwing open the great doors. Standing on the broad steps of the castle and staring up at the sky was Hagrid, a massive figure in his greatcoat. He had a lantern in his hand and he grinned at the four boys as they stepped out into the evening gloom.

'Well, now,' he said cheerfully. 'Got oursel's inter a bit o' trouble, did we? Fit o' boyish enthusiasm, no doubt. Doan' worry, Professor: I'll see to it they're kep' out o' trouble. Spot o' hard work never hurt anyone.'

'Thank you, Hagrid,' Professor McGonagall said. 'They haven't got their wands, and they will behave for you if they know what's good for them. Please inform me if they do not. Potter, Black, Pettigrew, Lupin,' she recited, locking eyes with each of them in turn; 'it will serve you well to remember that you are at my mercy for the next six nights, and that experience can be as benign or as unpleasant as you choose to make it.'

'Yes, Professor,' James said sombrely, bobbing his head. 'You've made that very clear, thank you, Professor.'

McGonagall nodded curtly and retreated into the castle, drawing the doors closed behind her. Hagrid waited, watching the castle for a full minute before looking at the boys and winking conspiratorially.

'Doan' worry, lads,' he said. 'I en't intendin' ter work ye 'til ye drop. We're off for a spot o' adventure!'

'Jolly good!' James exclaimed, earning a snigger from Sirius. He smirked and swatted at the taller boy.

'What sort of an adventure?' asked Peter nervously.

Hagrid grinned enormously, tugging at his shaggy beard. 'Ye'll see,' he said happily. 'Follow close, now. We've got ter stop by th' cottage first.'

He set off across the grounds, his long thundering strides carrying him swiftly. Sirius and James seemed to fall naturally into step behind him, but Remus and Peter had to trot in order to keep up. Quickly enough they reached the low garden wall, where Hagrid halted next to four burlap sacks. Three of them were about the size of household flour sacks, but the fourth was large enough to carry a pair of human bodies. All of them were packed about three-quarters full with a greyish granular material.

'Hol' this, will ye lad?' he said, handing the lantern to Peter. He bent down, tying the three smaller sacks closed with practiced fingers. He picked one up, weighing it in his massive palm, and then passed it to James. 'What do ye think?' he asked. 'It ent too heavy, is it? Las' time I had a student helpin' me 'e did nuthin' but whine 'bout 'ow heavy the sacks were.'

'No, it's all right,' James said, cradling it in his arms. 'What is this stuff?'

'My own recipe,' Hagrid said happily. 'Saltpetre, chalk, rock salt from Middlewich, half a pound of Marlow's Magnificent Mineral Extract, a couple o' secret ingredients I like t'add fer variety, an' rust.'

'Rust?' Sirius echoed, looking sceptically at the open sack.

'Aye,' Hagrid said, nodding proudly. 'Good fer the blood, ye know.'

'Blood?' Peter squeaked, edging nearer to Remus and tightening his grip on the lantern.

Hagrid was knotting the large sack now, doubling the edges of the burlap over to form a sort of a handle. He dusted his hands on his coat and motioned to the other boys. 'Go on,' he said. 'One o' you gets ter carry the shovels, an' the others get a bag apiece.'

Sirius stepped forward, looking from the bags to the four long-handled spades leaning up against the wall. He glanced at Remus. 'Which do you want?' he asked.

'I want the shovels,' Peter said.

'You don't get to choose,' Sirius said firmly. 'Remus?'

'I'll take a sack,' Remus said quietly, moving forward to lift one. It was not as heavy as he had expected: indeed, it likely weighed less than the bags of flour his mother kept in the larder at home. He hefted it onto his shoulder as he had seen her do, and felt the weight settle neatly next to his spine. Sirius took the other one, mimicking his friend's motions. Then he grinned at James.

'C'mon Potter: it's not a baby!' he said, using his free hand to poke at the other boy's sack. 'Carry it like a man.'

'Geroff, you prat,' James grunted, but he was smiling as he shifted his burden. 'Who's going to carry that one?' he asked cheekily, though the answer was obvious.

With a pleased grunt, Hagrid hefted the massive sack onto his shoulders. Once he had it positioned comfortably he settled one hand around the knots and reached for the lantern with the other. Peter yielded it and hurried to gather up the tools.

'W-Where are we going?' he asked tremulously.

'Inter the Fores', o'course,' said Hagrid happily.

'The _Forbidden _Forest?' Sirius asked. His happy smile was now a blissful grin, as if the evening could not possibly get any better.

'No, the Divinely Posh Ornamental Forest,' James said sarcastically. 'It's next to the tennis greens behind the summer house.'

'Ye 'aven't got a dislike o' dogs, 'ave ye?' Hagrid asked, surveying the students worriedly. 'Poppet'd be 'eartbroken if I left 'er behind.'

'So would I,' Sirius said, grinning enormously.

Peter did not look quite so certain, but James grinned at him. 'And she'll be good protection,' he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. 'I hear she's quite the monster-slayer.'

For a moment Peter looked positively terrified, but then James winked and a nervous smile spread across Peter's face as remembered their earlier encounter with the gamekeeper's dog. Terror, it seemed, was fleeting: the delight of a shared adventure endured.

Hagrid let out a sharp, piercing whistle, and there was a deep, resonant bark somewhere in the distance. A moment later the enormous boarhound came bounding out of the night towards them, butting her head against Hagrid's sturdy leg and then sniffing at each of the boys in turn.

'Of we go, lads,' Hagrid said, setting off down the path that led into the forest. Sirius hesitated for a moment before hurrying forward to walk beside the groundskeeper. Quickly and surely he stretched out his free hand and patted the top of Poppet's head.

She turned, growling instinctively. Sirius did not recoil, but instead scrabbled his fingertips behind her ear. She glowered as if she was trying to decide whether to bite him, but grizzled instead and jerked her neck so that her skull rapped against his knuckles in taciturn approval.

'Go on: I'll be rearguard,' James said to Remus, his eyes flicking pointedly at Peter. Remus nodded, grateful for his friend's unwonted consideration of the younger boy's anxieties.

'You and me, Peter,' he said, managing a smile. Peter shot him a tiny thankful look and they hurried after Hagrid and Sirius, James strolling happily behind.

It was a moonless night, and the clouds were low. Once within the eaves of the Forest the glitter of the castle windows vanished and they were left with only the light of Hagrid's lantern to guide them. The enormous man moved through the woods with remarkable stealth, scarcely seeming to make a sound as he moved. His head was bent forward as a counterweight to the mass on his back, and now and then he halted to listen to the sounds in the night. But Poppet was quiet and Hagrid apparently unconcerned by anything he heard. They walked on.

Presently they came to a place where the well-trod path curled away to the right and a fainter trail could be seen to the left. Hagrid led them down the latter, which broadened suddenly into a little clearing where two large pine trees had once stood. They had long ago toppled and been cleared away: their ragged, weathered stumps still stood like wizened sentinels.

Hagrid put down his sack with a force that rumbled the underbrush. He scooped the shovels out of Peter's arms and handed him the lantern.

'Put 'em down,' he said to the other three, and as their hands were freed he issued them each a spade. 'We're goin' ter clear a patch o' ground right here.' His long arm mapped a broad circle between the stumps. 'An' then we'll lay it down.' He smiled at Peter. 'Hol' that light nice 'n high, lad.'

They worked intently for a few minutes, scraping aside snow and dead branches and fallen leaves until the soil was laid bare. Then Hagrid marked out a space and guided them through digging out a shallow depression in the earth. He took one of the small sacks, loosed the knot, and upended its contents into the hole. This was followed by several shovelfuls from his own bag, and then they buried the mixture and sprinkled the detritus over the loose earth.

After that they returned to the main path, James and Sirius and Hagrid carrying the remaining sacks while Peter and Remus each took two spades. Perhaps a quarter of a mile along, Hagrid led them off into another little clearing where the process was repeated. This time Remus held the light while the others dug.

'What exactly are we doing?' Sirius asked when the deposit was hidden and they began to load up again.

'Reseedin' the salt licks,' Hagrid said.

'Do what?' Sirius grunted, nonplussed.

'Salt licks,' repeated Hagrid. 'Blimey, lad. En't you never heard of salt licks before?'

'I grew up in sodding Islington, mate,' Sirius said. 'If it happens in a wood in the dead of night I've never heard of it.'

'They're put out for animals,' James said. 'To attract them, ordinarily: either for hunting or to keep them away from somewhere they're not wanted.'

'Aye,' Hagrid said. 'Not fer huntin' at Hogwarts, though. I jus' like my creaters ter be 'appy and 'ealthy. Lots o' animals in these wood, an' they need their minerals, ye know. 'Specially in winter.'

'W-what kind of animals?' Peter asked uneasily, gripping his shovel like a truncheon and looking wildly about.

'Deer, rabbits,' Hagrid said. 'Mooncalves, they say,' he added with a wink. 'An' the horses o'course.'

'Of course,' James said, nodding sombrely.

Hagrid grinned and leaned in towards the boys. 'An' unicorns,' he whispered, smiling delightedly.

'Truly?' said Peter.

Hagrid nodded. 'Tha's why I like ter lay 'em at night. Better chance o' catchin' a glimpse o' one. Unicorns're skittish beasts: hard ter see an' near impossible ter catch. Bu' they like the salt when it's fresh. We'll double back ter each lick on our way out, an' see if we can spy one.'

They laid half a dozen more licks, the remainder of which were seeded from Hagrid's sack while the boys moved along each bearing a shovel. As promised the work was not hard, but the night grew colder and Remus soon found himself wishing for the warm weight of the sack on his back. His cotton robes were too thin to be of much use against a winter night, even in February, and no matter how tightly he wound his cloak around his arms he shivered. He knew that if he gave voice to his discomfort Hagrid would do whatever was necessary to relieve it, but he held his tongue. He did not want to distress the big man, who was making such an effort to be kind to them, and in any case he knew that this was a part of the punishment. McGonagall had sent them out into the dark chill of the night so that they would learn that their persecution of Professor Meyrigg was misguided and disrespectful and wicked.

Sirius and James appeared to be missing the point of the exercise. They made cheerful conversation with Hagrid and they laughed as they worked. When Hagrid started to roll up his empty sack Sirius stretched his arms and craned his neck towards the canopy above, drawing in a deep and greedy breath of air.

'It must be nice to work out here,' Sirius said. 'I'd just bet you don't ever get the urge to run off for the weekend.'

'Well, I do like ter 'ave me a night in t'village every now 'n again,' Hagrid admitted. 'They serve a fine Firewhiskey at the Hog's Head, ye know.'

'I didn't know that, no,' said Sirius, handing back the lantern and scratching Poppet between the shoulder blades. 'Ever get down to London?'

'Coupla times a year,' Hagrid said. 'Ye're born 'n bred in London, en't ye? Blacks been in London for centuries.'

Sirius wrinkled his nose distastefully, but appeared to take the reference to his family in the innocent way it had been meant. 'So they say. To everyone who'll listen. Have you ever been to Kensington?'

James shook his head in mild disbelief, but Hagrid frowned. 'Not that I remember,' he said. 'Wha's there to see in Kensington?'

'A load of stuffy old houses, mainly,' said Sirius. 'What about Croydon? Have you ever been to Croydon?'

Remus bit his lip, trying desperately to think of some way warn Sirius off. If word got back to Professor McGonagall that he was making use of his detention to pursue the very issue that had led to the punishment in the first place… but James was grinning, waiting eagerly to see how Sirius meant to proceed, and Peter had a look of awed admiration on his face.

'Can't say I have, lad,' said Hagrid, taking the lantern from James and starting back in the direction he had come. 'Might 'ave caught a train there once, but I don' recall.'

'That's a shame,' James said. 'I was hoping you could tell me what it's like. I've never been.'

'Oh, well, if it's stories 'bout Croydon ye want ye ough' te talk ter Brynna,' said Hagrid. 'Now, she's gettin' te know Croydon quite well.'

'That's right,' Sirius said, snapping his fingers as if Hagrid had just said something very clever. 'She's got business interests down there, doesn't she?'

'Well, I wouldn' call 'im a business interest,' chuckled Hagrid. 'But she's definitely got work ter do down there. All in the strictest confidence, o'course.'

'Of course,' said James, in precisely the same tone he had used when talking about horses. 'You know we'd never breathe a word. Professor Dumbledore's made it clear that he wants us to keep the matter secret.'

'Wise man, ol' Dumbledore,' Hagrid said, bobbing his head happily. 'Couldn'a settled on a better 'andler than Brynna, 'e couldn'. Clever lass, good 'ead on 'er shoulders. Brave. We're meant ter 'ave tea when she gets back on Sunday.'

'How lovely,' Sirius said, shrewdly noting that Hagrid, like the Headmaster, did not appear to have been informed about Meyrigg's decision to remain behind this week. 'I'm sure she'll want to tell you all about her weekend, as usual.'

'Tell me, lad?' Hagrid chuckled. 'Tell _me_? Why, ye doan' think she'd be sharin' that sort o' information with me! Dumbledore's ears only, tha' sort of work. Strictly confidential.'

Sirius looked crestfallen. 'Oh,' said James. 'Pity.'

Hagrid shrugged. 'I reckon Dumbledore knows best,' he said contentedly. 'We've all got te do our part, an' someone's got ter be lookin' at the big picture. That someone's Dumbledore. No one better. Defeated Grindelwald, didn' he? An' Grindelwald was the mos' powerful dark wizard in five hundred years.'

Peter made a small, frightened sound, and Hagrid turned around to look at him. 'Aw, doan' worry, lad,' he said earnestly. ' 'E can't hurt nobody now. Locked up, 'e is, an' ye can thank Dumbledore for that. Now, then. If we're goin' ter sneak up on a unicorn we'd bes' stop talkin'. 'Ere we go, lad. Take my hand.'

Peter did so gladly, following the towering gamekeeper back towards the previous site. Although they stopped at each lick, approaching with care, they did not see a unicorn. Hagrid would have liked to take them for a second round, but Sirius and James shrugged him off on the grounds that it was time for bed. By this time, Remus's knees and arms were very nearly numb, and he was grateful for the excuse to return to the castle. Once safely in the dormitory he crawled into the warm cocoon of his bed, drifting off to sleep while Sirius and James were still dissecting every word that Hagrid had spoken.

_~discidium~_

'Lazy, wicked little brats,' Mr Filch muttered, crossing his arms over the top of his broom-handle and glowering at the boys. 'Scrub harder, d'you hear me? Put yer backs into it.'

It was Sunday evening, and the four boys were serving their second detention. Professor McGonagall's other commitments, it seemed, were keeping her away again, and so they had been left in the hands of the caretaker. He was an angry pinch-faced man, and he was in an especially foul mood this evening. He had set them the task of scrubbing down one of the third-floor corridors, the walls of which had apparently not been cleaned since the reign of Edward VII. Sirius was perched on a ladder, rubbing down the portrait-frames. James and Remus were working on the main body of the walls, and Peter was on hands and knees working on the wainscoting – a task that Filch, who apparently loathed certain students above all others, had originally set for Sirius before Peter's terror of heights had very nearly sent him toppling from the ladder.

'Sneaking 'round the school, breaking into offices. Meddling in the affairs of others, sticking their grubby little noses where they're not wanted,' Filch went on. The stream of grievances had been flowing constantly for nearly three-quarters of an hour, and it was beginning to give Remus a headache. He was frankly amazed that James and Sirius had been tolerating it so well: after yesterday's antics with Hagrid he had half expected them to start in on Filch.

'You must admit,' Sirius said unexpectedly. They were the first words he had uttered since his rather rude salutation at the beginning of their detention. 'You must _admit_ that Meyrigg's a bit of pain.'

'Must admit it, must I?' Filch snarled, curling his lip scornfully.

'Well, yes,' said Sirius. 'I mean, coming and going at odd hours, tracking mud and snow into the Entrance Hall every Sunday night… must drive you straight 'round the bend.'

'Aye,' said Filch viciously, clawing at the broom as though he wanted to strangle it. 'Aye, these teachers, just as bad as the students, most of 'em. Maggots 'n houseflies. Shouting orders and making demands. Won't even let me in to clean her office, silly tart. Says she can _manage. _Manage, pah! You'll see. Come the end of term she'll be demanding I scrub the whole place out so it'll be nice and fresh for the fall, and me havin' to do a year's work in a day or two, just to suit her. Can't even be bothered to stay at school like a proper teacher. Sneakin' off at night, doing God knows what. Ain't right. Ain't proper.'

'It's an open scandal,' Sirius agreed. 'I heard she's fallen in with a bad crowd as well.'

'Eh?' grunted Filch, staring up at the boy with narrowed eyes. 'Bad crowd? I wouldn't know anything 'bout that. No, my guess is that she's got herself a little bit of somethin' on the side. Married, you know. Disgusting.'

_~discidium~_

'Well, he knew absolutely nothing,' Sirius said later that evening when the four boys returned to their dormitory, smelling of washing liquid and rubbing aching forearms with raw hands. 'I think he knows less than we do.'

'I've always maintained that he does,' said James. 'And not just about Meyrigg, either.'

'He certainly doesn't seem to like you two,' Peter ventured, shucking off his robes and wriggling into his pyjamas. 'I've never heard a grown-up using such dirty words.'

'That's because you don't hang about with the right sort of grown-ups,' Sirius said. 'There's an old tramp who used to kip in our back alley in the winter: now _he _knew every dirty word ever invented, and quite a few that I think he just made up on the spot. He gave me lessons: I'd sneak him out some dinner now and then in exchange. Of course I had to tell him I lived down at number ten, but I don't think he cared much. Liked his cider, too. Horrid cheap stuff that smelled like Doxy dung.'

'Charming, I'm sure,' said James. 'What happened to him?'

Sirius's eyes clouded briefly. 'Got a shift on, didn't he,' he said. 'Kreacher took exception to my sharing the fruits of his labour with a shiftless Muggle. Dad had a word.'

'There's a group of big kids in the village who sleep rough in the summer,' Peter said. 'They wear colourful clothes and they play their own music and they're always smoking. I never much thought about where they go in winter.'

'Brighton, probably,' James said. 'Or Bath. The real question is where Meyrigg goes. I mean _why_ Meyrigg goes.'

'We need to stop asking questions,' Remus said quietly. 'Professor McGonagall warned us to stop. Headmaster Dumbledore did, too. We need to stop. Don't ask Professor McGonagall any questions about Professor Meyrigg tomorrow. Please.'

'Oh, don't worry,' Sirius said with a wicked grin. 'I have a whole different set of questions for McGonagall.'

_~discidium~_

Professor Meyrigg was in class the following morning, but she did not look well and she kept one uneasy eye on the door of the classroom as if expecting some awful message. All day as he went through the motions of participating in his other lessons Remus was haunted by the weary, despairing look in her eyes. He prayed fervently that he and his friends had done nothing to contribute to her burdens, whatever they might be, and he renewed his resolve to keep away from her secrets.

At nine o'clock that night the four of them reported, as requested, to the Transfiguration classroom. Professor McGonagall was seated at her desk, which had been cleared of everything but her wand. The four desks in the centre of the front row had their chairs pulled back, and she indicated them with a brief waft of her left hand.

'Sit,' she said.

They obeyed, James folding his hands primly on top of his desk while Sirius donned his most enchanting smile. Peter started fumbling with his thumbs almost immediately, and Remus slid into his seat with his eyes respectfully lowered.

'I have been speaking to Hagrid and to Mr Filch,' McGonagall said. Her voice was measured but very stern, and although his gaze was fixed on the desk Remus could feel her eyes boring into him. 'It seems that you have chosen to disregard my instructions to let this matter drop, and have instead continued to make inquiries concerning Professor Meyrigg's personal affairs. While I am relieved that you have decided to keep your prying beyond her sphere of immediate concern, I am dismayed that you have not grasped the fact that this is none of your business.'

'You know,' said Sirius; 'while we're on the subject I've got a question for you. How long have you been able to turn into a cat? Because you _can_ turn into a cat, can't you? It's not your pet: that tabby cat with the spectacle markings is you, isn't it?'

James turned to look at his friend, clearly astonished that he had not been informed of this deduction ahead of time. Sirius grinned at his flummoxed expression and shrugged. 'We were busy speculating about Meyrigg,' he said by way of explanation.

'Black, this is unacceptable,' McGonagall said. There was an edge to her voice that made Remus uneasy. The Transfiguration teacher was clearly very near to losing her temper. 'You have been warned—'

'Please, just answer my question,' Sirius said. 'How long have you been able to turn into a cat? Come on,' he wheedled when she shot him a glare so frigid that it seemed to leach the warmth out of the entire room. 'You know it will be easier if you just answer me.'

'Unless you're hiding something, too,' James said impudently.

'My status as an Animagus is neither here nor there!' McGonagall snapped. 'I have had quite enough of the two of you breeding chaos wherever you go, prying into the affairs of your elders, harassing your professors, attempting to manipulate innocent parties, marauding through the corridors at half four in the morning, baiting the Slytherins, disobeying me at every turn, and coercing Lupin and Pettigrew to follow your deplorable example!'

'Yes, but about the Animagus thing…' Sirius began.

'Silence!' snapped McGonagall. She jerked forward as if she was about to launch herself out of her seat, but then thought better of it. She settled again, inhaling slowly and surveying her four wayward pupils. 'I have had quite enough of this. If you cannot say anything that is neither impudent nor inflammatory, then you had best not speak at all. For the next two hours I expect nothing from you but silence. If any one of the four of you makes a sound – if you so much as breathe too loudly – I will dock five points from Gryffindor. Each successive infraction will be punished by an increased number of points deducted. Am I understood? Yes, Professor or No, Professor.'

'Yes, Professor,' said Sirius. 'But—'

McGonagall held up her hand for silence. 'Not another sound,' she said.

'Yes, but I've got a question—'

'Five points from Gryffindor,' said McGonagall.

'But!'

'Ten points from Gryffindor,' the Professor intoned coolly. 'Fifteen points in as many seconds, Mr Black. Would you care to test me further?'

Sirius shook his head, clamping his lips tightly together. He folded his hands and settled back in his seat.

The following two hours were excruciatingly long. Remus did not dare to look at the others, for fear that he might give into the temptation to speak. He kept his eyes on the tabletop before him, unable to stop his mind from playing through Professor McGonagall's lecture over and over again. Beside him Sirius was fidgeting, breathing through his nose so as to avoid any chance of letting a word escape his lips. James leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Peter was half asleep.

When at last Professor McGonagall told them they were dismissed for the evening, her quiet words rang like thunder in Remus's ears, so accustomed had he grown to the silence. Remarkably, James and Sirius held their tongues until the four of them were safely down the corridor and out of earshot.

'That was bloody heartless!' James cried, working his jaw furiously. 'I think my tongue's gone to sleep.'

'I'm just glad she didn't make us do any more cleaning,' Peter grumbled. 'My knees are still sore from last night.'

Sirius had a peculiar faraway expression in his eyes. He meandered down the corridor before turning to look at Remus. 'It's interesting, though, isn't it?' he said. 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

There was only one thing that Remus had been thinking for the last forty minutes, and he grinned enormously as he realized that it had also occurred to Sirius. It was one thing to have such wonderful friends. It was another entirely to know that they shared one's way of thinking. 'The Marauders?' he said eagerly.

'What? No, the cat,' said Sirius. 'See, if witches can turn into cats, then – _what_ did you say?'

'_Marauding through the corridors_,' Remus mumbled, flushing profusely and scuffing his foot against the floor. He felt a perfect fool. 'We've been trying so hard to find a name for our group and I thought maybe The Marauders would… it's silly, I know. Forget I said it.'

'Forget?' James whooped. 'It's brilliant! It's perfect! It's… it's _us_!'

'The Marauders?' Sirius said, rolling the word over his tongue like a old vintage provided for scrutiny. 'Marauders…'

'Oh, here we go,' James said, rolling his eyes. 'The great Sirius Black is going to list off half a dozen objections to yet _another_ corking name, just to be difficult.'

'I don't object to be difficult,' Sirius said primly. 'I object because all of your names are rubbish. They're pedantic or they're foolish or they're just plain dull. _Marauders_, on the other hand… well, I think it's quite a nice fit. It's dignified and it's succinct, and it has just the right touch of downright terrifying. I like it.'

Remus raised his eyes, breathless. 'You do?' he said.

'I do,' said Sirius. He grinned. 'I suppose we've done it, then. We've got a name. The Marauders?'

'The Marauders!' James cried, raising his hand to mime a toast.

'The Marauders,' Remus whispered, his chest suffused with quiet pride.

'The Marauders!' exclaimed Peter, bouncing happily and clapping his hands. Then he frowned, perplexed. 'I suppose that means we can't be Gryffindor United,' he said regretfully.

The four of them laughed all the way back to their dormitory.


	76. An Impossible Position

_Note: Well, it's a full moon chapter on a full moon day. How's about that! Because of the tight deadline and Real Life commitments I'm still working through the review replies to the last update, so if you haven't had yours yet it's coming soon! Don't let it stop you from commenting on this one, 'kay? Cheers._

_And also? HALF A MILLION WORDS! Wow. I'm scared. Congratulations to all of you for reading!_

**Chapter Seventy-Six: An Impossible Position**

All that week while they served their silent detentions with Professor McGonagall Remus tried to think up a way to convince James and Sirius to call off the investigation. He could think of at least a dozen compelling reasons to leave the matter alone, and yet somehow he could not work out how to make the others see them as the least bit compelling. He might have tried to appeal to their friendship, to persuade them to let the mystery lie unsolved as a personal favour to him, but the fact was that he did not have the right to ask for personal favours from James or Sirius or Peter. They had already done so much for him, and compromised so generously in order to be his friends, that to ask for more seemed selfish and ungrateful and dangerous.

Still, he wished fervently that there was something he could say to convince them. He could no longer look Professor Meyrigg in the eye. In Defence against the Dark Arts he kept his gaze downcast upon his notes, stealing only the swiftest of furtive glances during practical lessons so as to be able to follow along. When she called upon him with a question he answered it softly and meekly with too many '_Professor_'s and '_ma'am_'s in his sentences. When he chanced to pass her in one of the corridors he shrank against the far wall, bowing his head and waiting her to pass, and all the while praying that she would not halt to ask after his health or to say something equally kind and considerate. That would have been worse than any scolding.

The only time he dared to look directly at her was at meals, when he knew his unwelcome gaze would be lost among a sea of cheerful – and innocent – faces. All week he watched as she picked half-heartedly at her food, helping herself to small, bland portions that she left all but untouched. Her face was pinched and grey, and as the days wore on without a single proper meal she began to look increasingly haggard. Though Professor Flitwick, with whom she customarily sat, seemed to make every effort to engage her in cheerful conversation she was distracted, and often sat motionless, her eyes roaming absently across the mass of students before her. At such times, fearful that she would notice him after all, Remus cast his eyes upon his plate and forced himself to eat despite his sudden lack of appetite.

He was beginning to have disturbing dreams, too, in which he and his friends – the Marauders, as Sirius never ceased to remind them they had been christened – invaded Professor Meyrigg's office a third time. It never ended well: either they were caught and summarily expelled, or Meyrigg appeared, coughing up blood until she died in front of them. Worst of all was the dream where Remus leaned forward towards the painting of the smoking sea in search of some clue. He would invariably tumble forward over the frame and into the picture, landing on sand as sharp as razor-blades. His hands would sting, suddenly slippery with blood, and he would scramble onto his feet… always, always bare feet that struggled for purchase against pebbles that a moment ago had not been there. He would turn to run up the beach, but instead of a path he would find a door in the cliff: a door that he could not grip properly, as the black smoke surged up to devour him.

On Friday night he waited, breathless with worry, as Sirius and James led the way back to Gryffindor Tower from the Transfiguration classroom. As they had every night since the silent detentions began they talked at thrice their normal speed, blurting out anything and everything as if they were attempting to make up for lost time. If she had not convinced them of the error of their ways, at least Professor McGonagall had succeeded in rendering the two indomitable boys uncomfortable. Even Remus, who was not so talkative by half, found the enforced speechlessness difficult. Yet now, when he was finally allowed to speak again, he felt himself incapable of doing anything but listening anxiously for what he was certain would come. Sirius would mention that it was getting on to midnight and Meyrigg was probably going to be setting out for Croydon soon. James would remind everyone that they had access to an Invisibility Cloak. Peter would protest quietly that he was sick of sitting in detention, which the others would summarily ignore. Then somehow they would all wind up charging off to do something rash and wicked.

Instead, incredibly, they reached the portrait-hole while Sirius and James were still arguing about the style and state of Professor Slughorn's undergarments. It was a debate that would surely lead to some sort of unsavoury and detention-earning dare, but it was harmless. Upstairs in their room Remus slipped behind his bed curtains and changed into his nightshirt, ears still straining for the inevitable. Sirius made a smart remark about Peter's pants as they related to Slughorn's. James made some sort of a gesture that caused Sirius to toss a pillow at his head. Peter availed himself of the opportunity raised by the ensuing scuffle to scurry into the water closet: a treat, as he was not often afforded the luxury of the first turn. Afterward, curiously, everyone settled off to sleep.

When Remus awoke the following morning he found that James and Peter had already gone to breakfast. Sirius was curled up at the foot of his bed, poring over a heavy leather-bound tome. After a minute Remus recognized it as one of the werewolf texts that Sirius had spent a great deal of time with before Christmas, only to ultimately cast it aside as useless.

All that week, in fact, Sirius spent his free time running back and forth to the library and checking out books he had perused before. James found it irritating, but took out his frustrations high in the air, rousting Betta MacFusty for Quaffle practice despite Sirius's lack of interest. It was the waxing gibbous week, and Remus focused on keeping abreast of his studies so that if his absence spilled over the weekend – as it seemed likely to do – he would not fall too far behind.

He also had the singular pleasure of sending a special packet home to his parents. James Potter was a man of his word, and Sirius Black could not afford the reputation of one who did not pay out on lost wagers. Each had hazarded ten Galleons on finding a name for the group before the other, and so both reasoned that it was only fair that Remus should keep the prize. Remus pointed out that it had actually been Professor McGonagall who had used the word _marauding_, but his friends only laughed and argued, quite rightly, that she hadn't meant to inspire them with the remark. Ten shining gold coins were summarily produced, five from each heavy money pouch, and upon seeing them Remus's resolve to politely refuse abandoned him. He could at least try to believe that he had won the money fairly, and he knowing how much such a sum would mean to his parents he accepted his laurels.

Composing the letter to accompany the Galleons was awkward. In the end Remus explained that he had won a sort of a competition at school, and this was the prize, and that he hoped it would be useful. On Thursday, the day before the full moon, he received a letter from his mother, thanking him graciously and reassuring him that everything was all right at home. She also sent back two of the Galleons, insisting that he keep them for pocket money. Proud and delighted that he had been able to contribute at last to the family, after being nothing but a burden for so long, Remus tucked the coins away at the bottom of his trunk. He would use them to buy school books in September.

That same evening, James and Sirius were caught in the act of the proposed Slughorn caper. Gryffindor lost twenty points – which was a sizeable amount to come from the usually amiable Potions Master, particularly where such well-connected students were involved – and Dorcas Meadowes, exasperated and wrathful, assigned the pair of troublemakers a detention on Friday.

'I don't know what you were thinking,' Peter said sullenly, digging into his creamed broccoli while simultaneously reaching for another dinner roll. 'Now you'll be in detention while Remus is…'

Sirius wrinkled up his face as if debating whether to shout at Peter or to kick him under the table, but James got in first, digging a sharp elbow into Peter's side and shaking his head.

'Indisposed,' he hissed pointedly, eyes roving along the crowd of students to the right and the left.

'Indisposed,' Peter repeated, swallowing loudly and bobbing his head. 'Very indisposed.' He frowned at Sirius. 'I thought you said we ought to stay out of trouble while Remus was _indisposed_, because that was our priority.'

'It is,' Sirius said as he helped himself to another chicken cutlet. 'And as I won't be any use to Remus tomorrow night I might as well be doing _something_.'

A shadow flickered through his stormy grey eyes, but it did not linger.

_~discidium~_

The days were getting longer and the anticipatory pains were not so fierce this month, and so Remus managed to make it through his morning lessons without too much discomfort. He even tried to join the others for lunch, but the stink of inedible foods and the roar of the crowded hall were too much for his jangled nerves and he slipped quietly away. It was the perfect time to walk the corridors, his overstuffed satchel swinging at his side. With everyone at board there was no one to pester him: no fear of errant looks or a passing Slytherin interested in making life difficult for a smaller boy. He reached the hospital wing without seeing another soul, hauled the door open and slipped into the ward.

'I should think you know what I'm going to say already.' Madam Pomfrey's voice came from behind the door of her office, which was standing ajar. Her tone was gentle and yet mildly reproachful. Remus had heard that voice himself, usually when he was pushing too hard for recovery. 'And I must say that I wish you had come to me sooner.'

'A little nausea is natural,' muttered the recalcitrant patient, and Remus's heart leapt into his throat when he realized that the voice belonged to Professor Meyrigg. 'I expect you're only going to tell me to help myself to tea and toast and wait for it to pass.'

'Ordinarily I would do, yes,' said the matron. 'Only when it starts interfering with your feeding habits to the point where you start to lose weight required for other purposes it's no longer natural, nor healthy, nor expected.' She sighed, and Remus could imagine her shaking her head in the way that always proved how very carefully she pinned her cap. 'Why didn't you just come and _tell_ me, Brynna? Clearly you've suspected for some time now.'

There was a long silence. When Meyrigg spoke again her voice was very soft, muted by some unspeakable emotion. 'I didn't want to believe it,' she confessed bleakly. 'The timing could not possibly be worse.'

'These things tend to happen in their own time. Surely you knew it was a possibility.'

'Of course I knew it was a possibility!' Meyrigg snapped, and Remus felt his heart skip a beat. He had never heard her so angry before. Only she wasn't angry, he realized. It was something else. She was frantic, as Sirius had been on the night the four Marauders had broken into her office. 'What was I supposed to do, Poppy, when every chance might be the last?'

'You mustn't think like that,' Madam Pomfrey scolded fondly. There was a rustling of robes and a creak of sofa springs. 'It doesn't do anyone the least bit of good to have you thinking like that. Now, I'll fix you up a ginger tonic and I'll give instructions to the house-elves. No more meals in the Great Hall until you start to come around: all those rich smells are as likely to turn your stomach as the worrying. And of course you must stop these weekly escapades. I'll speak to the Headmaster and explain—'

'Don't you dare!' Meyrigg hissed. 'Poppy, don't you dare tell a soul! You know perfectly well that Dumbledore wouldn't stand for me continuing with my work if he knew. I'll go mad if I have to stay here, safe and pampered and useless. You can't tell him, anyhow. You're my Healer, and I've a right to your discretion.'

'Brynna, do see sense. You're ill. You can't possibly keep this up much longer,' argued Madam Pomfrey, but Remus knew from the tone of her voice that she would not hold out long. 'It isn't recommended to be Apparating at a time like this, either. You'd never forgive yourself if you jarred something loose.'

'I've Apparated from Dover to Bern,' Meyrigg said tersely. 'I'm not going to Splinch either of us going from Hogsmeade to Croydon to Llanmadoc and back.'

Abruptly Remus realized that he had been listening all too avidly to a conversation that no one was meant to overhear. Hot fissures of shame opened up between his ribs. He was no better than James or Sirius, prying into Meyrigg's personal affairs time and again. Hastily he turned, hurrying for the door that led to his little room.

'I don't like it,' Madam Pomfrey said grimly. 'But I'm your Healer and I'm your friend. If you insist upon this madness I'll stand by you, but I expect you to check in with me every Sunday when you get back to school. I don't care if it's the dead of night: you come and wake me and let me check you over. Do you hear me?'

'Yes, Poppy,' Meyrigg said. Her tone was less strained now and she seemed to be smiling. Remus fumbled with the door handle, but his fingers were suddenly clumsy and a ghostly shiver ran up his spine. 'And I shall take my potions, and keep to my tea and toa— oh!'

The sudden shift in her tone and the change in the proximity of her voice made Remus spin around. Professor Meyrigg was standing in the doorway of Madam Pomfrey's office, staring at him in startled disbelief. His own eyes went wide with horror. She had caught him again; she would never believe that it had been an accident. And really, he had listened all too eagerly: he didn't deserve her understanding or her leniency. He bit his lower lip so that it would not tremble. Worst of all, he decided, was that Professor Meyrigg thought him an evil, sneaking boy. He was very fond of his teacher, and he could not bear that she should think ill of him – even when it was so rightly deserved.

'I didn't…' he stammered, though protestations were useless. 'I wasn't…'

'Remus!' Madam Pomfrey said, touching Meyrigg's elbow to guide her aside so that she too might leave the office. She looked hurriedly from one patient to the other, clearly dismayed and in the act of doing some very quick thinking. 'You're a little early for our appointment, love. Just let me see Professor Meyrigg off and we'll take your temperature.' She took hold of Meyrigg's arm and drew her towards the doors of the main ward. 'You mind that you get your rest,' she said quietly. 'No demonstrating your trick hexes for the NEWTs class. Not until you've got your strength back, do you hear me?'

'Yes,' Meyrigg said, but she was clearly distracted. She kept looking over her shoulder at Remus, a perplexed frown furrowing her brow. 'Yes, of course…'

'And it will stay our secret for the present time,' Pomfrey whispered. 'Though I do wish you'd reconsider.'

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher shook her head, once more focusing intently on the matron. 'You know I can't do that, Poppy. He'll think I'm not fit.'

'I know you don't like to hear it,' Pomfrey said stoutly; 'but perhaps you aren't. Now run along and have a bit of a lie-down before afternoon lessons!'

So saying she bundled Meyrigg out the door, closing it firmly and swiftly – though not before the younger woman shot a final questioning look at Remus.

'Well!' the matron sighed, brushing her hands on her apron and turning to her smaller charge. 'I'm afraid we might have timed that better, dear, but there's no harm done. She's a sensible witch and she'll not ask questions. Now, you go and get changed and I'll fetch your potions.'

Remus obeyed, but his hands shook as he opened the door to the isolation room and he fumbled awkwardly with the buttons on his robes. For once the fear of discovery was not on the forefront of his mind. Remorse overpowered such selfish anxieties. At least, he promised himself, he would not tell the others what he had overheard. He would try to forget it. He would try.

_~discidium~_

On Saturday evening, Remus lay flat upon his back with his head lolling to the left. He fixed his eyes upon a scratch in the plaster of the wall and focused intently upon it as Madam Pomfrey began to unwind the bandages that swathed his right arm from fingertips to shoulder. The first time she had dressed it he had been hovering on the cusp of unconsciousness on the floor of the shack. The second time he had been blessedly unconscious, thanks to the miraculous potion that let time and pain melt simultaneously away. Now he was awake – and not by choice.

He knew that he ought to force himself to watch the procedure, to face up to the horrors he was capable of and to solidify the agony with accompanying imagery. It was not severe enough punishment for the sins of curiosity, but at least it was something. Still, he could not quite bring himself to look. Feeling it was bad enough: the seering jagged crevices of hot agony that dug deep into the muscles, the shreds of skin that clung to the dressings as the matron peeled them away, the unsteady creaking of ravaged tendons as he struggled not to move.

The wolf had been angry. Agitated and angry and filled with hunger and hatred. Remus could not blame it. He had expected it, when all afternoon despite the brief and cheerful visit from his friends he had been haunted with regret and disgust. He hadn't even tried to quell the feelings this time. It was useless.

Madam Pomfrey was speaking, murmuring her usual gentle assurances. She had dosed him liberally with concoctions meant to dull the pain, but she needed him awake so that he could tell her when sensation returned to his fingers. In its frenzy of self-mutilation the wolf had severed several nerves and nicked one of the brachial veins. Remus wasn't certain, but he thought the rest of his body was in reasonably good repair: the wolf had been remarkably single minded this month.

He felt the tingling of magic as it rippled into his very bones. His arm jerked, muscles twitching as they knit back together. He set his teeth against the awful crawling sensation of melding nerves. Then something tiny and sharp pricked his ring finger.

'There!' he gasped. The word came out in a scarcely audible croak: his throat was raw.

'Already?' Madam Pomfrey sounded both pleased and relieved. 'Just a moment and we'll check the others.'

Once it was established that his hand was once more sensate the matron stemmed the bleeding and drew the edges of the wounds as near to one another as she could. She packed them and swathed the arm with fresh linens. By this time, with the pain fading into manageable anguish, Remus was slipping back into the nebulous world of unconsciousness. A tender hand stroked his cheek and a cool glass was tipped against his lips. He drank and exhaled softly, letting Madam Pomfrey support his head as she replaced the pillow.

'I know you're ready for sleep, Remus,' she said; 'but I did promise to let a certain party know when you were conscious again.'

Remus's stomach fluttered and he screwed his eyes tightly shut. 'Professor Meyrigg?' he mumbled leadenly.

'Goodness, no,' Madam Pomfrey laughed. She smoothed his hair. 'It's your friend Sirius, of course. He's been waiting all day, bless him.'

Remus blinked blearily up at her, suddenly fighting slumber with every ounce of his will. 'May I see him, Madam?' he asked breathlessly. 'Only just for a minute?'

A moment's hesitation lingered on the matron's face, but she nodded. 'For a minute,' she conceded. 'And only because I know it's good for the both of you.'

She rose and vanished from his line of sight, and shortly thereafter Sirius appeared. He reached to take Remus's hand as he usually did, halting when he saw the bandages. There was a flash of horror and dismay on his face, and then he settled his palm gently on Remus's chest instead, leaning in with an encouraging smile.

'You're a right mess, you know that?' he said cheerfully. 'D'you want some water?'

Remus tried to shake his head, but the muscles in his neck seized up immediately. It was still too soon after the change for strenuous motion. 'Had some,' he whispered.

Sirius's grin wavered a little and his eyes flicked over the shape of Remus's body under the sheets. 'Matey said your arm's bad this time,' he said. 'Is it?'

He was asking, Remus realized, not because he did not believe Madam Pomfrey but because he was desperate for reassurance that his friend would be all right, and he knew that Remus would offer it. He curled up one corner of his aching mouth in what he hoped was a reassuring expression. 'It's mending already,' he promised.

'Oh.' Tension seemed to ebb from Sirius's face and arms. 'That's good.'

'Sirius…' Remus's throat began to close and he coughed quietly to clear it. 'Sirius, I need to talk to you. It's… it's very important.'

'I need to talk to you, too,' Sirius said. His left arm came suddenly into view, and Remus realized that he was hefting one of the heavy werewolf books. 'I've been reading.'

'I know,' Remus said. He couldn't bear to discuss such things now. In any case, his own concern was more pressing and he would not rest well until he gave voice to it. 'About Professor Meyrigg, Sirius. We mustn't go after her. We have to stop.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Sirius said, wrinkling his nose. 'Too many detentions already. And there's too much heat: Meadowes found out about it and she was needling James and me all through detention, telling us to let it go.'

'It's not just that,' Remus said. It was getting harder and harder to force his words out loudly enough to be heard. 'She… she's not well, Sirius. She's got worries and troubles and it's not right to be adding to them…'

'Forget about Meyrigg,' Sirius said dismissively. 'This is more important than whatever she's hiding. I was reading, Remus. I knew I'd read it somewhere, and I finally found it.' The comforting weight of his palm lifted as he shifted his right hand to open the book to a marked passage. 'Listen to this. _Unique among creatures of ill will, both magical and mundane, the Werewolf prefers the flesh of a Man to all other prey. While in times of greatest privation or desperation the Werewolf has been known to feed on small fowl or wild hares or even fish, such incidents are most rare and perplexing. Far better known are the accounts of a Werewolf who, when cloistered by mistake or happenstance with another living creature, render no harm unto their lesser brethren even though they might turn upon themselves in the hunt for human scent.'_

Remus felt certain that he was going to vomit, although there was nothing in his stomach but potions and water and bile. His arm throbbed as if to bear out the words in the hateful book. _The hunt for human scent_. How could Sirius stand to read such things, let alone speak them aloud? How, after working through the library's entire body of references on lycanthropy, could Sirius even bear to be in the same room as a werewolf – let alone touch one and laugh with one and worry over one?

'Well?' Sirius was watching him expectantly. 'What do you think?'

Remus's lips moved, but no sound came out. He did not know what he could possibly say that would erase the stigma of the words. 'I don't…' he exhaled.

'Animals,' said Sirius. 'Werewolves don't go after animals.'

There didn't seem to be anything to say to this, either.

'Do you suppose it's true?' Sirius pressed.

'What's true?' croaked Remus. The entire conversation was beginning to feel rather surreal, as if he were walking in a dream. He waited in vain for one of his customary horrors to invade the quiet dimness of the room.

'That you wouldn't hurt an animal,' said Sirius. 'I mean, maybe a nip or two, but even if you did that you couldn't turn an animal into a werewolf anyhow: it's only catching for humans.'

'It's only catching for humans,' Remus mumbled, by way of confirmation. The edges of the universe were growing fuzzy, and he could feel himself slipping away.

'And you wouldn't fight,' Sirius said. 'Not if the other animal didn't fight back. Right? Am I right?'

Remus tried to speak, but he couldn't even remember how to shape words with his tongue. Sirius was proposing something daft again, he realized remotely. It was just another of his madcap notions, and once again he was asking questions that no one wanted the answers to. Even the sides of Sirius's face were blurring now, and when Remus blinked his eyelids did not want to open again. He forced them open anyhow, just for a moment longer.

Sirius smiled patiently, shifting the book into one hand and patting Remus's chest comfortingly. 'Don't worry about it now,' he said in a calm and capable voice. 'We'll just have to test my theory, won't we?'

As he slipped away into the painless vales of slumber, Remus wondered whether he had missed some important part of the conversation.

_~discidium~_

The last days of February slipped by. Professor Meyrigg was no longer seen at meals, though she still managed to take every one of her classes. Rumours abounded as students tried to explain her worsening illness and the weekly absences that purportedly continued. It would have been a very dangerous time for Remus, save that both Sirius and James were otherwise occupied. James was preparing for the forthcoming match against Slytherin, and when Sirius was not buried in the library he was out of doors practicing with him. Eldritch McKinnon, who seemed determined to lead Gryffindor to the Cup if it killed them all, started organizing mock games every other evening, pitting his team against Sirius and Betta and their followers. Peter resumed his herding of the interested firsties, and Davey Gudgeon was his deputy.

Spring was in the air, lurking just beyond the last mud of winter. On the morning of the twenty-eighth there was an unexpected frost, and the dormitory windows were a masterpiece of delicate lacework in the glow of the rising sun. Remus, who was very nearly ready to believe that the others had at last decided to leave Professor Meyrigg alone, descended to breakfast with a lighter heart than he had had in weeks. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was absent from the table, of course; hopefully enjoying a quiet, simple breakfast in her office, as commanded by Madam Pomfrey. For once no one within earshot remarked upon Meyrigg's vacant chair. It was beginning to become routine.

Remus ate heartily, enjoying his meal and listening as Peter boasted to Darius Jones about James's latest heart-stopping dive. The post was coming in, and an owl deposited on the table what Remus realized would be one of his last deliveries of _Daily Prophet_ from the subscription James had bought for him. He unrolled it cautiously, watching for another frightening headline, but all that the front page recounted was the banquet in honour of the paper's Editor-in-Chief, who was apparently celebrating his thirty-fifty year in the position. The second story, which James was already reading aloud with great amusement, announced a surprise victory for the Chudley Canons, whose Seeker had inadvertently swerved at the wrong moment and got the Golden Snitch stuck in his nostril. James was just making the unfavourable but inevitable comparison to Severus Snape when Sirius, who had been cautiously slitting open an envelope, let out a whoop of laughter.

'She looks like a Hippogriff!' he chortled, brandishing a photograph and clutching at his side. 'And one that swallowed a rhinoceros, at that!'

'What the devil are you talking about?' James demanded. 'And how is it more important than the oversized nasal apparatus of Withermorton Smith?'

Sirius paused between his chuckles to flip the picture around. James snorted enormously and Peter giggled. 'Dear me,' said James. 'Rather let herself go, hasn't she?'

'Hey!' Sirius cried indignantly, kicking James under the table so that the bespectacled boy clutched at his shin. 'She's preggers, you great insensitive berk. She's due in six weeks.'

'What's she having?' asked James. 'A boy or a girl or an elephant?'

Sirius tried to kick him again, but James was ready for it and he shifted just in time. There was a resounding _crack_ as Sirius's foot struck the leg of the bench, and nearby students jolted with the impact. Elsie Appleby dropped an orange into her porridge, spattering her robes with milk and brown sugar.

'You lay off my cousin,' Sirius said fiercely. 'I mean it, Potter!'

'Give over!' James laughed. 'You were having a go at her yourself not forty seconds ago.'

Sirius turned up his nose in a most aristocratic manner. 'That's my privilege,' he said coolly. 'She's _my_ cousin.'

He was still flourishing the photograph, and Remus still hadn't caught a proper glimpse of it. 'May I see?' he asked earnestly.

Sirius turned, grinning. 'Absolutely,' he said. '_You_ ought to appreciate the beauty of the fecund female form.'

'Ugh!' Peter said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'It's not a dirty word,' he said.

Remus took the photograph. Andromeda Black was leaning against the arm of a very heavy-looking sofa, smiling for the camera. The classical features of her patrician face were softened somewhat with the weight of childbearing, and under her brightly coloured robes her abdomen swelled out enormously. One hand kept tracing over the mass of her growing baby. She looked healthy and blissful, though her ankles were rather swollen and she was wearing house slippers instead of her customary spooled heels.

'She looks lovely,' Remus said. 'Only six more weeks?'

'That's what it says here,' confirmed Sirius, consulting the accompanying letter. 'She says she feels like she's been pregnant for at least a hundred years. The baby kicks and turns somersaults and things – eek. Wouldn't that hurt? – and she's up at least a half a dozen times in the night to use the loo.' He frowned quizzically, turning the page over. 'Why does she think I'd want to hear this stuff?'

'I expect she hasn't anyone else to tell,' Remus said. He wished at once that he hadn't, because a shadow flickered across Sirius's face. 'I mean, she wants you to be a part of her life, even though you're off at school. That's nice, isn't it? And she looks ever so happy.'

'She does, doesn't she?' Sirius said, taking back the photograph and studying it carefully. 'She looks wonderful. She's positively glowing.'

'Blooming,' James agreed, struggling to keep a straight face. 'Just like a pumpkin.'

Sirius took another playful kick, then turned over the photograph. On the back, in Andromeda's elegant hand, was inscribed another message. Sirius laughed aloud. '_I do wish you were here to tell me how I look like a Hippogriff_,' he read. '_Ted's ever so sweet, but I think he's got blinders on!_'

'Well, there you go,' James said. 'You two do think alike. You'll not be having a baby any time soon, will you?'

Sirius smirked. 'That's my secret,' he said. He wagged his finger under James's nose. 'Don't you dare make another crack about Drommie, d'you hear me?'

'On my sacred honour,' James said, holding up his right palm to mark the oath. 'Andromasaurus Tonks has my utmost respect.'

_~discidium~_

Thankfully, Dorcas Meadowes had risen from her seat when the kicking started and she arrived in plenty of time to prevent a good-natured boxing match behind the Gryffindor table. While she was scolding James and Sirius, Remus picked up the photograph, palming it so that it was not blatantly obvious. He slipped away from the gathering crowd, watching with amusement as the Prefect attempted to tear a strip off of the troublemakers, both of whom insisted in engaging her in impudent and decidedly witty banter. He wove around the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables and moved swiftly towards the front of the room, closing his ears to the hissed threats and jeers of the Slytherins.

Narcissa Black was sitting near the very head of the table, watching with disdain as her cousin burst into a rather saucy song that he appeared to be making up right on the spot. Remus stood beside her for nearly a minute before she noticed him.

'What do you want?' she said with dignified disdain.

Remus smiled. 'I thought you'd like to see,' he whispered, holding out the photograph. Narcissa took it, puzzled and curious. She stared at it blankly for a moment, and then her mouth slackened a little. Her schooled features were momentarily unguarded: a mixture of awe and sadness and unuttered questions.

'She's due in six weeks,' Remus said softly. 'Doesn't she look happy?'

Narcissa looked up at him, cold eyes suddenly soft. 'I… th-thank…' she began.

'What's this, dearest?' drawled an elegant voice to her right. Remus looked up to see Lucius Malfoy bending down to brush his lips against Narcissa's gleaming hair. He leaned in to look at the picture. 'A family friend, is it?'

He seemed genuinely interested until his eyes focused on the photograph. Then his expression hardened and his fingers closed tightly on Narcissa's shoulder.

'Your sister?' he snarled, his lip curling unpleasantly. 'You told me you weren't in contact with that thieving blood-traitor and her filthy Muggle husband.'

'I'm not!' Narcissa protested, a little too hurriedly. Lucius was reaching for the photograph, but she thrust it back into Remus's hands before the tall, pale Slytherin could grab it. 'Give that back to my foolish little cousin, you ignorant boy, and don't ever bother me again!'

Remus backed away, startled by the sudden change in her demeanor. Narcissa pivoted on the bench, curling like a seahorse into Malfoy's arms and tilting her head seductively upward. 'Don't mind him, Lucius,' she cooed, fluttering her improbably dark eyelashes. 'He's just a silly Gryffindor firstie, making assumptions. I haven't heard a word from that ungrateful tart since she threw her life away. I promise.'

Lucius smiled – a cold, arrogant smile that made Remus extremely uneasy. 'Mmm. Good,' he murmured, ducking his head for a kiss. He straightened suddenly, glaring at Remus. 'What are you staring at, you little half-blood runt?' he demanded.

Rather than attempt to make a reply, Remus turned and retreated to the safety of Gryffindor's side of the hall. He nudged his way through the crowd and settled back into his seat, replacing the picture and trying to turn his attention to Sirius and Dorcas, who were now engaged in a verbal sparring match that left even James rapt with entertained delight.

He might have felt ashamed to have his attempt at consideration rebuffed. A year ago he would have been terrified and devastated by Narcissa's abrupt change of temperament – to say nothing of Malfoy's anger. Now, however, Remus thought that he could understand that this time, at least, the treatment he had received really had nothing at all to do with him. It was not his fault: Narcissa was in an impossible position, and she was obviously struggling with her love for her sister and her loyalty to her parents and her House, and the impossible gulf between them.

And, he thought as Sirius offered his last quip and sat smugly down, after all Narcissa had not torn up the photograph as she might have done, nor allowed her suitor to do the same. That, Remus was sure, meant that his gesture was not unappreciated, even if it could not be openly acknowledged.


	77. March Gales

_Note: This was supposed to be posted a week ago. Then Real Life happened. Again. I'm sorry: please forgive me! And, of course, enjoy and review. Better late than never, right?_

**Chapter Seventy-Seven: March Gales**

As it happened, Remus's birthday coincided with Gryffindor's much-anticipated Quidditch match against Slytherin. He was surprised, therefore, to awaken to the sound of singing instead of James and Sirius drilling strategies – which had been the noise he fell asleep hearing. He sat up, scrubbing at his eyes until he realized that his bed curtains were still closed. He tugged them aside just as his friends rounded off the chorus, Sirius piping out '_too you!_' in a trilling falsetto very nearly beyond the range of the human ear.

'Thank you!' Remus said, aware that he was grinning foolishly. 'I thought perhaps with the game this morning…'

'We'd never forget!' Sirius declared, planting his hands on his hips. 'Mind you, Potter here seemed to think it'd be right clever to pretend that we had, just to see whether you'd mention it or not. His idea of a prank, you see. Only I told the daft berk that you'd only think we thought you weren't worth remembering, and you'd feel all down and miserable about it.'

'So instead we hid your presents!' Peter cried eagerly.

'You weren't supposed to _tell_ him!' moaned James, but despite the dramatic gesture of despair he was smiling. 'Go on and find them, then. No sense in drawing out the ordeal any further.'

'Only we're not going to tell you how many you have,' Sirius said smugly. 'You'll just have to keep looking until we say you can stop.'

Remus tugged down the hem of his nightshirt and climbed out of bed, sliding his feet into his slippers. 'Very well,' he said. 'Where shall I look?'

'Well, they're all in the dormitory,' James said. 'And none of them are in any of our trunks or cupboards. And we haven't cast Disillusionment Charms on anything—'

'Though I did suggest it,' Sirius added.

'—and we didn't Vanish them or otherwise alter size, shape or appearance,' James finished. He paused for a moment in thought and then nodded firmly. 'Yes, that's all. Everything else is fair game.'

'It's like an egg hunt!' Peter said. 'You've got to look under the beds and behind the drapes and over the—'

James nudged him pointedly, shaking his head. Diplomatically, Remus checked the laundry hamper and behind the lavatory door before looking under the beds or behind the drapes. There was a ribbon-festooned package beneath Sirius's headboard, and a clumsily wrapped blue bundle on the windowsill. A large, heavy package wrapped in brown paper stamped with red hot-air balloons resided under Peter's bed. Remus knew at once that one was from his parents: his mother had taught him how to cut shapes from a sponge so that they could be used to make prints. He waited for the others to tell him that his search was over, but when they did not he resumed his search.

There was a red foil bag overflowing with colourful tissue hanging on the hook beneath Sirius's cloak, and when Remus discovered a firm, flat article wrapped in carefully reused paper that had been tucked under James's discarded pyjamas he was certain that he had found everything. He set the gifts on top of his trunk and looked expectantly at his friends.

'If you don't get on with it,' James said; 'we'll have to call a recess while we run off to breakfast. I've got to have at least an hour for everything to settle before I fly, you know, and as important as your birthday is I just can't let the team down.'

'Give over: it's not half eight yet!' scoffed Sirius. He winked at Remus. 'Go on: keep looking. We'll tell you when you're through.'

Remus resumed his search, this time with less success. He inspected the other heaps of cast-off nightclothes, prodded into the corners of the room, checked his satchel and each of his friends' in turn, and even pressed his cheek against the wall so that he could check behind the cupboards. The others were watching him eagerly, and he was beginning to feel rather foolish. He closed his eyes, silently praying for some flash of inspiration that might prevent him from making an utter fool of himself.

When he opened them his gaze was turned towards the canopy of Sirius's bed, which was dipping suspiciously low at one corner. He gnawed uphis lower lip, wondering how he was going to climb up to retrieve whatever was causing the anomaly. Then he remembered, with a tiny burst of giddy wonder, that he was on the way to becoming a fully-qualified wizard, and he might use his wand.

Retrieving it from his bedside, Remus carefully Levitated the package up and over the rail of the bed, plucking it out of mid air. It was wrapped in waxed paper tied with a scrap of familiar red silk. He fingered it fondly, and despite his contentedness felt the tiniest pang of homesickness. It had been more than six months now since he had last seen his mother, and he still had nearly four months until he would see her again.

'Go on! Go on!' Peter exclaimed happily, clapping his hands. 'One more!'

'Aw, you're not meant to _tell _him!' Sirius groaned.

'Well, I think it's nice to know he's almost done,' huffed Peter.

'I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea of where to look,' Remus confessed. He smiled at James. 'Unless you were fibbing about the trunks.'

'A Potter never fibs,' James said stoutly.

Remus indulged his friends' caprice, checking beneath the beds again and poking his head into the water closet to be sure nothing was hidden under the sink or in the shower alcove. Then he came back into the main room and threw up his hands in what was for him a very dramatic gesture of defeat.

'I give up!' he said. 'I think you must have Vanished it after all.' A saucy remark hesitated for a moment on his tongue before he dared to utter it. 'Unless Sirius miscounted.'

Sirius made an alarmingly convincing noise of annoyance. 'Me? Miscount? Of all the bally nerve!'

'You'll have to keep looking,' James said firmly. 'You're not allowed to quit. Marauders never quit.'

'We quit going after Professor Meyrigg,' Peter pointed out. 'Nobody's said a word in weeks, and I heard she's gone every weekend again. Bertha Jorkins in Hufflepuff thinks she's a diamond smuggler.'

'Better a diamond smuggler than a Death Eater,' Sirius muttered. 'And anyhow there's a world of difference between giving up and waiting for the heat to die down. Meyrigg's not going to vanish overnight: we've got time to find out what's going on with her.'

'Frankly, I've been hoping you'd let the matter drop,' James said. 'You're just not rational where that woman is concerned.'

There was the briefest spark of anger in Sirius's eyes, and then his face settled into a careful mask of placidity. 'It's Remus's birthday, and he doesn't like talking about Meyrigg,' he said calmly. 'So we're not going to talk about Meyrigg.'

It was a considerate thought, but the damage was done. Remus felt the guilt welling up inside again, and he sank down on the edge of his bed. 'She's not well,' he said. 'Madam Pomfrey's worried about her, and the timing couldn't possibly be worse.'

'Timing for what?' asked James, perplexed.

'For being ill, I suppose,' Remus mumbled, looking down at his lap. 'I know how that is.'

'See, _this_ is why we're not going to talk about Meyrigg!' Sirius declared, hurling himself over the foot of the bed to land on his side behind Remus. He poked him prodigiously beneath his lowest ribs. 'We can't have you moping about over inconvenient illnesses or proposed expulsions or teachers' privacy or anything else! It's your thirteenth sodding birthday, and you're supposed to be having an irresponsibly good time, not fretting like an old woman!'

Remus craned his neck over his shoulder, shooting Sirius a doleful look that earned him another jab in the ribs. 'Irresponsible good times, I say!' Sirius yodelled. 'And that's an order!'

He poked Remus again, a little lower this time. He struck a ticklish spot and Remus could not help chuckling a little. The temptation to abandon his worries for the day was tremendous. 'All right then,' he said. 'If you tell me where my last gift is I'll promise to be cheerful.'

Sirius laughed and shoved Remus to his right. He overbalanced and thrust out his hand to stop himself. It struck something hard and smooth and slippery – a good four inches above the counterpane.

'You said you didn't make any of them invisible!' he protested, whisking off the Cloak to uncover a neatly-wrapped package about fifteen inches square and four tall.

'No,' James said with an impertinent grin. 'I said we didn't use any Disillusionment Charms.'

'You can go ahead and open them now,' Sirius said. 'Do hurry up before Peter's quite overcome with the excitement of it all.'

'I like birthdays,' Peter said defensively. He was already gathering up Remus's other gifts, and Remus had to scoot back into the middle of the mattress in order to avoid having his lap filled to overflowing.

'Open mine first!' James said. 'It's the one in the bag.'

'No, mine!' Sirius argued, brandishing the one covered in ribbons.

'That one's _yours_?' exclaimed James incredulously. 'And here I thought Remus had himself a lady friend.'

'So I got a little carried away,' Sirius said. 'I learned a new charm.'

'A ribbon-curling charm?' asked James.

'Not just ribbons: it works on all sorts of things,' said Sirius. 'I thought I might try it on Professor Arachne. She's always so careful of that hair of hers. She'd look perfectly ridiculous with a head full of curls.'

'Ridiculous,' James agreed. 'Not unlike that gift. Well, go ahead and open it, Remus. Quickly, before every cat in the castle comes running to bat at that thing.'

Remus fumbled for almost a minute, trying to work out how Sirius had knotted the bouncing spirals. Sirius, who had been growing increasingly impatient, whipped out his wand and severed them so that they fell in a colourful cascade. Remus carefully peeled off the Spellotape and removed the glittering paper, revealing a large but slender book. On the glossy cover, a statuesque witch wearing long and flowing robes morphed into a raven and back again, time after time. It was entitled _Animagi Through the Ages: Britain's Most Celebrated Shape-Shifters._

'Thank you,' Remus said reflexively. He was surprised and a little disconcerted by the gift: the image of the woman transforming over and over again made him decidedly uneasy.

'McGonagall's in it,' Sirius said, reaching across to open the book. 'Page thirty-four and thirty-five. It's sort of a kids' book, but it's all that Flourish and Blotts could send on short notice.'

'It's lovely,' Remus said, thumbing to the pages featuring their Transfiguration teacher. The book was clearly meant as an object of fleeting interest, with colourful images and labelled diagrams accompanied by sparse portions of text in a large typeface. Nevertheless it was obviously costly and the subject was interesting. Remus just wished that he understood why Sirius was looking so expectantly at him.

'It's very lovely,' repeated Remus, turning the book so that Peter and James could see it. 'Do you suppose she'd sign her page for me?'

Sirius chuckled. 'Just don't let me be anywhere nearby when you ask!' he crowed. 'I will _not_ have myself thought of as the sort of chap who goes 'round collecting teachers' autographs.'

'She probably wouldn't mind,' James said. 'Though you might want to give it a couple of weeks. Every time she lays eyes on Sirius or me her mouth disappears completely, and you're sort of guilty by association, I'm afraid.'

'I don't really want her to,' Remus said, closing the book carefully and setting it aside. 'I was only trying to be funny.'

'You say that so sombrely!' laughed Sirius. 'You look like someone beheaded your dog. It's your _birthday_, damn it. Smile!'

'Sirius, _really_!' Peter gasped, clapping his hands over his ears.

'Go on and open mine,' said James, nudging the bag nearer. 'It's bound to be more interesting than a silly old book.'

'Shows what you know, Potter,' Sirius sniffed, but he was already intent upon Remus's hands as he dug out the colourful, gauzy paper to reveal the gifts within.

For _gifts_ they were: four of them. There was a box of chocolates in the shape of different breeds of dragon, a pot of Everard's Effervescent Ink, a brilliant red Macaw-tail quill that Remus was certain he would never have the audacity to use in class, and a package of Dungbombs.

'You're thirteen now,' James said gravely as Remus shot him an uncertain glance. 'High time you learned how to use those things.'

'Don't worry,' Sirius added with an impish wink. 'We'll be sure to find someone worth pranking.'

By now Peter was fairly bouncing with excitement, so Remus opened his gift next: the blue one that had been hidden by the window. It contained an assortment of sweets – some of them rather squashed – and a hand-made bookmark bearing a Gryffindor lion and Remus's initials.

'It's wonderful!' he exclaimed, turning it over in his hand to examine the intricately rendered Hogwarts crest on the other side. The card had a waxy feel to it, but the colours were bold and even. 'How did you get the crayon so smooth?' he asked.

'Easy!' said Peter. 'You take a white one and you rub it over top, hard as you can. Then you put on another layer of colour. It works every time.'

'Looks great,' James said approvingly. 'Practically professional.'

'I'd have left off Slytherin's quarter,' Sirius put in. 'It's unseemly.'

'It's the school crest!' Remus laughed. 'He can't just change it to suit you.'

Sirius stuck out his tongue and made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

Next Remus opened the wax-paper package, which contained three sheets of his mother's home-made toffee. He hurriedly broke one into shards and shared them around while he opened the parcel with the sponge-printed wrapper.

'Ooh, a shoeboft!' Sirius said, his words muffled somewhat by the mouthful of toffee. 'Wha'f infide?'

'Shoes, of course,' Remus said as he lifted the lid. They were sturdy shoes of the sort he usually wore, and his breath caught in his throat when he realized that they were new. The laces were crisp and the leather had a rich dark sheen to it. He checked the maker's mark and his anxiety eased somewhat when he realized that they were half a size larger than he needed: they were costly, but they had room to grow and he would be sure to take good care of them.

His other gift from his parents was a promising-looking novel, thick and heavy and happily second-hand. Mother had inscribed the endpaper: _To our courageous young man on the occasion of his thirteenth birthday. _Both she and his father had signed it.

Last of all was the large package that had been hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. Remus unwrapped it carefully to reveal a hinged case of dark wood, sanded carefully and stained a deep, glossy colour. He raised the lid and found himself peering into a neatly divided box with places for quills, his penknife, and even rolls of parchment. Further inspection of the top of the box revealed a panel that slid aside to form a cup for an inkwell. Inside was a small card bearing birthday greetings from Madam Pomfrey.

'What is it?' Sirius asked, rapping one knuckle against the side of the case.

'It's a lap desk,' Remus said. 'For when I'm doing schoolwork in bed. This way I shan't have to try to balance my parchment on a tea tray.'

'Huh,' James said, clearly trying to sound impressed.

'From Matey, is it?' said Sirius, looking at the card. He nodded once, approvingly. 'She's a sensible sort of witch.'

'I'm glad she has your approval,' Remus said solemnly.

'Are we done?' James asked. Perhaps realizing that he sounded rather impatient he shrugged sheepishly. 'Only I really am meant to be down on the pitch in ninety-six minutes, and I've still got to eat…'

'We're done,' Remus said courteously, surveying his gifts once more. 'Thank you for the lovely presents.' He smiled mischievously at Sirius. 'And thank you for not pretending you'd forgotten.'

'Don't mention it, mate,' Sirius said, hoisting himself off the bed and herding James towards the door. 'C'mon, Potter: let's get you fed and watered. Can't have Gryffindor's star Chaser pausing mid-match to be sick, can we?'

_~discidium~_

It was less than ideal weather for Quidditch: the sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky, and there was a high wind blowing in from the west. The spectators' boxes swayed and groaned ominously in the wind. If he had not known that they were magically reinforced and carefully designed to withstand every extreme of weather, Remus would have been apprehensive of mounting the stairs to the Gryffindor stands. Yet he knew that he still would have done it: James was his friend, and Remus had to be there to cheer him on.

He settled himself diplomatically between Sirius and Peter. If there had ever been two people more ill-suited to sit next to one another at a Quidditch match, Remus could not imagine it. Peter's breathless excitement and startled yelps irritated Sirius to no end. And the fearsome intensity with which Sirius followed every play – as if at a moment's notice he might spring from the bench and onto a broom in the middle of the game – always made Peter nervous. This, of course, increased the frequency and shrillness of the startled yelps, which led to unkind remarks. It was better for everyone concerned if Sirius and Peter did not sit beside each other.

The Slytherin team always played with frightening aggression and Gryffindor's Chasers had their work cut out for them, dodging Bludgers and doing their utmost to keep the Quaffle away from their hoops. It took James nearly fifteen minutes to score the first points of the game, which was a personal worst sure to be bemoaned at great length later in the day. Slytherin made the next two goals with sharp, unexpected manoeuvres that nearly cost McKinnon his seat on the broom. Then Trask swooped in just in time to bat away a Bludger headed straight for Gryffindor's Seeker, and after that it became very difficult to follow the action on the pitch.

As he usually did at such times, Remus focused on James. He was easy to spot, with his spectacles glittering in the sunlight. He was also the only player who didn't seem to be fighting the wind. He had a knack for moving with it when he wanted to progress up the pitch. In order to move down the rest of the Gryffindor team had to fight against the unfavourable currents. As soon as they tried to fly in a westerly direction their robes would billow and their brooms begin to lag. James, on the other hand, would tack into the wind, flying in sharp little zigzags that hardly seemed to cost him any speed at all. He kept his robes tucked tightly between his thigh and his broom, and his head down. He made another successful pass at the Slytherin rings, evening the score.

'Scummy little git,' Sirius muttered, glaring resentfully upward. 'He thinks his nasty, scaly friends can rack up a lead for the House Cup.'

Remus followed his friend's line of sight to Lucius Malfoy. The Slytherin Seeker was high above the action, pale hair whipping wildly behind him. He was watching something very intently and his eyes darted back and forth across the pitch.

'What's he doing?' Remus asked, craning his neck awkwardly as Malfoy shifted position.

'He sees the sodding Snitch,' Sirius growled. 'He's waiting to see if Slytherin can get a fifty-point lead. Cocky bastard. _COME ON, POTTER! SCORE!_'

Remus sincerely hoped that James had not heard his friend, because his throw went wild and he missed the Slytherin ring. One of the green-glad Chasers dove for the Quaffle and suddenly Gryffindor was on the defensive again. Sirius's hollering had accomplished one thing, however: Lucius Malfoy had lost sight of his target. Glowering grimly, he was now making scanning passes of the pitch again.

Meanwhile, Gryffindor's Seeker was in the midst of the action, ducking under bludgers and narrowly weaving out of the way of the Chasers. McKinnon kept trying to wave him off, but the tenacious third-year didn't seem to notice. Distracted, Eldritch missed an easy save and Slytherin was ahead again.

It was tortuous to watch; the constant ebb and flow of the advantage as both teams struggled with all their might. Higher and higher the score climbed, but neither team was ever more than one goal ahead. Gryffindor, fighting the wind for every offensive play, was quickly growing exhausted. Even James was losing some of his usual flair, and there was no sign of the weather calming. The spectators were all growing restless, shifting in their seats and grumbling amongst themselves. A group of first year girls decided that the game was no longer worth the discomfort they were suffering: they gathered up the skirts of their robes and fled back towards the warmth of the castle.

Then, abruptly, the tides of fortune turned. Slytherin's Chasers managed to get past the Gryffindor Beaters and scored three swift goals on McKinnon. James's effort to regain the advantage was thwarted when a Bludger arced straight for the back of his head. Either he heard it coming or he was gifted with the Sight, because he dove at the last possible second and saved himself a nasty knock. In the course of righting his broom, however, he lost his hold on the Quaffle. The other Chasers were too far away, and his opponents were ready. Suddenly the score was two hundred and twenty to one hundred and eighty, for Slytherin.

McKinnon was shouting orders to his players, but the wind carried them far away to disperse over the mountains. James was barrelling off after the Slytherin holding the Quaffle, and as the rangy fifth-year took a sharp bank in order to throw the ball to her teammate, James whisked right beneath her, coming up so close to the head of her broom that it was remarkable that he didn't catch his sleeve on it. He caught the ball and abruptly dropped, skimming along mere feet from the grass. He shot upward into the wind, banking into an updraft formed by the space between two of the spectators' towers. He hurled the Quaffle with all of his might and pulled back as it curled elegantly around the Slytherin Keeper. It fell through the ring just as the whistle sounded shrilly.

Remus sat up so abruptly that his spine made a creaking sound. He looked wildly about. In the chaos over the Quaffle he had forgotten the Seekers. He looked wildly for Lucius Malfoy, expecting to see him preening triumphantly. Instead the Slytherin's pale face was contorted horribly into a ghastly mask of frustration and disgust. Far below, flying in a long, slow spiral of descent, was the Gryffindor Seeker. Glittering between his dark fingers was the Golden Snitch.

_~discidium~_

James was still shouting when Sirius, Remus and Peter reached the pitch.

'—could've made up the points! I could've got us a decent lead! All we needed was thirty points up on Slytherin to put us ahead for the Cup. You _heard _McKinnon! You were supposed to wait!'

The Gryffindor Seeker listened patiently as James sputtered to a halt, stalled by his own inexpressible wrath. It was a comical sight: the wiry, tousle-haired Chaser brandishing his fists and trying to find words to express his frustration with the older boy, who was at least eight inches taller and supremely calm.

'Slytherin had the advantage,' he said in a slow, level voice that had already broken into an adult timbre. 'You will be more than able to make up the points when we play Ravenclaw after Easter.'

'Points taken off of Ravenclaw aren't half as satisfying as points taken off of Slytherin!' James howled. 'I was supposed to come out ahead of them! I was _going_ to come out ahead! Why didn't you catch the bloody Snitch while I was ahead?'

'I did not see the Snitch until just before I caught it,' explained the Seeker. Remus realized abruptly that he wasn't using contractions, and that gave his words an added measure of serenity. 'I did not think that Eldritch would want me to pass up the opportunity, especially as the rest of the team was getting so tired.'

'Eldritch is as mad at you as I am!' James roared. 'It was short-sighted! And foolish! And sodding embarrassing! Right, McKinnon? Sodding _embarrassing!_'

Eldritch, who had been watching the altercation from a safe distance, shook his head and stepped forward. 'I'm sorry, Potter, but he did the right thing. Slytherin was on you right from the start: that's why you couldn't make nearly as many goals as usual. And with the wind in the wrong direction we couldn't keep it up much longer.'

James turned on his captain, mouth agape in disbelief. 'But… but… I was going to pull ahead…'

'Exactly, Potter: _you_,' McKinnon sighed. 'Kingsley did what was best for the team, not for his own private glory. It was the smart move. When you're down fifty points and you see the Snitch—'

'_Forty_ points!' James cried, stamping his foot. 'I scored before he caught the stupid Snitch, and don't you forget it!'

McKinnon shook his head. 'I'm not talking to you while you're like this,' he said. 'One of these days you need to stop acting like a kid and start thinking about what's right for the team.' He turned and began to walk away.

'I am thinking about what's right for the team!' James protested loudly, trotting after him. 'All I needed was eight more goals – _eight_ – and we could've had a clear lead! Now we're going to have to take our chances with Ravenclaw and we're going to have to cope with the Slytherin Chasers gloating about how they bested me, and we're going to have to…'

McKinnon whirled around, gesturing broadly at the knot of sullen Slytherins at the far end of the pitch. Lucius Malfoy was among them, irritably brushing off Narcissa Black's attempts to console him. 'Doesn't look like they're gloating to me, Potter,' Eldritch said. 'A win is a win, all right?'

He started off again, and this time James didn't follow. He stood his ground while the rest of the team followed their captain. The Seeker remained behind, offering a conciliatory hand and a smile.

'No hard feelings, James?' he said. 'I wasn't trying to show you up. You might be able to fly all day, but the rest of us are only mortal. The game had to end.'

James scowled, clearly reluctant to yield up his grudge so easily. Then his expression softened into one of mild irritation and he shrugged his shoulders. The courtesy and the compliment worked their magic. 'Oh, all right, Shacklebolt,' he said. 'No hard feelings. But you'd better let me get in my piece when we go up against Ravenclaw, or we'll be out of the running for the Cup.'

'Oh, it would never come to that,' said the older boy with a knowing jerk of his chin. 'We're too strong a team.'

So saying, he strode off after the other players. The four boys were left behind, and Sirius stepped forward to clap James on the shoulder.

'Don't worry about it, Potter,' he said. 'If anybody tries to make cracks about Slytherin getting ahead with the Quaffle we can hex them. Always makes me feel better.'

James rolled his eyes. 'I just can't stand it!' he groused. 'I mean, must've scored nine hundred points so far this season, but then Shacklebolt swoops in and snags the Snitch and all the glory, and there's nothing I can do about it.'

Sirius chuckled. 'That's 'cause he's the Seeker, mate. The game is rigged that way.'

'Yeah, well, what makes him so sodding special?' grumbled James, though his evil mood already seemed to be dissipating. 'I'm better on a broom.'

'And so everybody knows your name,' said Sirius with remarkable reason. 'And the firsties have half a dozen cheers that Pettigrew made up just for you. But at the end of the day you're still a Chaser, and that means the Seeker sometimes ends the game before you're ready. No sense in getting worked up over it. At least we won,' he added, nodding towards the defeated Slytherins.

'We did win, didn't we?' James said smugly. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, loosing it from its tangles so that it stood up in every direction. With a whoop of victory he tossed the helmet into the air. 'Gryffindor triumphant!' he hollered.

There was a supportive roar from the rapidly-emptying Gryffindor box above.

_~discidium~_

Despite the Quidditch-related festivities that evening, Sirius and James still made time to nick an assortment of pastries and other pleasant confections in honour of Remus's birthday. Although a good portion of the treats was appropriated by McKinnon and the other revellers, it was still a very pleasant evening. Remus spent most of Sunday reading his new novel, while Sirius and James were outside teaching Walters and Blotts how to fly into a high wind.

The week between Remus's birthday and the full moon was largely uneventful, if one did not count the odd hexing of Slytherins who dared to mock James Potter's performance on the pitch. Professor Meyrigg appeared in class on Monday looking better than she had in weeks. There was some semblance of colour in her cheeks, though the bones of her face were still more prominent than they ought to be. She smiled and greeted the class pleasantly, and her attention did not stray from the lesson once. On Thursday she appeared at the staff table for the evening meal, though she ate gingerly and left before the afters were served. On Friday, according to Peter's source in third year, she slipped off before lights-out – bound, doubtless, for Llanmadoc by way of Croydon for whatever secret purpose she had.

By Saturday evening, when Sirius and James were just gearing up for a night of mischief, the pull of the moon was catching up to Remus. While the other Marauders went charging off to 'have a bit of fun', as Sirius so inadequately expressed it, he stayed behind in the dormitory. There he packed his satchel and went to bed early.

Sunday afternoon in the hospital wing was pleasant. All three of his friends were there, and there was laughter and camaraderie and games of Exploding Snap. Then at half past three Sirius climbed off of the bed and brushed down the front of his robes.

'Well, I'd best be going,' he said, clapping a hand on James's shoulder and another on Peter's. 'You two keep him smiling, and I'll see you at supper.'

'Where are you off to?' James asked, mildly annoyed.

Sirius shrugged. 'No place,' he said. 'I've got to go. I'll be seeing you, Remus.' With a wink and a flourish he was gone.

'What do you suppose he's up to?' Peter asked as the ward door banged closed.

'Hanged if I know,' James said. 'Probably off to spy on Binns or something. Do you know he was actually thinking about trying to get his hands on McGonagall's research materials?'

'No, I didn't,' Remus said. He felt that the revelation ought to be puzzling, but he was fighting a nasty headache and his customary fever, and so he just felt vaguely perplexed. 'I'm sure the library would have copies of any articles she's had published.'

'No, not her Transfiguration research,' said James. 'He was going on and on the other night about how and when she became a whatchamacallit.'

'A cat,' Peter said simply.

'Exactly,' said James. 'A whatchamacallit.'

'An Animagus,' Remus translated. 'Why on earth would he want to know that?'

Even as he asked the question a vague uneasiness settled somewhere in the vicinity of his liver. It was quickly forgotten, however, when James laughed.

'I don't know,' he said. 'And I don't much care. It's less likely to land us outside the Headmaster's door at five in the morning, so I really expected you to be happy about it, too.'

'Oh, yes, of course I am,' Remus mumbled. 'But he gave me that book as well…' His mind was fumbling with the puzzle, trying to sift out the significance of these loose pieces of information. But James was dealing out the playing cards again, and Peter was chattering happily, and moonrise was calling to him. It was easier just to lean back against the cushions and forget about cats and books and Sirius's notions.

_~discidium~_

The snow was thinning out, and the ground at the base of the Willow was muddy. Remus was very glad that he had decided to wear his old shoes as the muck squelched against the scuffed leather, but he spared bleary regret for the spoiled hem of Madam Pomfrey's robes as she led the way into the tunnel. As always she talked cheerfully as she walked with him, lighting their way with her wand. Remus followed docilely. There was no point in struggling against the inevitable. After all, he had had a lovely afternoon with his friends, and he would see them when the transformation was through. The horror of the change was eased a little by that.

Still he hesitated a moment before struggling up through the trap door. In the early days, when he was small, he had fought tooth and nail when his parents tried to shut him up in the cellar. He had screamed and wept and begged them not to do it. He had clung so desperately to his mother that once he had left little round bruises on her arms where his fingers had scrabbled. He had reasoned with the nonsensical logic of a four-year-old that if they did not lock him up the change would not occur. That if he remained in the main house, where for most of the month he lived an almost normal life, he might remain normal, too – as if holding on to his humanity was as simple as staying in his bedroom.

The same thought came to him now, transitory and swiftly quashed by common sense. The moon would rise, whether he willed it or no. And when it rose he would transform into a slavering monster, no matter where he was. It was necessary, therefore, that he be shut away. To resist would be to risk infecting someone else, and that he could not countenance.

'There we are, dear. Stiff this month, I suppose?' Madam Pomfrey said soothingly, offering her hand and helping him as he climbed to his feet. She reached with her free fingers to rub gently at his shoulders. 'At least it's not so cold this month. Spring will be here before you know it.'

'The nights are already shorter,' Remus murmured, determined to make an effort at optimism.

'So they are,' Madam Pomfrey said as she drew him into her departing embrace. 'Do take care, love,' she whispered. 'I'll be here first thing after moonset.'

Remus nodded, shuffling over to the sideboard so that he did not have to watch as she left him. One of the floorboards creaked as the matron moved towards the trap door. It was a strange sound, soft and high and unlike the usual groans of the old house. Remus unfastened his cloak and folded it carefully. He stepped out of his shoes and started to lift his robes.

'I thought you said you were allowed to use the bedroom,' a familiar voice protested quietly.

Remus whirled around, heart hammering in his chest. For a moment he thought that he was imagining things, for there was no one behind him. Then, just as he remembered that appearances were deceiving where his friends were concerned, Sirius whipped off the Invisibility Cloak. His brows were knotted in concern, and he took a step forward, only halting at the wild look in the younger boy's eyes.

'What are you doing her?' Remus cried. 'You mustn't be here! You've got to get out: there isn't much time!'

'Twenty minutes by my reckoning,' Sirius said. 'Don't worry: I'll be long gone by then.' He closed the distance between them and grinned. The Cloak was still draped over one arm, giving him the appearance of a missing limb. Remus screwed his eyes tightly shut against the sudden image of Sirius's arm severed, blood dripping from the torn sinews and bone gnawed in two by the wolf's powerful jaws.

'You have to go! You can't be here!' he cried. His hands scrabbled at Sirius's elbow, trying to turn him and to force him towards the trap door. The floorboard creaked again, too high and fragile a sound. Sirius chuckled and sidestepped Remus.

'Aw, you've scared him,' he scolded. His arm appeared from under the Cloak. Tucked in the crook of his elbow was a little ginger cat. 'Say hello, Speckles.'

Remus stared, not quite able to process what he was seeing. 'Where did you get that?' he managed to croak, though the question was inadequate to express his bewilderment.

'It belongs to Elsie Appleby,' Sirius said. 'I figured that since Mrs. Dashwood ate the last one nobody would know the difference if I turn out to be wrong.'

'Wrong about what?' gasped Remus. 'Wrong about _what_?'

'About you going after animals, of course. If we're going to do this it's going to take a lot of time and effort, and we'll never talk James into it if there's a chance you'll maul us the minute we succeed,' Sirius said. He was smiling, and his voice was so matter-of-fact that Remus felt sure that his ears must be malfunctioning. 'So if Puss here makes it through the night we'll know it could work. Don't look so shocked,' he added consolingly. 'I'm being responsible.'

'Resp—res_ponsible_?' Remus choked. 'Sirius, are you mad? I'm going to change any minute. You'll be stuck in here with a… a… a…' He clawed at his hair as if by doing so he could clear his addled wits. This was not happening. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. He was going to transform, and Sirius was here. Sirius was going to be hurt. He might be killed. He might be _bitten_. After all of his assurances to the contrary Sirius was _here_.

'Sure,' said Sirius. 'Here, go on and take him. I've got a bit of a hike to make, and I'd really rather not cut it any closer than I have to.'

Before Remus understood what was happening, Sirius had hoisted the kitten into his arms. The tiny creature scrabbled, twisting and struggling to escape. Instinctively Remus clutched it, supporting its bottom with one hand and cupping the other around its back. The kitten settled, calming beneath his touch. Sirius grinned.

'There, you see? You're a natural,' he said. He reached out and clapped Remus on the shoulder. 'Good luck, mate. Fingers crossed, eh?'

Then quick as a flash he was gone down the hole, leaving Remus stricken with shock and still holding the cat.

The thump of the trap door roused him to his senses. Somehow he had to get the kitten out of the house. He stumbled over to the bare place in the floor, falling to his knees and groping for the handle of the portal that led to the tunnel. As his fingers closed on the cold iron he froze. He couldn't do that. The kitten would cry out, and Sirius would hear it. He couldn't be more than ten yards down the passage: he would know what Remus had done and he might be fool enough to double back to reason with him. There was no other way out of the house: even the chimneys were blocked and warded. If he was going to spare the kitten from the horrors of a night with a werewolf, he had to put it down into the tunnel. But he had to wait.

He huddled there on the floor, trying to count off the seconds. It took about ten minutes to walk from the house to the Willow. Six hundred seconds, then. But somehow he kept losing count somewhere past eighty. His heart was hammering in his chest, and the little creature in his arms kept rooting about the front of his robes.

His robes. He had to undress, too, before the moon rose. Clutching the cat awkwardly with one hand Remus tried to wriggle out of his robes. He never wore anything under them for these pilgrimages: any garments he brought with him might so easily be damaged or destroyed by an ill chance, and he was unwilling to risk that except in the name of necessity. He managed to get the garment over his head and he moved on his knees to stow it with his other things in the sideboard.

Surely Sirius was out of earshot now. He would not linger. Even Sirius had enough sense to make himself scarce when the transformation was imminent. Remus dragged himself back to the hatch and tugged at the handle. His right arm strained, his left still cradling the kitten. His elbow went limp and he curled forward over the floor, breathless. The trap door was heavy, and he was weak and trembling. He could not lift it one-handed.

He set the kitten down and curled all ten fingers over the handle. He hauled with all his might, and with a groan and a soft popping sound the trap door lifted. Bracing it with one shoulder despite the splinters jutting from the coarse wood, Remus groped for the cat. Instead of silken fur he felt only the coarse wool of the bloodstained rug. He twisted, eyes straining in the gathering gloom. The kitten was on the far side of the room, pawing curiously at the wainscoting and mewling softly. It was the high, trilling sound that Remus had taken for creaking floorboards.

'Psst, come here!' he whispered. The cat did not even seem to have heard him. He snapped his fingers. 'Come _here_.'

This time the kitten looked back over its shoulder, purring softly. Deciding that the wainscoting was more interesting than the naked and increasingly anxious boy, it turned back to its exploration.

Panicked now, Remus scrambled to his feet. His legs were weak and his joints too loose to bear him up properly, and he stumbled. He skittered forward on hands and knees, hooking the cat with his hand. As swiftly as he could he moved back to the hatch, but the door had fallen closed again. Driven by desperation and determined not to fail, Remus yanked with his right hand. The lid shuddered and screeched but then, miraculously, it lifted just a little. The cat was so small: he needed only a gap of six or eight inches to push it through. A fall of three feet wouldn't hurt the kitten, but a werewolf very well might. Gritting his teeth, Remus pulled harder.

Something tore in his trapezius, a white-hot burst of pain that shot out in a searing starburst across his back. He cried out as his hand lost its grip. It was beginning. The transformation was beginning. Frantic now, he reached for the handle again in defiance of the anguish in his spine. But instead of a hand the door was met with a grotesque paw, morphing and sprouting fur and claws and great, coarse pads. The next scream was an inhuman roar, and the last thing that Remus managed to do before the change overtook him entirely was to release his hold on the shrieking kitten.


	78. At Cross Purposes

_Note: LEAPING LEPRACHAUNS! IS IT A NEW CHAPTER? Yes. As many of you have correctly surmised, Real Life hasn't been going fantastically well for me lately. The writing has suffered, as have the review replies. But here's the new chapter, and I promise I'll try to write to everyone who was kind enough to leave feedback during my lengthy absence! Please know that I have no intention of abandoning this story, and your continued support and encouragement is very much appreciated! So please continue to read, enjoy and review._

_And now, at last: the fate of Speckles is revealed…_

**Chapter Seventy-Eight: At Cross-Purposes**

The sticky, salty sourness of blood filled Remus's mouth. He wanted very much to spit, to force out the taste and the foulness and the grit that clung to his teeth, but his throat was dry and he lacked even the strength to move his tongue. He was afraid to shift position, for at the moment the pain was bearable. The steady and familiar throbbing in his head was accompanied by deep sinews of ache that ran into his jaw and down through his neck and out to his shoulders. The greyness of morning was cold upon his face, and he tried to open his eyes to greet it only to discover that this, too, was beyond him. There was blood crusted over his lashes, cementing them shut.

Coherent thought never came easily in the hours after a transformation. Sometimes he did not even realize that he had transformed; did not understand how he had come to inhabit such a world of agony and helplessness. That at least was not the case this time. He remembered James and Peter: laughing and happy and snatching at the playing cards. He remembered Madam Pomfrey leading him across the grounds secure in the knowledge that the rest of the school was gathering for supper. Old shoes squelching in the mud, new ones safe in the dormitory. Then… what? Shucking his robes, he supposed. Waiting. Changing.

No. _No_…

It came back in a flood of frantic images. Sirius emerging from under the Invisibility Cloak. His own protestations, meant to make his friend see sense and run. The cat, the little kitten thrust into his arms. Frenetically struggling with the hatch. Claws. Claws and paws and pads and fangs, and after that nothing but hatred and fear and cyclical pain.

Remus struggled to open his eyes, straining now against the clotted gore. Overtaxed muscles, newly restored to their natural form, tensed and rippled and shrieked with anguish. He managed to raise his head, still fighting for sight, but his neck was weak. With a twitching spasm his neck gave out under the weight thrust upon it, and the back of his skull smacked down against the worn floorboards with a dizzying _crack_.

Instinct and experience and common sense all screamed that he had best lie still and wait for Madam Pomfrey to come and stem the draining of life from his wounds, but in his own way Remus was every bit as stubborn and determined as Sirius Black. He had to know what had happened. He had to know what he had done. It could not wait, not fifteen minutes or five or even two. He had to know _now_.

He could not lift his left arm, and the angry tingling when he tried told him that he had broken something in it. Unable to stifle a whimper of suffering as his shoulder protested the motion, he raised his right hand and groped for his eyes. His arm was bleeding: he could feel the hot crawl of fluid as it shifted. Clumsy fingers scrubbed at his lashes, dislodging the sandy glue that bound them. His eyes began to water, stinging as he blinked up at the shadowy ceiling. Cracks and stains in the plaster danced like spectres before his eyes, occupying many forms before settling into their true shapes.

He thought of sitting up – a brief, wistful memory of normalcy as fleeting as a legless man's dream of running. Instead he let his head loll to one side, flopping over so that his ear was pressed against the floor. The motion filled him with the unsteady nausea that always came from a stomach bloated with blood. His molars clamped instantly together as he fought the rising chyme. He could be sick later. He had to know.

It took another minute for his vision to clear. The looming shapes of dilapidated furniture settled into their places. Beneath his cheek, spreading out towards the door that led to the stairs, was a lake of blood – black and shining in the faint light of dawn. He followed it with his eyes, supressing out of long practice any estimates of volume. All thoughts of the wounds that must have led to such a loss dissolved immediately as his bleary eyes picked out an aberration in the usual scene of the morning after.

There, perhaps an arm's length from his nose, lay a dark shape almost small enough to fit in his cupped palms. The fragile little spine was curled, rounding the small body into a ball. Fur stuck out in every direction, tufts stained and stiffened with blood. Behind one limp paw Remus could just make out the details of the face: eyes hooded as his own had been, velvet nose glossy with gore, one whisker crimped at an uncomfortable angle.

Horror and remorse exploded through his chest, more excruciating than any of the pains of the transformation. He had done it: he had killed Elsie Appleby's kitten. The mournful protestation that he hadn't _meant_ to do it welled up into his throat, but repulsion and self-loathing drove it back down. His intentions were irrelevant: the wolf knew neither pity nor regret, and it had taken what it wanted. It had done that which came naturally to it: it had hunted and it had killed.

With rising panic Remus wondered how he would ever be able to look Elsie in the eye again. She might never guess what had happened to her pet: Mrs Dashwood would likely bear the blame. But _he _would know. Every time he saw her in the common room or passed her in the corridor or caught sight of her in lessons he would remember this. And how would he explain to Sirius? Surely his friend had never supposed the wolf might actually hurt the little cat, or else he would not have left it. What would Sirius do when he discovered the truth? What would he think of him?

For a moment Remus thought that the soft mewling sound came from his own throat: an inadequate articulation of his misery. Then he realized that the noise had a more interrogative quality to it – a note of curiosity. As he watched in abject wonder, the kitten raised his little head, mouth widening into a tremendous yawn. Gingerly he picked himself up off of the ground, peering perplexedly at one blood-soaked paw. He arched his back downward, stretching against the floor. Then he caught sight of Remus.

He expected Speckles to run away in terror, as fast as the little legs would carry him. Instead he cocked his head to one side and made the quiet questioning noise again. Then, apparently unconcerned, Speckles turned and strolled away with his tail in the air. Once he was clear of the pool of blood he sat down on a corner of the worn old rug and began to lick the ichor from his paws.

Relief and loss of blood claimed their due, and Remus slipped from consciousness not long after that.

_ ~discidium~_

Three or four times that day he awakened briefly, and each time Madam Pomfrey tipped cool water and coppery potions between his lips. Remus was exhausted beyond the normal limits of the day after the moon. Each awakening was as brief of the last, and every time sleep came with gentle force. He could hear the matron's soothing voice murmuring to him, and he knew that if he cared to listen he would hear her explaining what she was doing – and what he had done to himself. He could not be troubled to make sense of the sounds, however, and he lapsed swiftly into deep dreams, almost all of which featured fearless little felines undaunted by the raging of a werewolf.

When at last he knew that his consciousness was not transient this time, Remus was aware first of the tormenting dryness in his throat. He tried to run his tongue along his lips, but it was bloated and it stuck, catching on the roughness of dehydration. Remembering that he had been able to move his right arm in the safe house, he shifted. His fingers groped in empty air where he thought the side table ought to be. He had not yet mustered the tenacity required to open his eyes.

'Here, dear, let me do it,' a familiar voice said.

Remus yielded at once, allowing Madam Pomfrey to prop him up and tilt the glass against his lower lip. He tried to gulp greedily at the water, but his throat did not cooperate and he choked, coughing and sputtering and shaking with the pain awakened in his overtaxed muscles. The matron swiftly shifted him into an upright position, thumping him firmly on the back. The fit abated at last and Remus crumpled down against the pillow, his strength spent.

'Dear, dear,' the matron said soothingly, wiping his chin and flicking her wand at the front of his gown. 'Just lie still and I'll fetch a teaspoon.'

Remus shook his head convulsively. He didn't want to trouble her any more than he had already, and in any case his throat was now so tight that he very much doubted he would be able to swallow at all. His lips moved, driven by a desire to explain himself, but no sound escaped.

'Stuff and nonsense,' Madam Pomfrey scolded fondly, brushing down the front of her apron and pressing her free hand against his forehead. 'You're in want of your potions anyhow, and it's no bother at all. Now just you lie still, my boy, and we'll soon have you put right.'

She swept from the room, leaving Remus alone in the cozy glow of the lamp. He blinked soporifically once, twice, thrice. He wondered what time of day it was. His left arm was no longer burning, but merely aching dully. From that he surmised the break had been set. Laboriously he licked his lips. They tasted of salt but not blood: the matron had already bathed his face.

It was afternoon, then. Questions of cleanliness always deferred to open wounds. He wondered whether lessons were still in session, or whether his friends had decided not to visit him. An anxious fist closed over his heart. Had he killed the cat after all? He was certain that he remembered Speckles getting up and meandering away to clean himself, but sometimes after a transformation his mind played tricks on him. What if that was only a dream? What if he _had_ murdered Elsie Appleby's kitten after all?

Madam Pomfrey came back into the room, nudging the door open with her hip. She was carrying her tray, laden with medicine bottles and one-dram cups. Remus's pulse quickened at the sight of her, and at last he forced a sound through his ravaged vocal chords.

'S… Sss…' he managed.

The matron smiled at him, setting down the tray and measuring out the first dose as if she had not recognized his attempt at speech.

'Sss…' Remus said more forcefully, raising his head a good inch off of the pillow to demonstrate the deliberate nature of his noise-making. 'Sp—Sp…'

'Sirius?' asked Madam Pomfrey pleasantly, deftly raising him up and offering the potion. 'Why, he's still in class, I should think. He was here first thing in the morning, but you were too much occupied with other concerns to be seen.'

Remus swallowed the coppery concoction, grinding his teeth against the pain of doing so. He closed his eyes and shook his head. 'Sp-Speckles…' he mumbled.

The matron offered him a spoonful of water, and then another. 'Potter ought to be in his lessons as well,' she said. It took Remus a moment to realize that she thought he had been trying to say _spectacles_ . 'Or at least I most sincerely hope so. Sometimes I wonder if you're running with the right sort of crowd, dear.'

She was on to the next potion now, and Remus took it gratefully. Madam Pomfrey had an almost unearthly ability to gauge the severity of his pain. Somehow, even without asking, she knew when he longed to beg for something to relieve it – and she seemed to understand his reluctance to admit to the agony that followed a change. At home he bore as much of it as he was able, silently and without reprieve, because he did not want his parents to know how much it hurt. During his hellish sojourns in hospital he always struggled to hold his silence longer than he would have even for his mother, because he could always see in the Healers' eyes the cold judgement as they measured the doses. They always thought as they treated him that a werewolf deserved no less: that the agony was just punishment for the crime of being a part-human. That would have been hard enough to endure, without the gnawing fear that they might be right.

So Madam Pomfrey's silent understanding that he was suffering and her matter-of-fact way of ameliorating it as best she could was a remarkable blessing. She stoppered the bottle and gave him more water, using the glass this time instead of the spoon. Having learned his lesson, Remus sipped cautiously, rinsing away the taste of the potions. The matron offered him a sour-tasting brew next, for the newly-healed bones in his arm. Again she offered water before reaching for the fourth phial.

'No,' Remus croaked, his hoarse voice scarcely audible. He shook his head and repeated himself with greater resolve: '_No_.'

Madam Pomfrey smiled sadly. 'You could do with a bit of sleep, Remus,' she said. 'This will just help you along.'

'I don't… I need to speak to Sirius,' he protested. 'If I'm sleeping when he comes you… you won't let him in.'

'I should say not!' the matron protested indignantly. 'It's rest that you need on the day after a transformation, not rambunctious visitors. Sirius will still be here tomorrow, and with a bit of luck you will be too. There's nothing so important that it can't wait.'

'B-but it is important, Madam,' murmured Remus. His voice was failing him after such a lengthy speech, and he had to contract every muscle in his neck to keep the sounds from fading entirely. 'It's frightfully important: I need to see him as soon as he comes.'

Madam Pomfrey frowned discontentedly, clearly reluctant to concede. His desperation must have been evident, however, because she sighed and shook her head. 'Very well,' she said. 'I'll not make you take potions you don't want to, but if you drift off on your own don't you expect me to wake you!'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus breathed. He was frightened that she might be cross with him for his defiance and his impudence and his stubbornness, but a moment later she smiled.

'Good boy,' she said approvingly. She poured out the sleeping draught and set it next to the glass of water. 'I want you to take it as soon as you're done with your frightfully important conversation,' she instructed. 'Sleep does wonders for a healing body, you know.'

Remus nodded complacently and let his weary bones melt against the mattress as Madam Pomfrey smoothed the bedclothes and cleared away her tray. He lay thus for a long while as the potions radiated out from his stomach and into his limbs, washing away the worst of his pains. His mind was for the most part blissfully vacant, save for the occasional burst of anxiety when he thought about the kitten and Sirius's imminent arrival. These never lasted long, however, chiefly because he lacked the strength to sustain them.

At long last he heard the sound of the ward door opening, and Sirius's cheerful greeting to the matron. A moment later the door to his little room slid open and Madam Pomfrey peered in before standing aside to admit his visitor.

'Mind you don't talk too long,' she said, wagging a warning finger at Sirius. 'He needs his rest.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Sirius said, sweeping a cheeky bow. With one last dubious look at her patient Madam Pomfrey withdrew. Sirius closed the door carefully, listening to be sure that it latched. Then he turned towards the bed.

Remus was struggling to sit up, digging his right hand against the bed. The muscles in his arm were too weakened by the night's strains to achieve much, and he sank back with a frustrated sigh. Sirius ambled over and grinned.

'No need to stand on ceremony,' he said sunnily. 'How are you feeling?'

Breathless from his ill-conceived exertion, Remus shook his head helplessly. In the interval between blinding fatigue and coherent speech, he realized that Sirius bore four long but shallow scratches on his left cheek and several more on his hands. Before he could muster the energy to ask what had happened, Sirius hefted his satchel onto the bed. A bulge in the side was squirming belligerently. With the reflexes that served him so well in a game of Quidditch, Sirius reached into the bag and scooped up an indignant ball of ginger fur. He tossed it onto the bedclothes, recoiling quickly before the kitten could take an angry swipe at him with a little paw.

Speckles arched his back, hissing and spitting in Sirius's direction, before scrambling over Remus's knees and climbing onto his belly. There he sat down on his hindquarters and scowled resentfully at Sirius.

Remus stared at the kitten, jaw slackened in wonder. He raised a quivering hand and lowered it cautiously onto Speckles's back. He half expected the cat to recoil from him, but instead he merely turned his little head quizzically, before butting up against Remus's fingers in what was clearly a demand to be petted.

'He… he's all right after all,' Remus breathed, stroking the little creature. The ginger fur was clean now, though rather frizzled and standing out in such a way that Speckles looked larger than he had the night before. He appeared to have been the victim of a rather aggressive Drying Charm.

'Course he's all right,' Sirius said airily. He flexed his fingers and offered a rueful smile. 'Which is more than I can say for myself,' he added. 'Silly little blighter took exception to my efforts to clean him, but I couldn't send him back to Little Miss Elsie looking like the key witness in a particularly grisly murder. Goodness knows what she'll think as it is, little ball of fluff.'

'Haven't you given him back to her yet?' Remus asked, his brow furrowing in concern. 'She's bound to be worried.'

Sirius shrugged flippantly. 'I knew you'd fret if you couldn't see I'd done a proper job,' he said. 'Given the choice between her peace of mind and yours I'd pick yours any day, mate.'

'Then why did you do it in the first place?' Remus cried. The words escaped before he had a chance to vet them, and the bottom fell out of his stomach as he realized what he had said. 'I—I didn't mean it like that, Sirius…' he stammered. 'I didn't… I mean, I wouldn't… I… I…'

Sirius seemed oblivious to his discomfiture. He tossed his satchel onto the floor and draped himself over the chair by the bed, tilting it onto its two back legs and rocking contentedly with his hands behind his head. 'Because I knew it would work, of course,' he said smugly. 'The moggy's fine, isn't he? You didn't harm a hair on his fuzzy little head.' He glowered at Speckles and pointed an accusatory finger at him. 'Which is not to say that _I _wasn't sorely tempted, so don't press your luck, my feline friend.'

Speckles arched his back and bared his teeth, hissing wrathfully before rolling onto his back so that Remus could stroke his belly. He began to emit a low, deep purring that felt marvellously comforting against the sore muscles of the boy's abdomen.

'But what if I had hurt him?' Remus protested softly. He did not want Sirius to think that he was questioning him, but the act in question seemed so reckless and so fundamentally pointless that he could not help but press the issue a little further.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders indolently. 'I told you last night: everyone would think it was Mrs Dashwood who did it anyhow.' His chair straightened with a sharp _thud_ and he leaned forward, eyes glittering with uncanny glee. 'And it _worked!_ You won't go after animals if they don't provoke you. We can _do_ it!'

It was obvious that he expected Remus to understand, and Remus had the uncomfortable feeling that he _ought_ to understand. Comprehension eluded him, however, and his head shuddered in a helpless gesture of bewilderment. 'Do _what_?' he exhaled.

'Help you, of course!' Sirius cried, clapping his hands so that Speckles bolted up onto his paws and scurried to hide behind Remus's shoulder. The ridiculous thought that the kitten was obviously more frightened of bathing than of werewolves darted through Remus's mind. 'We'll have to work out how to do it, but surely it can't be _that _difficult. I mean, if McGonagall can do it then so can we. There are bound to be books on the subject. Better books than that one I gave you, I mean. And even if there aren't the Ministry has to have files or something. I haven't worked out all of the details yet, but the minute I do we'll be able to—'

His mouth snapped abruptly closed and he leaned over the bed, yanking the counterpane up over Remus's collarbones and tossing one corner over Speckles. He had just enough time to gesture for silence and slide back onto the chair before the door opened and Madam Pomfrey came in.

'That's enough visiting for today,' she said. 'Remus needs his rest. Be off with you now: you can stop in tomorrow.'

'Just another minute, Madam?' Sirius asked, eyes wide in an approximation of innocence. 'He's not tired yet – are you, Remus?'

Remus shook his head like an automaton. Sirius's words were replaying in his mind, and he was beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that he did understand after all. Sirius had wanted to see whether the wolf would go after another animal if the creature in question didn't try to provoke the monster. The experiment had seemed to confirm that such an outcome was unlikely. Animals could not be infected by the bite of a werewolf, either, as humans would. And the reference to Professor McGonagall…

'I'm afraid not,' Madam Pomfrey said. 'It's scarcely been ten hours since I put him to bed, and he's only half healed. I've been more than accommodating, but now you really must go.'

Sirius sighed laboriously, bending to retrieve his satchel as he did so. He hefted it onto the edge of the bed and let go of the strap. 'What if I promised to let him sleep late tomorrow?' he wheedled. 'I could wait until lunchtime to come and see him. Isn't that worth one more minute?'

Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms and fixed Sirius with a very firm eye. 'It's a shame to disillusion you, Mr Black,' she said; 'but it is I who decides who will be allowed to see my patients and when. If I want Remus to have a lie-in tomorrow then he shall have it, whether you want to see him before breakfast or not. I'm afraid you really are in no position to bargain with me. Off you go now.'

'Oh, all right,' Sirius sighed. 'Whatever you say, Matey.' He stomped past her and out of the room, halting in the middle of the ward to turn around. 'I just don't know why you have to be so stuffy about it.'

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, annoyance flashing in her eyes. She spun on one heel, closing the door behind her and striding off as she launched into a lecture about proper respect for members of staff in general and the sanctity of the hospital wing in particular. Sirius proceeded to argue semantics, at which point Remus realized what he was meant to do.

As swiftly as he could, he scooped up Speckles and tucked him into Sirius's satchel. He was relieved to note that his friend had at least taken some care in packing: instead of textbooks there was a blue woollen jumper stuffed into the bag, wrapped into a sort of a nest. Remus settled Speckles in the soft alcove. The kitten looked up at him, mewing out a question.

'I'm sorry,' Remus whispered. 'But surely he'll take you back to Elsie now. She must miss you dreadfully.'

Speckles put out his little pink tongue and lapped at Remus's thumb. He smiled and stroked the soft fur behind the kitten's ears, and then closed the satchel carefully.

'Fine!' Sirius declared. 'Fine, then, whatever you say. I'll come back tomorrow at lunch. Just one more thing.'

'No: off you go,' Madam Pomfrey said sternly. 'I've had quite enough disruption for one afternoon, and you have no right to make any demands.'

'You're right; you're precisely right,' Sirius recited, his voice warbling a little as he was likely bobbing his head up and down. 'It's just that in the confusion I forgot my book bag on Remus's bed. May I fetch it?'

'I shall fetch it!' Madam Pomfrey said crisply, exasperation evident in her voice. The click of her shoes on the stone sounded again and Remus's door opened with a noise like a popgun. The matron collected the article of baggage and swept out into the main ward again.

'Much obliged!' Sirius sang out brightly. This pronouncement was followed by the sound of a hasty retreat.

Remus let out a breath that he had not realized he had been holding. His ribs ached and his head was pulsing uncomfortably with each beat of his heart. When Madam Pomfrey returned to tuck him in and to give him his sleeping draught he did not resist. Left alone in the comfortable darkness he tried to remember what he had been puzzling over scant minutes before, but his mind was fogged with potion-fumes and his battered body was crying out for repose. He did not resist very long before allowing himself to slip quietly away.

_~discidium~_

Late that night when the potions had worn off, Remus lay awake staring up to the ceiling cloaked in shadows. A fresh scar in his side was troubling him, by turns itching and throbbing. He bit his lip against the former and dug his nails into his palms against the latter. More than once he thought of reaching for the bell that he might ring for the matron, but he refrained. The pain was not enough to justify waking her, and in any case he wanted to think – as he had been unable to properly do before.

Then, he had been so wretchedly thankful to discover that Speckles was unharmed – so happy that Sirius's mad idea had worked out according to plan. His relief and his half-hatched attempts to work out what on earth Sirius had been trying to accomplish had distracted him, muting the reality that Sirius had behaved very recklessly. The panic he had experience before the transformation resurfaced in his mind: the desperate terror that he might harm his friend, the frantic attempt to protect Speckles, and the awful moment when his body began to change.

He had no right to criticize Sirius, nor to feel anger at anything he did. Yet deep inside Remus could not help but feel that his friend had had no right to put him in a position like that. If it had gone wrong – if Sirius had been injured or killed or worse, or even if the wolf had decided to go after Speckles after all instead of turning on itself and the feeble human mind within – Remus was uncertain how he would have been able to live with himself. Sirius had force him into a situation that he never would have allowed himself to be in, at a time when he was ill and hurting and incapable of coherent thought. Although he was a werewolf, Remus wanted to believe that even he had not deserved that.

And Sirius had broken his promise. He had given his word not to go to the house before Remus's transformations. He had _promised_, and although Remus supposed that his own history of fibs and falsehoods and broken promises stripped him of the right to expect such fidelity in others the realization still stung. Sirius, whom he trusted and admired, had gone against his word although Remus was certain that he had left no doubt as to how he felt about the matter. It was not the act of a friend.

This thought wrenched Remus to his very core. But Sirius _was _his friend. He was. He had only been carried away in the thrill of the moment, intent upon proving himself right and charging ahead with his customary disregard for the consequences of his actions. Remus might whinge to himself about lack of consideration and broken promises, but the truth was that Sirius hadn't considered any of those things. He had merely done what seemed most expedient in order to prove whatever he wanted to prove, and there was no malice in any of his actions. He was simply Sirius, being Sirius and living only for the moment and his immediate goal.

Sirius Black had forgiven so much: lies and deception, mistakes that had landed the four of them in the hands of Mulciber and his Slytherin cronies, clumsiness and stupidity and outbursts of temper. The very least that Remus could do in repayment was accept this latest caper for what it was instead of what he was trying to make it.


	79. Mad Notions

_Note: Because of my current health situation, this chapter has been written using voice recognition dictation software. Contrary to the claims made by the manufacturer of this software, I do not speak more quickly than I type – and, more to the point, do not easily compose fiction verbally. Therefore, producing this chapter has been an excruciatingly long and frustrating process, though I hope it's still up to the Stoplight Delight standard. Also, please forgive any homophone confusion. I have tried my best to catch any such errors, but unfortunately I usually miss a few. _

_One more thing before we get started: thank you to everyone who has reviewed during my lengthy absence! As soon as I figure out how to make the software cooperate with this site, I'll resume replying._

_Also? Longest Author's Note to date._

**Chapter Seventy-Nine: Mad Notions**

Remus spent most of the following morning dozing between doses of potions and puzzling over the uncomfortable feeling that he had forgotten something important. At noon, Madam Pomfrey brought him a light lunch at which he picked with indifference. He was still feeling vaguely nauseated, and suspected that he had both lost and imbibed more blood than usual. Thankfully he slept for a couple of solid hours that afternoon, awaking only to the welcome sound of the outer doors swinging open with an enthusiastic _bang_.

'Is he awake? Is he taking visitors? Can we see him now?' The eager barrage of questions pummeled against the easily imagined wall of Madam Pomfrey's implacable expression.

'We'd very much like to see him now, if you don't mind,' translated James amicably. 'I understand it went well this month?'

'I don't know that I'd say that exactly,' the matron said. 'At least he's on the mend now. Lost a great deal of blood, poor dear.'

There was a squeaking of expensive shoe leather as James whirled on Sirius. 'You said it went fine,' he accused. 'You said he didn't have such a bad time of it this time. You said he was looking well, and making jokes, and that he'd be glad to see us.'

'He is and he was and he will be,' Sirius protested. There was a shadow of concern in his voice as he added, 'Won't he?'

'With a little time and some proper care,' Madam Pomfrey assured him. 'He's sleeping just at present. Why don't you boys come back after supper?'

Remus pushed himself up onto one elbow and reached for the bell. As the gentle tinkling rang out, a triumphant laugh sounded on the other side of the door.

'Doesn't sound asleep to me!' Sirius said brightly. Not waiting for permission, he bounded up to the door and flung it open. 'Oi there, Remus! How are you feeling?'

'Better,' Remus said, hating the residual hoarseness in his voice. 'Much better, thank you.'

Sirius turned an impudent smile on Madam Pomfrey. 'There, you see? He's just fine, and he's eager for visitors. Now run along and do something matronly while we see to the business of cheering him up.'

The witch cast a querying glance at her patient, who offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Then she sighed and nodded reluctantly to the other three boys. Sirius bounded into the room, followed by James ambling amicably. Peter brought up the rear as usual, smiling timidly and looking Remus over with nervous and genuine concern.

'I thought perhaps we ought to leave you to rest,' he said quietly; 'but Sirius insisted that you've got something exciting you want to tell us.'

'He did?' said Remus, casting a puzzled look at the taller boy, who was gnawing his lip in anticipation.'

'That's precisely what _I_ said,' James groused. 'It seems to me that you'd have more on your mind right afterwards than some kind of glorious caper. Sounds much more like a Sirius Black sort of notion to me.'

Sirius nodded at Remus in a queer, truncated way that made it obvious he was trying to prompt the other boy to speak. Remus regarded him helplessly, and shook his head in desperate confusion.

'Go on, tell him!' Sirius yipped. His eyes were glittering almost reverently, and there was a peculiar flush across his cheekbones. Having managed to utter those four words and nothing more he clamped his mouth tightly closed, lips so forcefully pressed together that they vanished into a fine line as the surrounding skin spread precariously over his teeth.

Remus held his breath for a moment, hoping desperately that some last-minute epiphany would strike and make clear to him what on earth his friend was talking about. Speckles was tangled up in it somehow, and Professor McGonagall, but beyond that Remus had only a feeling of vague unease. Slowly he shook his head.

'I'm sorry, Sirius,' he said softly, despising himself for the failure. 'I'm not sure what you mean.'

James let out a loud guffaw of amusement. 'Well, that's seventy-five percent of the Marauders who think you're mad, Black,' he chortled, slapping Sirius between the shoulder blades and grinning up at him. 'Either give it up, or explain yourself.'

Sirius shot a pained look at his best friend, before turning back to Remus in confusion. 'But of course you know,' he said. 'You were just as excited as I was yesterday!'

Not wanting to contradict the older boy, Remus merely stared helplessly up at him.

'Oh, all right,' Sirius allowed. 'So maybe _I _was excited enough for the both of us, but…'

James rolled his eyes and smacked Sirius with the back of his hand. 'Give over and stop torturing him!' he snorted. 'Obviously Remus hasn't the foggiest notion what you're on about, and in case you've been missing the subtle clues, I'm right tired of this game. Either fess – or clam – up: your choice.'

Sirius rubbed the side of his head plaintively, but his gaze was fixed on Remus. He looked perplexed and almost penitent. 'You mean you didn't follow what I was saying?' he asked.

'I'm… I didn't… I tried…' Remus stammered, feeling a hot flush rising towards his cheekbones. He wasn't as bright as Sirius, but he was usually able to keep pace if he tried. Either he had fallen short this time, or he hadn't exerted enough effort. He was not sure which circumstance made him look worse.

'But last month!' protested Sirius. 'And the book! And what d'you think I nabbed that kitten for, anyhow?'

'I'm afraid I'm not very clear on that,' Remus mumbled shamefacedly.

'Kitten?' James regarded Sirius quizzically. 'Elsie Appleby's kitten? That was _you_? I figured Mrs. Dashwood had et it.'

'Of _course_ it was me,' Sirius said, waving James off. He was still watching Remus closely. 'But why'd you go along with it, then, if you didn't know what it was about? Doesn't seem the sort of thing you'd do: let an innocent little cat hang about while you transformed.'

'Transformed?' Peter squealed. His eyes widened to almost twice their usual size, and he began to gnaw his lower lip. 'Remus transformed with a _cat_?'

'Yes,' Sirius said smugly. 'And the vicious little blighter made it through the night without so much as a scratch. Lucky beastie,' he added, chaffing the back of his hand where the marks of Speckles's claws were still visible.

'And you knew about this?' James asked hoarsely, anxious eyes shifting to Remus. 'You let him do it?'

The terror of the last minutes before the transformation welled up afresh between Remus's ribs, and his hand began to tremble against the counterpane. Shame and revulsion shuddered through his body. 'I didn't mean to,' he whispered. 'I… I tried to let him out, but then I started ch-changing…'

There was a long, apoplectic silence during which James's breathing grew harder and more ragged. Remus kept his eyes fixed on his lap, wishing for the first time in ages that he might simply disappear.

At last words welled up past the stopper of horrified astonishment: James spoke. 'Of all the barmy, insensitive, _nasty_ things to do to a friend!' he choked out.

Remus flinched at the righteous anger in James's voice. Only when Sirius began to sputter indignantly did he realize the other boy's wrath was not directed at him.

'Why, I never…' said Sirius. 'I'll have you know I've been working to _help_ him, and this was a very important step!'

'An important step?' James parroted. 'Locking him up with a kitten? I suppose it didn't even occur to you that he'd be _upset_?'

'I took precautions,' Sirius argued stoutly. 'You said yourself you thought Mrs Dashwood had done him in. If things had gone wrong nobody would've suspected any different.'

'Elsie was very upset,' Peter protested quietly. 'I think it was a wicked thing to do.'

'It most certainly was!' cried James, harshly triumphant. 'Never mind that silly girl: Remus must've been frantic! We all agreed, you perfect prat, that we wouldn't upset him beforehand anymore. What if he'd really hurt himself? What if he'd gone after his leg again? What if… if he'd bled to death?'

James's voice faltered, and all of a sudden he was gripping Remus's shoulder as if to anchor him in the land of the living. His other hand gesticulated wildly as he continued his castigation of Sirius Black.

'And then to say you were trying to help!' he roared. 'I'd just love to know what you thought all this would accomplish! You've drawn some rum conclusions before, Black, but this one takes the sodding biscuit! Sometimes I think you're not safe to be out!'

'Oh, get off it, Potter!' Sirius snapped back. 'Remus is fine, the bloody kitten is fine, and we all learned something damned important! So just get off your high horse and stop ragging on me for a minute so that I can explain!'

James's hold was becoming very painful, and Remus raised his eyes at last. The two dark-haired boys were squaring off as if to launch into a bout of fisticuffs, and Peter had backed up all the way to the door. As one slender finger dug into a particularly tender spot, Remus grasped spastically for his friend's wrist.

'Stop it, please,' he breathed. 'Don't… I can't bear to have you quarrelling over me.'

Both mouths shot open, clearly making ready some angry retort. Then two pairs of eyes shifted to the pale body in the bed, and the rage rushed from the room like air into the vacuum of space. James released his fingers from their desperate grip and scrubbed the palm of his hand against his robes.

'Sorry, Remus,' he exhaled, looking rather dazed. 'I just… he oughtn't…'

'_You_ oughtn't to just fly of the handle without giving a bloke a chance to explain,' Sirius grumbled. Then, remembering himself, he shrugged sheepishly and cast an apologetic eye on Remus. 'Didn't mean to shout, mate,' he said. 'And I wasn't trying to upset you.'

'I know that,' whispered Remus, not trusting himself with greater volume. Although he had thought this whole matter through the night before, he was still troubled by it. So soon after the moon he did not trust himself to maintain his composure if he let his control lapse even a little. 'You were excited.'

'About _what_?' James wailed, throwing his hands up into the air and flopping down on the chair beside the bed. He bent low over his knees, digging his fingers into his scalp. 'If you don't answer my flaming question, Black, _I'll_ be the one gone mad.'

Sirius rolled his eyes enormously. 'And what a loss to wizardkind that would be,' he quipped. 'Never mind, Potter: I'll spare you the torment. Remus spent the whole night with that kitten and didn't hurt it one bit. Don't you see? Animals are safe with him.'

'Ye-es…' James said slowly, cocking his eyebrows dubiously.

Sirius let out a long, low whistle. 'My, you _are_ slow today, aren't you? If _we_ were animals, then _we'd_ be safe with him, too.'

'And if we weighed half a ton and had six wheels we'd be a bus,' said James superciliously. 'I fail to see the value of this ground-breaking discovery.'

It was Sirius's turn to let out a despairing exclamation. 'James!' he moaned. 'How can you be so bloody dense?'

Peter flinched and stopped his ears with his forefingers. James looked to be winding up for another exasperated tirade, but all of a sudden Sirius launched himself away from the bed. Pacing and gesticulating, he began to elaborate at last.

'It's not so far-fetched for wizards to turn into animals, after all,' he said, the words spilling out so swiftly that they began to trip over one another. 'We've seen that ourselves: McGonagall's a cat! If she can manage that, we certainly can, and once we're all Animagi we can go down to the house with Remus, and change into animals before he transforms, and then we can stay with him and maybe play with him or something – keep him distracted so that he doesn't hurt himself. He's said that it helps when we're with him before, hasn't he? Well, wouldn't it just be that much better if we didn't have to leave him at all? He wouldn't hurt us if he wouldn't hurt that damned silly kitten – and even if he did take the occasional nip he couldn't pass on the curse, if we were already animals to begin with. And think what a lark it would be, running around with a werewolf! I'll bet there's not a wizard in history has done it and lived to tell the tale! We could be the first. Just think of that! It's _brilliant, _I tell you! _BRILLIANT!_'

He realized belatedly that Madam Pomfrey would likely object to impassioned shouting in the sick-room, and clapped his hand over his mouth, grinning tremendously behind it while his quicksilver eyes glittered with excitement. He looked from James to Remus and back again, clearly awaiting their reaction with unbridled delight.

Remus could not speak. His stomach was coiled into a Gordian Knot of horror and he could hear his pulse hammering in his ears. He might have realized that something like this was coming. Indeed, he felt sure that it had to have been perfectly obvious from the moment that Sirius had broken his promise never to come down to the safe-house before moonrise. It was inconceivable that his friends should take such a risk for him, and he knew that he could not allow it. Yet looking at Sirius's eager face he felt positively sick. He didn't know how to put down this horrifying notion without hurting his dearest friend. Sirius was so excited, so certain that he had at last found the solution to the problem that had been tormenting him all year. It would be a crushing blow to have that illusion shattered, and yet shatter it Remus must, for he could never allow such a risk to be taken.

He tried to speak, but his mouth was bone-dry and his lips merely quivered instead of forming words. He cast his eyes wretchedly at Sirius in the vain hope that his objections might be seen in them without the need for words. His hands curled into tight and painful fists as if to secure him – howev er precariously – against his friend's inevitable hurt. And rage, for Sirius Black did not like to be told what to do. A short, seering breath scalded the inside of his nose as Remus realized that this might be the end of their friendship.

Sirius was still waiting. He had to speak. He had to put down this lunacy before it went any farther. He could never, ever allow his friends to be with him when he transformed – animals or no, he simply could not take the risk of harming them. He couldn't.

He closed his eyes and mustered all of his courage. He opened his mouth.

At first he did not quite understand that the laughter did not come from his own throat. It started as a low chuckle, mounting into a crescendo of giggles that grew at last to great chortling guffaws that seemed to fill the little room. Sirius let out a sharp little laugh in response.

'It's brilliant,' he said again. 'Didn't I tell you? Brilliant!'

'I can see it,' James choked out between trumpets of mirth. 'I can… just _see it_!'

'I know!' Sirius cried. 'It's marvellous!'

'You need… _permission_ to become an Animagus, you berk!' laughed James. 'The Ministry needs to approve it! You've got to be registered! Can't you just see it? "I want to become an Animagus because my classmate's a werewolf and I want to keep him company while he's transformed." They'd lock you up in a _madhouse_! I mean, nobody in his right mind… in his… with his…' The words dissolved into uncontrollable giggles and James bent over double, clutching at his side as tears rolled down his cheeks. 'I can… just see it…' he repeated.

Sirius looked down at his friend in shock and consternation. It was clear that he had expected only one reaction to his epiphany, and this was not it. For a moment he appeared to be utterly at a loss, and then his shoulders squared and his neck stiffened and he turned up his nose with an injured huff. 'I don't think it's so funny,' he said primly. 'And who cares about the sodding Ministry of Magic, anyhow? I don't need their permission: I'll just do it.'

James was a little calmer now, but as he spoke each sentence seemed framed by parentheses of imminent laughter. 'And how are you going to just do it?' he asked. 'It isn't as if there's a book entitled _How to Become an Animagus in Eight Easy Steps_. It's an incredibly complicated piece of magic, and I really don't think we can just muddle through on our own. And even if we could, d'you really want to wind up in Azkaban over something like that?'

'Azkaban?' Peter yelped, going very pale. It was the first time he had spoken in nearly a quarter of an hour, and he seemed frightened by the sound of his own voice.

'Oh, don't be so melodramatic!' Sirius scoffed. 'They'd never send a brace of underage wizards to Azkaban.'

'I _see_!' James yipped, clearly trying to keep his composure despite the twitching of his lips. 'I didn't _realize_ that you meant to do it before you were fully qualified. Silly me! How could it possibly go wrong?'

'Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Potter!' exclaimed Sirius. 'Of course we'll do it as quickly as possible. We're hardly going to let Remus suffer through another four years of this before we even try to help him. What could you be thinking of?'

James swallowed his last laugh in a rather moist hiccough. 'Sirius, it's an absolutely ripping idea,' he said solemnly. 'I mean, I've heard some corkers in my time, but this is something else entirely. But you've got to see that it couldn't possibly work.'

Remus's heart stopped. James was going to talk Sirius out of it. It would sound so much better coming from James: sensible instead of ungrateful, logical instead of belligerent. And James was Sirius's very best friend. Sirius would never abandon James over such a quarrel, as he might have done Remus. Just at that moment he was so grateful to the other boy that he did not feel able to breathe.

'Of course it'll work!' Sirius protested. 'Don't be daft: we're brilliant! We can do anything…'

James shook his head. 'It's _barmy_,' he argued. 'It's ridiculous and it's impossible, and if that weren't enough it's also dangerous and illegal. I'm not mad enough to put myself in with a werewolf at the full moon, and I don't fancy trying to get 'round the Ministry either. It was a nice thought, but let's just leave it there, shall we?'

'No!' Sirius protested, his face suddenly desolate and desperate. 'No, don't you see? It's perfect!'

'Give it up, Black,' James said wearily. 'We can't do it, and there's an end to it.'

'W-we couldn't!' Peter agreed, yelping nervously from the far side of the room. 'I mean, a werewolf…'

'Would you stop sodding saying that?' Sirius roared. 'How d'you think that sort of talk makes Remus feel? You don't want to be with him? Some bloody friends you two are!'

At last Remus found his voice. 'Sirius…' he breathed. It was scarcely more than a whisper, but his friend whirled to look at him. 'Sirius, please…'

'Don't worry,' the taller boy said stoutly. 'We'll win them 'round. Silly gits. They're just being selfish.'

'No…' Remus protested. 'You mustn't…'

The door swung open and Madam Pomfrey swooped into the room, her expression stern and her hands on her hips. 'Out!' she exclaimed sharply, jerking her head towards the exit. 'All three of you! I don't know what's come over you, shouting and whooping and carrying on! This isn't a Quidditch pitch, this is my hospital wing, and I'll not have you carrying on like a lot of hoodlums around a young boy who's been through a great ordeal and _needs his rest_. Now _out_, before I send for Professor McGonagall!'

'But Matey…' Sirius began.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes flashed like the sky in a summer storm. '_OUT_!' she roared.

Quick as a mouse fleeing from a tiger, Peter dashed around the matron and vanished into the main ward. A moment later the wing doors clattered closed in his wake. James straightened the front of his robes and smiled winningly at Pomfrey. 'We were just going, Madam,' he said politely. 'It was only a bit of a jape.'

He moved carefully towards the door, clearly cognizant of his dignity.

'And you!' Madam Pomfrey declared, wagging a finger at Sirius. 'You ought to know better! Forcing your way in here and raising a ruckus to bring the castle down! How is the child supposed to recover if you won't let him rest?'

'You're quite right,' Sirius said solemnly. 'Remus needs his rest. He needs everything we can do for him. Isn't that so, Remus?'

Remus could scarcely contradict his friend in front of the matron, so he nodded numbly. Sirius reached out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

'Never mind Potter,' he whispered, leaning in. 'He's just a little short on imagination. We'll find a way 'round the difficulties.'

'Black…' Madam Pomfrey's voice was low and dangerous, a harbinger of imminent misfortune.

'I'm going; I'm going,' Sirius assured her. He loped towards the door, pausing on the threshold to look back at Remus. 'And we'll give him _a bit of a jape_, too!' he declared before ambling off.

'Well!' Madam Pomfrey exhaled when the two of them were left alone. 'I know they mean well, dear, but your friends are quite exhausting!'

'Yes, Madam,' Remus said. 'That is to say, no, Madam. I mean, they don't exhaust me, Madam, truly.'

The matron let out a sceptical snort, busying herself with straightening the bedclothes. 'You just try to have a little lie-down, now,' she said. 'And you'll have to amuse yourself until you're recovered: no more visitors this month!'

Remus submitted quietly to her gentle fussing, but although he was exhausted he found himself unable to sleep. His mind was filled with horrors, and the insidious dread of Sirius's mad notion.

_discidium_

Remus did not know what passed between his friends after they left the hospital wing that day, nor did he dare to ask even Peter what transpired in the twenty-eight hours that elapsed between their banishment and his release from the hospital wing. When he returned to the dormitory on Wednesday evening, he found everything very much as he had left it. James and Sirius were engaged in a game of Gobstones, while Peter was toiling over his Herbology homework. Remus quietly set about unpacking his satchel, waiting anxiously for the argument to resume.

'All right, Remus?' James asked, looking up from his shooter and grinning amiably.

'Yes, thank you,' said Remus.

'Sorry we couldn't get back in to see you, mate,' Sirius added. 'We certainly _tried_, but that matron can be stubborn as a Hippogriff when she sets her mind to it.'

'I—it's all right,' Remus said hesitantly. 'I had a chance to read ahead in History of Magic.'

Sirius groaned sympathetically. 'I'm _sorry_!' he said. 'If I'd known that was all you had to do I would have broken into the ward somehow.'

'Oh, no, it's really quite interesting,' Remus protested, moving cautiously to sit near the other boys. He was still a little stiff, and the dressings on the worst of his bites itched a little as he disturbed them. 'You see, in 1746 a group of wizards decided that they ought to do something about the dragon problem in Wales…'

'Speaking of problems from Wales,' James said; 'we've a surprise exam in Defence Against the Dark Arts on Friday. Fair warning.'

'If it's a surprise, how do you know about it?' Remus asked.

Sirius shrugged. 'Nicked Meyrigg's day timer, didn't we? Nothing interesting, though.'

'She's started numbering weeks,' James mused. 'Apparently this Saturday is thirteen.'

'Thirteen what?' asked Peter.

'Thirteen weeks? Thirteen Saturdays? Search me,' said James. 'It's odd, though, because it's only the twelfth Saturday in the year.'

'P'raps she miscounted,' Sirius said with a shrug.

'Well, I'm more worried about the exam,' Peter fretted. 'Remus, please will you help me study? I always get muddled about the difference between imps and gremlins…'

'Of course I will,' Remus assured him.

'Somebody's going to be late for Quidditch practice!' Sirius sang out, peeking at his watch. 'Somebody ought to run along before Somebody gets chucked off of the team!'

'Oh, blast it!' James exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and snatching up his broomstick. 'I'm not forfeiting, by the way!' he cried as he bolted for the door. 'Don't you touch those Gobstones!'

Silence descended on the dormitory. Sirius looked sombrely at the freshly closed door, and Peter started rummaging in his cupboard for his Defence textbook. Remus sat petrified, wondering whether Sirius was going to revisit his impossible proposal.

'Now then!' Sirius said after about six minutes had elapsed. 'Now he's gone we can turn our attention to the week's order of business.'

Remus bit down on the inside of his cheek, bracing himself.

'Get over here, Peter,' called Sirius, gesturing forcefully. 'You can fret over the exam once James is back. We've got important matters to attend to.'

'What sort of important matters?' asked Peter warily, trundling over to sit by his friends. Remus shot the blonde boy a querying glance, but Peter didn't seem to recognize its significance. He began to hope that perhaps Sirius's wild theory had died a swift death.

'We've got six days 'til Potter's birthday,' Sirius said solemnly; 'and I mean to make it a memorable occasion. If he's going to go around naysaying me, he's going to pay the price.' His lips curled into a wicked grin. 'And as you've no doubt noticed, I've been setting the stage already.'

Remus's pulse was returning to normal, and he felt a burst of eager excitement as he shifted closer to his friends. 'Don't keep us guessing,' he begged. 'What do you have in mind?'

Sirius rubbed his hands together gleefully.

_discidium_

All that week, no mention was made of Animagi. When James was around, life went on much as usual. When he was absent, the other three spent every moment preparing for his birthday prank. Remus might have paused to wonder whether perhaps it wasn't a little too cruel, but as the plans progressed he began to feel that the whole idea was just a little too preposterous to be believed. They might fool James for a minute or two, but he was certain to catch on. Still, he could not help but admire the way in which Sirius had been building up to what he insisted on calling 'The Jolly Jape'. There was no denying that a tremendous amount of effort was being put into the planning and execution of it.

Remus was glad of that: he hadn't any money to purchase presents, and so this would be the only birthday gift he could offer James. He knew that it was just what his friend wanted and expected, and there was such a delicious feeling of conspiracy about the planning. Eagerly he carried out his allotted tasks, and anxiously he waited for Tuesday to roll around.

When at last it did, the day started out in a perfectly ordinary way. Sirius roused them early so that they could awaken James with a lively choral performance, and then watched as he worked his way through his heaps of presents. They went down to breakfast, where James and Sirius squabbled good-naturedly over the Quidditch results in the paper. The morning's lessons progressed in much the same way as usual: Sirius made three Slytherin cauldrons boil over in Potions, while James was busy trying to keep Peter from ruining their concoction. Not until lunchtime did the prank begin to be played.

Betta MacFusty rose from her place in the middle of the meal and sauntered over to the Marauders. She leaned between James and Peter and grinned conspiratorially at Sirius. 'I'll see you at four o'clock?' she asked.

'Wouldn't miss it for the world!' Sirius said with a roguish wink.

Betta grinned and sauntered away.

'What's all this, then?' teased James. 'Black's got himself a lady friend?'

'Don't be disgusting, Potter,' Sirius said, wrinkling his nose as he reached for the mustard pot.

'I think she's nice,' Peter piped up. 'And she's not stuffy like the other girls.'

'I am _not_ sweet on MacFusty!' protested Sirius.

James grinned mischievously at him. 'Why, we never said you were!' he trilled innocently.

_discidium_

All through Herbology Peter kept peering out of the greenhouse windows, but James didn't seem to notice. He was too busy ribbing Sirius about the nature of his relationship with Betta. Remus worked quietly at pruning the Mandrake he had potted at the beginning of the year, secure in the knowledge that everything was going according to plan. In Charms he nearly forgot about the prank, so engaging was Flitwick's lesson. Yet at last the class was released for the day, and it was time for his part in the plan.

'Why don't we go to the library?' he suggested. 'We could go over our exam papers from Defence Against the Dark Arts, and see what each of us needs to study.'

'I don't need to study,' James said airily. 'I _didn't_ study, and I only missed three questions.'

'Well, you can help Peter and me, then,' said Remus. 'And afterwards perhaps we can raid the kitchens for a birthday treat.'

He had warned Sirius that this might be going too far: he was never the one to suggest that they break the rules. But James merely grinned. 'All right, then,' he conceded. 'C'mon, Black: let's bolster up the grades of lesser mortals.'

'I can't,' Sirius said blithely. 'I've got to run up to the dormitory. You three go on: just be sure to save me a bit of cake!'

So saying he tore off at a great speed, leaving the other three in his wake.

'What do you suppose he's about?' James mused as they headed towards the library.

'He's meeting Betta MacFusty at four,' Peter said. 'I suppose he wants to change.'

'Right!' laughed James. 'He'll probably have a wash and all. One _must_ smell nice for liaisons with ladies!'

'I don't think it's anything like that,' Remus said quietly. They were across the threshold now, and Madam Pince was giving them a very cold glare. 'Sirius isn't interested in that sort of thing yet.'

'I should hope not, indeed!' James said indignantly. 'We're not a load of fourth year girls!'

Still, as they began to work through the exam papers, James was clearly preoccupied. 'You don't suppose he _might_ be, do you?' he asked presently. 'Interested in girls and things?'

'Sirius? Oh, no, certainly not,' Remus assured him. 'I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it.'

'Reasonable,' James echoed. 'Right.'

Not two minutes passed before he thumped his fist on the table. 'What sort of a reasonable explanation?' he cried.

'I'm sure I don't know,' said Remus calmly. 'But there must be one. After all, it's Sirius we're talking about.'

'That's just what worries me!' said James, tugging at a tuft of unruly hair. 'Do you have any idea what it would mean if he started going after witches? He'd never want to have fun again! He wouldn't have the energy for a decent prank, he'd be so worked up over his next date. Sod it all! We're only thirteen! We're supposed to be having _fun_, not tearing after girls!'

'I'm sure Sirius isn't tearing after girls,' Remus said.

'It seems like you're the one with the mad notion this time,' Peter added. The rehearsed line came out a little too quickly, but James didn't seem to notice. He was fiddling distractedly with his spectacles.

'But why would he meet up with MacFusty after lessons?' he asked. 'And why wouldn't he bring us along, if it wasn't something to do with that? And why did he need to go up to the room to change?'

'He didn't say he was going to change,' Remus reasoned. 'Quite likely he just wanted to drop off his books so that he didn't have to carry them around with him.' He hesitated for a moment, holding his breath before he added; 'Though if you're not convinced we could always go and see what he's up to.'

James snapped his fingers and sprang to his feet, raising a wind that sent their parchment fluttering. 'That's _just_ what we'll do!' he cried. 'Right this minute. C'mon, you two. We're going to see what he's up to and settle this once and for all!'

He marched off with the determination of a general plunging into a deciding battle. Remus and Peter hastened to gather their belongings before trotting after him. As James strode past Madam Pince's desk and out into the corridor the other two exchanged a conspiratorial glance, eyes shining with the excitement of a shared secret.


	80. Vagaries of Friendship

_Note: Tomorrow is the first anniversary of Against the Moon! Huzzah!_

_Also, I'm still trying to work out how to get this software to work on the website. Every time I try it has a mini breakdown, because, apparently, there are "too many links on page". I've managed to respond to a couple of shorter reviews using pick-and-poke, but that's not really healthy. I'm still working on the problem. In the meantime, THANK YOU ALL for your wonderful reviews! Oh, how I've missed all my wonderful readers!_

**Chapter Eighty: Vagaries of Friendship**

They followed James to the Gryffindor common room, and then to the Owlery, the Great Hall, the kitchens, and finally up to the third floor gallery. All the while Remus had to fight to keep down his grin, and Peter kept muffling tiny squeaks of excitement behind his hand. Remus felt certain that the game would be up the moment they caught up to Sirius and Betta, and so he felt quite able to enjoy James's mounting irritation as he failed yet again to locate his best friend.

'Where's the git gone to?' he exclaimed, flinging himself against one of the pillars and crossing his arms petulantly. 'Where do people go for secret meetings with girls?'

Peter tried to speak, but swiftly clamped his mouth shut again: obviously he was too near to laughter to risk it. Remus put on his most thoughtful expression. 'Well, he didn't say it was _secret_,' he reflected, as though this was all a puzzle to him. 'And if it _were_ secret, d'you think he would have told us about it?'

'Of course he would: that's what friends do!' James scoffed. Then he frowned pensively. 'But you've got a point: they were both making quite the production at lunch. All right: where do people go for _unsecret _meetings with girls?'

'It's a lovely day,' Remus said, casting his eyes out over the glittering lake. 'Perhaps they're out on the grounds.'

James snapped his fingers and grinned malevolently. 'I'll bet that's just where they've gone!' he declared. 'Skulking out behind Hagrid's or something, I'll warrant.'

He took off at such a pace that Remus had to catch Peter's hand so that the plump little boy would not fall behind. James tore down flights of stairs and careened through corridors, finally bursting out into the cool spring sunshine with his companions a good twelve feet behind him. He stopped so suddenly that Remus almost ran straight into his back, surveying the scattered groups of students for familiar faces.

'Well, Hagrid's it is,' James declared, pivoting on his heel.

'I don't think so,' Peter puffed, clearly worn out from the flight down from the third floor. 'I think they're by the Quidditch pitch.'

Remus bit his tongue, certain that Peter had spoiled the joke. James, however, nodded curtly. 'I'll just bet they are,' he said. 'All those empty boxes, just sitting there. And if anyone got suspicious they could just claim they were watching Ravenclaw practice.'

With a determined huff, he strode away across the broad lawn. Peter grinned eagerly at Remus, who offered a quick and daring smile before hurrying after James.

They could hear the shouts before they caught sight of the crimson figures circling and looping in the air: eager, happy voices calling out to one another, with the booming commands of Eldritch McKinnon rumbling like thunder. No words could be heard, of course, but the sounds were unmistakeable: the Gryffindor team at practice.

James halted a good distance from the edge of the pitch, staring up dumbfoundedly. There were fourteen people in the air: seven in the red and gold of the House uniforms, and seven in their black school robes. All were engaged in what appeared to be a very authentic match of the sort that Gryffindor had been engaging in for months against the shadow-team organized by Sirius and Betta.

'But it's Tuesday,' James mumbled, jaw slack with stunned astonishment. 'It's _Tuesday_.'

'Who's their extra Chaser?' Peter squealed, managing to force out the question before he started giggling.

'What?' James shook his head distractedly, and then his eyes darted to and fro as he took a frantic count. Remus did not need to confirm his findings: he was well aware that the House team had a full complement of players. '_WHAT?'_

It was at this point that, according to the plan, Remus was supposed to calmly assure James that there must be some kind of logical explanation. The phrase Sirius had used was 'Easy, mate: it can't be as bad as it looks', but the words just did not seem to fit in Remus's mouth. He squinted skyward, trying to make out his friend's lanky form among the black-clad alternates.

'McKinnon! Oi, _MCKINNON_!' James bellowed, brandishing a fist at the Gryffindor Captain where he hovered high above. 'Get _down _here and explain yourself!'

'I don't think he can hear you, James,' Peter ventured timidly. 'Perhaps it's best to wait until they come down.'

'They won't come down until practice is sodding over!' James howled, stamping his foot and waving both arms like a marooned sailor trying to signal a distant ship. 'MCKINNON!'

Remus had found Sirius, buzzing back and forth and brandishing his bat. A gleeful smirk cracked across his face as he glanced down at the three boys standing on the edge of the pitch. 'I'm sure he can't hear you,' he offered quietly, averting his gaze before James could follow it. 'I think we'll have to wait.'

'Oh, no we will not!' James declared wrathfully. He whirled around and strode off the pitch, making for the stairs of the Gryffindor box. 'We'll see about this,' he growled as he climbed. 'What're they doing, practicing without me? And who's the impostor playing my position? Bloody McKinnon! Who does he think he is?'

Remus and Peter followed silently, careful not to make eye contact with one another. Any moment now the game would be up, and then they could all have a good laugh. James had reached the top of the staircase now, and they hurried after him. Neither of them wanted to miss a moment of the excitement.

Emerging at the rear of the Gryffindor box, Remus was startled to see a number of scattered observers, most of them intent on the informal game going on before them. Near the front, Betta MacFusty's friends were sitting together, turned in their seats to watch as James barreled past them and flung out his hands to grab the front rail of the box. Clearly Remus and Peter were not the only ones in on the jape.

'_MCKINNON!_' James hollered, putting so much force into his voice that Remus could hear his larynx crackling with the strain. 'GET OVER HERE AND _EXPLAIN _YOURSELF!'

From his position by the hoops, Eldritch waved happily at the incensed Chaser. He was swiftly distracted by the Quaffle, which very nearly whistled past him before he recovered himself and whacked it off to the left. A blur of carmine and gold flashed after the ball, and a moment later the flier looped around to make for the opposing hoops. Curly chestnut hair was working itself loose from the edges of her helmet: it was Betta MacFusty.

James was sputtering wordlessly now, pointing and hopping from one foot to another as he tried to communicate his rage and astonishment. Peter had given up all pretence of self-control and sank down onto the nearest bench, clutching his side and shaking with silent laughter. Charlotte White tittered and Lily Evans, who had been watching the entire spectacle with disdain, looked at her in momentary disbelief before sniggering clandestinely into her fist.

Meanwhile the game continued. Betta was working her way across the pitch at an impressive pace, looping under one of the alternate Chasers and neatly dodging a Bludger that Sirius – rather sloppily – shot off in her direction. She made a perfect shot right under the heels of the other Keeper and almost before the team in black had the ball back in play, snagged it and scored another.

Remus did not know much about Quidditch, of course, and being in the know it was hard to be certain… but he rather thought the alternate team was taking it very easy on her. Usually these pick-up matches had almost all the fervour and enthusiasm of a proper game, since both sides were interested in making the Gryffindor team as strong as possible, and the alternates had the added incentive of impressing the Captain in the hope of being chosen next year. Today, the match was remarkably one-sided. Sirius, of course, was trying to make Betta MacFusty look good, but it seemed that he had enlisted all of the other players as well.

John Blotts had the Quaffle, and as he banked into the wind he fumbled. The red sphere fell and two of the black Chasers dove for it. Predictably, Betta managed to get between them and plucked the ball like an apple from the air. Another goal swiftly followed.

James had recovered his voice again, but all that he could manage were disjointed shrieks of 'McKinnon!' and 'What the…' and 'Oi!'. He did not even seem to be aware of Sirius's presence among the fliers, and he certainly had not clocked the situation for what it was. Lily and her friends were no longer making any effort to conceal their amusement, and the rest of the spectators were beginning to see the funny side of the situation. Remus noticed abruptly that the Gryffindor box was not the only one sporting students: the entire Ravenclaw team, suited up for practice, was gathered in their box, and there was also a smattering of Hufflepuffs and two beady-eyed Slytherin girls who were clearly defying their House embargo on supporting Gryffindor's unofficial matches.

Betta scored another elaborate goal and Sirius made a lazy loop to bring himself up beside the Gryffindor Keeper. He leaned in to speak to Eldritch, who nodded. A moment later he was signaling the others to land.

James was down on the pitch almost before they alighted, and in his eagerness to be present for the moment of epiphany Remus broke one of his firm personal rules and left Peter behind in order to catch up. He arrived on the fringe of the group just as James exploded.

'What in the name of Merlin's musty nightshirt are you _doing_?' he bawled. 'It's _TUESDAY!_ And why's she wearing my robes?'

He brandished a wild hand at Betta, whom Remus abruptly realized _was _wearing James's uniform. It appeared to have been altered to fit her above the belt, but it was a good four inches too short, showing off most of her dragonhide boots. She took off her helmet and shook out her mane of dark hair. She smiled pleasantly, but her eyes were sparkling with mischief.

'They're mine now,' she said in her rolling Scots way. 'At least until I can find a better fit. Don't you think the colour suits me?'

'Sod the colour!' James yelped. 'They're _my_ robes! You're playing _my _position! _And it's Tuesday!_'

Eldritch shrugged. 'Ravenclaw's agreed to switch practice days with us,' he said. 'Wednesdays don't work for our new Chaser.'

'New Chaser?' snarled James, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. 'New Chaser? _I'm _your Chaser! I'm the best bloody Chaser Gryffindor's had in two hundred years!'

'Oh, so you're allowing there was _somebody_ better than you?' Eldritch asked. 'Back when George III still had all of his marbles, I suppose? Some hulking great seventh year who played for Wimbourne every other weekend?'

'Well, I'm certainly better than her!' James cried. 'Otherwise you never would've picked me in the first place, you silly git!'

'You're angry,' Eldritch said, nodding sagely. 'I suppose it's only natural. But I did warn you about behaving like a kid and putting your own interests ahead of the team. Didn't I?'

He looked around for support, but most of the team was trying very hard not to laugh. Only Sirius and the Seeker met his gaze, and both nodded solemnly.

'You did, chief,' said Shacklebolt gravely. 'I was present.'

'And me,' Sirius said.

'You!' James whirled on him. 'You were in on this from the start! That's what you were sneaking off for: so you could help break her in! I can't believe it! My best bloody friend!'

Remus watched eagerly for realization to dawn in the flashing hazel eyes, but it did not. As James swung back towards McKinnon his stomach flopped uneasily. Perhaps this wasn't such a laugh after all. If James truly thought that Sirius had betrayed him… would he even care that it had all been done in jest?

'Fine!' he said. '_Fine! _So MacFusty's good. But what about Blotts? He _dropped_ the Quaffle just now, or didn't you notice? Are you really telling me you'd rather have him than me, just because maybe I'm a bit showy?'

'It's not that you're showy,' said Eldritch. 'It's that you're arrogant: you forget that the game isn't about you. It's about Gryffindor. Team spirit is more important than talent.'

James let out an enormous sigh of exasperation. 'Fine,' he said harshly. 'Point taken. Now give me that broom, MacFusty, so we can finish the practice.'

Betta laughed merrily. 'You don't really think I'm going to let you ride my broom, do you?'

'Why not?' James snapped. 'You're wearing my clothes.'

'I know,' said Betta cheekily; 'and you really ought to send them out for washing more often. They've got a bit of a pong to them.'

'I didn't know anyone would nick them, did I?' retorted James, glaring fearsomely at Sirius. 'My best bloody friend,' he muttered darkly. 'Fine! I'll go and fetch my own broomstick, but the rest of you berks had better wait 'til I get back.'

'Sorry, James, but no,' Eldritch said. 'The team is going to finish their practice, and you're going to stay out of the way. Next week maybe you can play on Black's team.'

The colour drained from his cheeks and his eyes grew wide behind the round spectacles. James's mouth fell open for a moment before he recovered himself and snapped it shut. 'What're you saying?' he whispered hoarsely.

'I should think that's pretty obvious,' McKinnon said. 'You're off the team. Feel free to come out for trials in September: we'd be glad to have you if you'd just get over yourself.'

'Get over my…' James's echo died away into dumbfounded silence. He stood petrified, staring at the Quidditch Captain with dismay and rage and desperation all warring for purchase on his face.

'C'mon, blokes,' Eldritch said. 'Daylight's a-wasting.'

He turned around and moved away to mount his broom. He took off, and one by one the others followed. Sirius and Betta and Shacklebolt hung back, all obviously startled. They, like Remus, had plainly expected James to catch on long before this point.

James looked at Sirius, and now his expression was one of anguish. 'Why didn't you _tell_ me?' he whispered desolately.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, casting a helpless look at Remus. Kingsley Shacklebolt, obviously uncomfortable, edged away and took flight. Betta MacFusty averted her eyes, looking rather ashamed of her part in the prank. The silence was growing caustic. Someone had to speak, and set James free from his misery: the entire thing had gone horribly wrong and it wasn't funny anymore. But Sirius did not know what to say, and Peter would never dare to draw attention on himself at such a time.

Timidly Remus licked his lips and took a step forward so that he was almost at James's shoulder. 'P-perhaps he didn't want to spoil your birthday,' he faltered.

James turned on him slowly, like a great beast prowling towards its prey. Anger and indignation rose off him like waves of heat. 'Spoil my birthday…' he parroted.

Suddenly with a trilling war-whoop that echoed across the pitch James bounded across the yards between Sirius and himself – a gulf suddenly shrunken to a patch of grass. Sirius flung his Comet out of the way just in time, for a moment later the two dark-haired boys were tumbling off on the lawn, batting at each other and shrieking with mutually indignant laughter. The rest of the Gryffindor team and the alternate players began to circle down, each landing a safe distance away and watching in astonished bemusement. Gabriella Walters stepped forward as if to stop the affray, but Betta MacFusty shook her head.

'Best not,' she said. She was smiling again and her brows had relaxed into palpable relief. Remus realized that he too was breathing easier now. The subterfuge was over and James was obviously taking the thing in the right spirit.

Or perhaps not, he reflected as Sirius was flung onto his face in the grass and James yanked his left arm up behind him. 'Had enough?' he asked, wrenching at the elbow so that Sirius inhaled sharply between the giggles.

'Yes, yes. I've had enough!' he puffed, still chuckling as James leapt off of him and he was able to roll onto his back. He held out a hand. 'Help a body up?'

'It's more than you deserve, you know,' James said as he hauled Sirius to his feet. 'That was a nasty-rotten trick to play on a friend, Black. I assume the whole thing was your idea?'

'Everything but the lecture,' Sirius said, grinning at Eldritch. 'You've got your Captain to thank for that, mate.'

'I think you ought to take it to heart,' McKinnon said, clapping James on the shoulder. 'But of course it's all a laugh. We'd be right out of luck without you: the pity's just that you know it.'

'Humph.' James straightened his spectacles and let a wayward hand ruffle through his tousled hair, scattering bits of clover. 'And what makes you think I _want _to be on your silly old team any more, eh?'

Momentary terror flashed across the older boy's face, but then he laughed. 'Fair enough,' he said, and cuffed James playfully in the arm. 'But in all honesty, it was only a lark.'

'At my bloody expense,' James said ruefully, glancing sidelong at Sirius. 'I suppose I might have known you'd have your revenge.'

'Stupid of you to forget it,' Sirius agreed.

James looked up towards the box hung in blue and bronze. 'So are they just waiting for us to clear off?' he asked.

''Course not,' Eldritch said. 'Wouldn't be sporting to cheat them of an hour's practice: God knows they need it. We've switched with them this week.'

'Then why are they here?' asked James.

'Had to tell them why we switched, didn't we?' Sirius said. 'You don't think they'd pass up an opportunity to watch.'

'No,' James said. 'No, I s'pose not.' He frowned at Betta. 'I do wish you hadn't brought your little clutch along, though. Evans will be banging on about this for weeks.'

Betta shrugged. 'Sirius's friends were in on it: why not mine?'

James glowered briefly, then shook his head. 'I'd best go and get my broom, then,' he said. 'I might be brilliant, but I can still do with a bit of practice.'

'No need, mate,' Sirius said. 'It's in the team room: I brought it down.'

'Just play as you are,' Eldritch said. Then, as an afterthought, he snatched the helmet from MacFusty. 'Only put this on: I won't have McGonagall complaining about me endangering younger students.'

There was some shuffling about, but soon enough the fourteen players were airborne, James mounting fastest of all. Remus, Peter and Betta were left on the ground, watching as the practice resumed overhead.

'I was afraid he was going to tear our heads off,' Betta reflected, watching James execute a spectacular pass over the heads of the alternate Chasers – who were now pouring all their effort into the game.

'Oh, James wouldn't do that,' Remus said. He did not voice his own worry that his friend had been hurt by the prank.

'I suppose not,' she agreed. 'That's more Black's style.'

'Oughtn't we to get off the field?' Peter asked. 'Those Bludgers do sometimes get awfully low.'

Betta took off in the direction of the change room, and Remus and Peter retreated to the shadow of the Gryffindor box.

'I do hope they don't try anything like this for _my_ birthday,' said Peter worriedly. 'I'm not sure I'd find it funny.'

Remus was watching the sky. James sent the Quaffle flying through an opposing ring and then doubled back. He and Sirius clapped hands in midair. He nodded slowly in response to Peter's remark. 'They certainly do seem to have the same sense of humour,' he observed.

_discidium_

'You did it: _you_ bloody fix it,' James groused, shooting a dirty look at the neighbouring bed. He was sitting crosslegged in the midst of his disarrayed bedclothes with his Quidditch robes spread across his lap and his wand in his hand.

'Can't do it: wouldn't be right,' said Sirius, rolling onto his back and holding up a tiny brass cog belonging to his Christmas alarm clock. 'Besides, mucking things up is a far sight easier than putting them right again.'

'They're all stretched out and saggy in front,' complained James. 'I've ordered a new set – at my _own_ expense, might I add – but they won't be here in time for the next match and I can't go out there looking like a kid parading in his mum's dress robes!'

'Well, we had to make them so Betta could get them on,' Sirius said idly. 'You may not have noticed, but some of the girls in our year aren't exactly boy-shaped anymore.'

James snorted. 'And you _have _noticed, I suppose?'

'Only academically,' Sirius assured him. 'After all, I'm the bloke with a phalanx of girl cousins – all of 'em older than me, and all of 'em what you might call early bloomers.'

'Have you heard from Drommie lately?' Peter asked, looking up from the Transfiguration calculations Remus had just finished putting right for him. 'When's the baby due?'

'Any time now, I suppose,' Sirius said. 'In her last letter all she did was boast about Tonks's new job and whinge about her swollen ankles.'

'My Auntie Clowance had swollen ankles,' James mused, his gaze intently focused on the glow from his wand as he discharged a slow Reducing Charm. 'Used to soak 'em in Salamander Oil. Oh, bugger!' He dropped the wand as if it had burned him and held up his robes. The front panels were now shrunk to seventy percent of their usual size, causing the skirts to stick out in bulky pleats. 'I'll not even be able to get them on now!'

'You're supposed to be a genius at Transfiguration,' Sirius said consolingly. 'You'll work it out. _I_, on the other hand, was not trained as a watch-maker. Where the _devil_ does this piece go?'

'You're supposed to be a genius,' James mimicked in a nasally voice. 'You'll work it out.'

'Not before detention,' Sirius said, hefting himself off of the bed and tossing the wheel after the rest of the partially reassembled clock. 'Come on, Potter: we've got pond scum to skim.'

James groaned, and Sirius strode around the foot of his bed to smack him playfully on the side of the head. 'Where's your pride, man?' he demanded. 'It's a small price to pay for the look on Rosier's face when those things started crawling, and you know it!'

Amid gleeful reminiscence and good-natured ribbing the two boys left the room. Peter watched them go almost wistfully.

'They seem to enjoy detention, don't they?' he said.

'I don't think they enjoy it, exactly,' Remus reflected. He slid his legs off of the edge of the trunk. His tailbone was beginning to ache and he wanted very much to get up and cross the room to his own bed, but it seemed impossibly far away. 'They just enjoy the events that lead to it enough that detention doesn't matter.'

'I'm always just a bit afraid we'll get into trouble with them,' Peter confessed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he did so. 'My mum wouldn't like it if I got into trouble again.'

Remus couldn't think of anything to say to that. He was haunted by the same terror, though in his case it sprung from a fear of disappointing, rather than angering, his parents. If they knew how he flaunted school rules after all the trouble they had gone to in order to give him the chance at an education it would break their hearts. Still, he never seemed quite able to hold onto that thought when it came time for the next raid on the kitchens or escapade under the Invisibility Cloak. Unconsciously he raised his left hand to scrub at his eyes.

'It's hard on you, isn't it?' Peter asked softly. 'Them laughing and carrying on like that on the night before the… before you… I mean, when you're tired like that.'

Remus looked up in surprise. Despite Peter's clumsy skirting of the words _full moon_, he was astonished that his friend was addressing the matter. He usually tried so hard to avoid any mention of Remus's situation, even when it could scarcely be avoided. Now he was bringing it up of his own accord. He hardly dared to hope.

'It isn't so bad,' he said. 'Only my head aches a little tonight.'

It fell woefully short of the truth. A searing ache had been building up in his shoulders all day, creeping upward into his neck and so to his skull. He could feel the throbbing fingers clawing at his jaw and his temples and the crown of his head. He had even considered slipping off to the hospital wing after supper, to ask Madam Pomfrey for a sip of something to ease the pain, but he had decided not to trouble her. She would have enough trouble on his account over the next few days.

'I'll get you a glass of water,' Peter said earnestly, leaping off of his bed. In the process, he upset his inkwell and black fluid oozed over his coverlet and down onto the floor. 'Oh, bother!' he cried, fumbling for his wand and dropping it into the middle of the growing puddle. His lower lip trembled and he bit down on it, reaching a quivering hand towards the dirtied stave.

'Never mind, Peter,' Remus said gently. Exerting all of his strength he forced himself onto his feet and plucked his own wand out of his belt. His voice was steady and his hand shook only a little as he performed two neat charms. The ink faded to nothingness and the bottle righted itself.

'Thank you! Oh, thank you!' Peter said, gathering his parchment and quills and ramming them into his cupboard. 'I'm ever so glad that didn't happen while Sirius and James were still here! They don't mean to tease me, I know, but sometimes…'

He flushed and fell silent. Remus could not say anything to that, for he knew that James and Sirius did indeed mean to tease Peter, as they teased him and as they teased one another. It was just that they didn't mean to _hurt _him, and they didn't realize that their words – however well meant – could sting. He tried to replace his wand at his side, but his fingers were clumsy and the slender rod of wood slipped from his grasp.

'Well!' Peter said cheerfully, bending to pick up both wands at once. 'I suppose I'm not the only one whose got a touch of the dropsies tonight. That's what I like best about you, Remus: you never, ever make me feel foolish, no matter what I… Remus?'

'I'm right, I'm all right,' Remus mumbled, though the room was swimming before his eyes and he fancied that he could feel his brain floating away from the rest of his body. The charms had obviously taken more out of him than he had guessed, and he was not at all certain that standing was still a viable option.

'You're white as Nearly Headless Nick!' Peter fussed, grabbing Remus's arm and bracing his round, sturdy little legs as the other boy leaned into the much-needed support. 'Let's get you to bed.'

He ought to have eaten something more at supper, Remus thought blandly as he stumbled after Peter's guiding hand. Yes, that was it: he ought to have eaten more. But the bread and the vegetables had tasted like ashes, and the sweetness of the treacle tart served for afters might as well have been poison on his tongue. He had managed to find a bit of the roast that wasn't scorched to inedible toughness, but only a little bit.

His thigh barked against the bedpost, and before he knew what he was doing he had crawled up onto the mattress, rolling onto his belly and curling in upon himself. Peter grabbed his ankles and shifted his feet onto the bed, and then started unlacing his shoes.

'You don't look well,' he said worriedly. 'You don't look well at all. Should I fetch a Prefect? Should we get you to the hospital wing?'

Remus tried to shake his head, but was obliged to swiftly screw his eyes closed as the motion made the whole world spin. 'I'll be all right,' he murmured. 'I just need a bit of rest.'

'Isn't there anything I can do to help?' begged Peter. He sounded rather tearful. 'I… I'd like to help, if you'll only tell me how.'

Remus wanted to say something soothing, but he couldn't seem to remember how to make the muscles in his jaw loosen enough to allow speech. He pushed back the terrifying thought that such symptoms usually hailed a difficult transformation.

'I… w-would it help you?' Peter asked. 'What Sirius said?'

What Sirius said? What Sirius said about what? Anxiety stirred between Remus's ribs as he remembered. For nearly a month now he had managed to forget the terrifying proposition that his friend had made after the horrifying experiment with Speckles. Now it came back to him in a flood. His friends, studying to become Animagi so that they could be with him while he was transformed. Sirius hadn't mentioned it since that first day, and Remus had hoped that all of James's perfectly legitimate objections had put the idea out of his mind. Now Peter – who could barely stand to think about the wolf – seemed to be considering it.

'No, of course not,' Remus said huskily, the words catching in his tightening throat. 'It's not even the full moon yet. I'm just tired and stiff, that's all.'

'W-well… well, you should get some sleep, then,' Peter said, trying to sound capable and in control. 'I'll help you on with your nightshirt.'

'No!' Remus cried as Peter reached for the cupboard. 'No,' he said again, more gently. 'Just… I'll just take off my belt. I'm too tired to change anyhow.'

Peter helped him with the buckle and then tugged down the bedclothes so that Remus could creep beneath the sheets. He closed the hangings tightly and dimmed all but one of the lamps, and then retreated to his side of the room to engage in some sort of very, very quiet activity. In everything he did he was the very picture of a solicitous friend. Yet even in his exhausted dreams Remus could envision Peter's sweet, plump face contorting in horror and disgust at the sight of the scars beneath the black school robes.


	81. The Beltane Child

_Note: WARNING: Dramatic Irony Alert. Stoplight Delight loves her dramatic irony. Long live the Irony Monkey!_

**Chapter Eighty-One: The Beltane Child**

The morning of the full moon was also the start of the Easter holiday. Remus roused himself briefly to say goodbye to James and Peter, but he did not try to follow them down to the Great Hall. Sirius did the honours, while Remus crawled back beneath his blankets and made a deliberate effort not to count each flaring pulse that throbbed up the sides of his head. He dozed uneasily until sometime after noon, when Sirius appeared with a plate heaped high with what appeared to be a complete sampling of the lunch table.

'Hungry?' he asked, looking rather like a terrier presenting its master with a particularly impressive rabbit.

Remus ran a rough tongue over lips already too dry for comfort. He shook his head. 'Not especially,' he whispered.

'Come on!' Sirius coaxed. 'Just a nibble of something? There are some really delicious chicken sandwiches…'

The smell of the bread soured in his nostrils, and the thought of lettuce and chives was sickening. 'No, thank you,' he said.

'Or some lovely fresh carrots?' asked Sirius. 'I think Hagrid grew 'em. They're just new.'

He considered the fibrous texture of the vegetable, of the horrid crunching noise shuddering through his cramping jaw muscles, of the faint, peppery aftertaste. 'No, thanks,' he mumbled.

'Spotted dick and custard?' Sirius was still grinning, indomitable.

This, too, he could smell where he was lying: the sweetness reeked of decay and the milky undertone of the custard cloyed in his throat. 'No.'

'How about a nice orange?'

'I said _NO!_' Remus snarled, pushing up on one elbow and flinging himself onto his other side. Sirius, startled, jerked backward but somehow managed to keep hold of the plate as he sat down hard on his heels.

In the stunned silence Remus was certain he could hear his heart galloping away. He screwed his eyes tightly closed, fighting the ashamed and angry tears that threatened to spring up. Sirius had only meant to help; he didn't deserve to be treated so rudely. He was weary and apprehensive and his nerves were worn to a thread, but that was no excuse. He knew that he had to roll over again and apologize, but he could not quite find the strength.

'I'll just fetch you a glass of water, then, shall I?' Sirius said quietly. Remus could hear him moving off, and from the fading smells he knew that his friend had taken the plate of offensive foodstuffs with him. Miserably he buried his head in a corner of the bedsheet, trying desperately to compose himself.

It was a horrible thing to lose control of one's body, and losing control of one's mind was worse by far, to feel dignity and humanity slipping away into savage oblivion. But this was worse by far. If he could not even master his own emotions now, when he was still human, what hope did he ever have of growing up to lead a normal life?

Sirius had returned: Remus could hear his steady breathing, and feel at his back the close air that meant someone was near. Again he tried to roll over, but his muscles, already tangled in the pull of the moon, would not obey him.

'Here we go,' Sirius said bracingly. He slid an arm under Remus's shoulder and helped him to sit up. He had a tumbler of cool water in his grasp, and he held it out. Remus took it in both hands, bending to the rim. He drained it in one long draught, feeling the soothing chill wash down through his chest and coil comfortably in his stomach. Unfortunately it then sent off a ravenous grumbling that send Sirius's eyebrows shooting towards his hairline.

'You're not especially hungry?' he said sceptically.

'I…' Remus looked away.

'Or you're not hungry for what I brought,' Sirius decided. 'What is it you want then? Sweets? I'm sure Peter has some ferreted away somewhere.'

'I don't want sweets,' whispered Remus.

'Not even chocolate? I'll go and nick some from another dormitory if you're after something in particular.'

Remus shook his head. He didn't want chocolate, of course; he wanted meat. Thick, red slabs of meat with the blood still rich in the muscle. He wanted to tear into it with his teeth and to taste the metallic tang of lingering vitality. He wanted…

He shut out the thought fiercely. He had less than eight hours left to be a person instead of a beast, and he wasn't going to give in again, no matter how tempting.

'Remus?' Sirius was studying him with piercing eyes. 'What is it you want? You know I won't let you alone until you tell me.'

This was certainly true, and Remus was frightened that he would lash out again if he were pressed. Hastily he weighed his options. Confess to a craving which though deplorable he knew he could not control, or risk another loss of temper – which he _ought_ to be able to master, even at a time like this. He realized unhappily that there really was not much of a choice. He wondered if he would ever actually have a choice about anything.

'Meat,' he said quietly, staring down at his pallid hands where they lay cupping the empty glass. 'Red meat.'

Sirius laughed. 'Well, why didn't you say so, silly? I've got a nice slice of cold roast beef on that plate, and there's even a bit of horseradish sauce.'

He would have gone bounding off to fetch it, but Remus, knowing he would never be able to force the stuff down, grabbed his sleeve and shook his head. 'No, that's not what I meant,' he said, pushing the words out in a hurried hush. 'Red meat. Meat that's… that hasn't been cooked yet.'

'Raw,' Sirius said after a beat. 'You want _raw_ beef.'

It sounded so much more barbaric when he said it. Remus could feel the shame flaring up with the fever in his face and he hastily released his hold on Sirius's robes before the other boy could recoil.

Sirius chuckled and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. 'That's not so strange,' he said. 'Granddad likes to eat lime.'

'It isn't the same, not at all,' Remus said. 'It might be sour, but it's still fruit. It's still fit… fit for…' Fit for _people_ to eat, he thought wretchedly, though he could not quite bring himself to say it.

'No, no,' Sirius said, leaning around so that his face was tilted into Remus's line of vision. 'Not "limes": _lime_. You know, hard little bits of white powdery rock. Used to sneak into the neighbours' back gardens to get it; now he sends the house elves.'

Remus looked up, surprised and expecting to see Sirius's eyes glittering with amusement at his joke. Instead he was met with a canny smile. 'True blue,' Sirius said. 'Drives my grandmother around the bend.'

'Lime,' Remus repeated, almost laughing.

'Yep.' Sirius nodded solemnly. 'So at least you're hankering for food, not stones. Nothing wrong with a bit of fresh meat.'

That was even worse: it made it sound as if he had killed it himself. Remus moaned and drew his knees up to his chin. 'I don't want it,' he said. 'Not really. It's just… I can't help it. It's the only thing that…'

But he could not explain. He was not even sure he understood it himself. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, then squared his shoulders and straightened his spine despite the ache. 'I ought to pack my things,' he said. 'I'd like to go to the hospital wing now.'

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. He set about the appropriate preparations quite cheerfully.

_discidium_

Remus was not well enough on Sunday to go down to the Great Hall, but Madam Pomfrey had the house elves bring up generous helpings of everything and he and Sirius had their very own Easter Feast in the little room in the hospital wing. Remus's taste for proper foodstuffs was returning, though his appetite was still small. He tasted a little of each dish, ate a generous helping of chocolate, and sat back against the cushions flicking bits of eggshell back at Sirius with his left hand. His right was thickly bandaged and tightly lashed to a splint to support the severed tendon in his wrist. He was not certain how he would hide the new scars, with his sleeves as short as they now were, but he tried not to think about that. It wouldn't be a worry until the term resumed, he promised himself. He could fret over it then.

'I've come across a mystery,' Sirius said presently, brushing the bits of shell into his hand and tipping them onto one of the trays instead of throwing them again.

'Have you?' Remus said guardedly. He hoped it was nothing to do with Professor Meyrigg. Sirius had already mentioned, ever so casually, that she hadn't been seen at meals and that he supposed she was off doing whatever she did when she wasn't at school.

'Mmm.' Sirius nodded, his mouth full of strawberries. He swallowed somewhat earlier than he should have and continued. 'There's a large number of sixth and seventh years hanging behind for the holidays.'

'That's not very mysterious,' Remus said. 'I expect they're revising for their NEWTs.'

'That's the thing, though,' said Sirius. 'It isn't the ones you'd expect to hang back for revision. It's not the high-flying ones like Malfoy and Serena Smythe, and it's not the thick ones either. They're all talented, and most of 'em are in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, and they're chiefly from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw – though that new Hufflepuff from Uganda is here, and Melinda Trippel. They all crowd together after meals.'

'That's only natural, to spend time with people their own age,' Remus said. He was very much relieved that Sirius's 'mystery' was so benign, and he was happy to oblige his friend by taking the other side of the question.

'No, you don't understand: it's sixth and seventh year both, all together!' Sirius said. 'And where do they go? Nobody's seen them in the common rooms or the library or out on the grounds between meals, and they get back to the dormitories late at night. And when I asked Meadowes she clammed right up. Something's going on.'

'Either that or she was just trying to annoy you,' Remus pointed out.

'But I asked Longfellow, too, and he wouldn't tell me,' Sirius argued.

'Longfellow?'

'Or Longfeather. Longtrousers? You know, the Head Boy. He put on a perfectly ridiculous Head Boy expression and said it wasn't anything that second years needed to worry about.' Sirius glowered. 'I'm beginning to hate Head Boys.'

'It's probably nothing,' Remus said through a satiated yawn. 'Just because you're not intimately acquainted with everything that's going on in the castle doesn't mean there's a conspiracy 'round every corner.'

'But that's precisely the _definition _of a conspiracy, isn't it?' Sirius looked wounded. Then he winked and grinned. 'Fear not, Lupin. I shall investigate!'

'Oh, please don't,' Remus said with helpless amusement. 'You'll only get into trouble over it.'

Sirius snorted disdainfully. 'I thrive on trouble! I live for trouble! Trouble is my middle name!'

'All right,' Remus said soothingly. 'Just remember that I warned you.'

_discidium_

The Mystery of the Sixth and Seventh Years occupied Sirius for most of the break, and although on the third day of the hunt Remus recalled that the same thing had happened the previous Easter he let Sirius go on with his investigation. It was harmless, and both Prefect Meadows and the Head Boy seemed to take it in the right spirit. Sirius finally managed to get something out of Alice Bolton, one of Dorcas's dormitory-mates: it was, according to her, a sort of study group for students considering applying to the Auror training program, and Headmaster Dumbledore was helping to give them a leg up over the holidays.

The answer seemed to satisfy Sirius, who was eagerly awaiting James's return and the upcoming match that would hopefully secure Gryffindor's place in the Cup final. The hordes of students returned on a Sunday evening, and life fell into a pleasant rhythm of lessons, afternoons of doing homework on the sweet-smelling spring grass, and seemingly endless Quidditch practice. Remus dutifully joined the rest of his House to watch Gryffindor trounce Hufflepuff. It was painful to watch the game slipping away from them: the glory days of Ted Tonks were over and the poor things were dreadfully disappointed in their team this year.

On the morning of the match, Sirius received the first of what were to become daily bulletins from his cousin. Andromeda's baby was overdue, and getting progressively more so each day. Andromeda was not happy about it. She railed about incompetent midwitches who must have got their dates wrong. She groused about patronizing old witches who kept assuring her she was having twins. She declared that she didn't think that the Muggle notion of cutting a mum open and sewing her up again after the baby was removed was such a bad idea after all. Sirius read each and every one of them out in flourishes of dramatic hilarity, clearly enjoying the close correspondence and finding the whole situation highly amusing.

Remus felt that the histrionic notes were meant to be witty, but he could not help but feel that there was a loneliness behind them too. Andromeda had no family left to her but Sirius, and she was expecting her first baby, and none of her school friends were even married yet, and she was living in secret somewhere in the Home Counties. The endless waiting with no one but her husband to talk to must be excruciating. He also could not help but wonder whether something was amiss, as the delay grew longer and longer. He didn't know very much about having babies, except that it was not easy, and could sometimes go terribly wrong. These uneasy thoughts, however, he kept to himself.

There was another worry picking at him, and three mornings a week it was all he could think about. The Defence Against the Dark Arts class was almost all the way through the second year syllabus. They had finished with hags and were now studying banshees. Next came vampires, which was a complex topic slated to take two and a half weeks, and then…

Remus remembered looking through his schoolbooks in the last weeks of August when he was eleven, and working himself up into a state of anxiety where he was convinced that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would want to use him as a specimen when teaching about werewolves. The prospect had seemed horrifically real under Professor Alfstin's regime, but Professor Meyrigg seemed so kind and sensible and pleasant that it had faded almost into foolishness. Now it was back, lurking in his mind at meals and cropping up in his nightmares. Whenever he was conscious of the anxiety rising he tried to reason with himself: she didn't know; there was no reason that she ought to know; his secret was safe.

Still, he was not certain that he would be able to sit still for hour after hour of lectures on the ways to recognize, avoid and dispose of werewolves. There was always the possibility, too, that someone might work out the truth and spread it 'round the school. So day after day he sat in Defence Against the Dark Arts, uneasy and apprehensive and easily distracted.

He was not the only one. Professor Meyrigg's thoughts seemed to wander with increasing regularity. She looked healthier than she had in months, but no less careworn. She had adopted a curious habit of keeping one or both of her hands out of sight while she was seated, either at her desk or at table in the Great Hall. On Mondays, instead of appearing rejuvenated and rested, she seemed driven by a sort of manic relief, like a condemned prisoner given yet another brief stay of execution. Fridays she was hard-pressed to keep her mind on her lectures at all, and twice in a row she gave up the effort entirely and set quiet reading assignments instead.

Remus was bent over his textbook on the last Friday in April, studying a map of the northern Irish fens, when the quiet of the room was punctuated with a sharp intake of air. Professor Meyrigg was suddenly sitting very erect in her seat, her right hand braced on the table top and her other splayed over the side of her abdomen. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes were wide, first in surprise and then in wonder. She looked down into her lap, smoothing the front of her robes over her stomach as she eased back in her chair.

Though she said nothing and the quiet hour drifted on, she spent the rest of the period with a placid and secret expression on her face, her worries at least for the moment forgotten. She dismissed the class ten minutes early, and hurried away even before they could gather up their books, clipping off down the corridor at a tremendous speed.

'Well, _that_ was curious,' James said, still staring after her as he climbed out of his chair.

'Perhaps she's forgotten something in her office,' Peter said.

Sirius let out a loud, 'Hah!' and then frowned suspiciously. 'I wonder what she's about.'

Remus wanted to know if any of his friends had noticed the sudden change in her countenance, but he held his tongue. Raising more questions would only set Sirius off again, and he was determined to make himself silent and unseen for the rest of the year, particularly where Professor Meyrigg was concerned.

They were still talking about her.

'And she's eating again,' Peter was saying. 'She had two helpings of pudding last night.'

'Two helpings of pudding!' Sirius cried, as if he had just lighted upon the vital clue. He raised his forefinger skyward and puffed out his chest like a politician about to embark on a vital speech. Then he deflated. 'Means nothing to me,' he admitted.

'She's been eating too much, if you ask me,' said James. 'Tweed hides a multitude of evils, but she's getting rather stout 'round the middle.'

Sirius laughed. 'She ought to be grateful she's not in Drommie's shoes,' he said, digging out that morning's letter and unfolding it. 'Or rather, Drommie's clothes. She can't even get into Tonks's robes anymore, and she's been wearing a set she picked up second-hand. The only ones she found that were big enough are bright orange and too short. She says she looks like a pumpkin with legs!'

_discidium_

'She _does_ look like a pumpkin with legs,' Sirius announced on Monday morning, opening his latest note from Andromeda and snapping up the enclosed photograph before it could fall into his porridge. He passed it across the table to James, who took one look at it and bit back a snigger. 'Hey!' Sirius snapped, snatching it back. 'No mocking Drommie!'

'Mocking Drommie has been your next-favourite sport all month!' James protested, tucking back in to his sausage and eggs. 'It's not fair to call it off now.'

Sirius was reading the letter now, and Remus stole a peek at the photograph. Andromeda was lying with her feet on the sofa, enormously round in the ill-fitting robes. She looked rather tired and bedraggled, but she was waving for the camera.

'Says if it's not out by Thursday she's going to St Mungo's to have them do something about it.' Sirius frowned thoughtfully. 'What do you suppose they do? Reduction Charm? Side-along Apparition? Lure it out with a teething rusk?'

'So long as she doesn't go to a Muggle hospital,' Peter said. 'That thing with the scissors sounded _awful_.'

'I don't think they actually use scissors,' James said. He paused briefly in his eating to don an expression of mock horror. 'At least I certainly hope not.'

The speculation about Muggle birthing methods continued until they reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor. Lily Evans, who had been reading the third page of _The Daily Prophet_ over Elsie Appleby's shoulder, whirled on her heels and pursed her lips.

'For goodness sake!' she exclaimed. 'Muggles most certainly do _not_ use salad tongs to deliver babies! Of all the stupid things to say. I have just about had enough of you and your ridiculous notions!'

Sirius seemed rather taken aback by the outburst, but he collected himself swiftly and offered a languid grin. 'Aw, Evans, they're part of my charm!'

'And don't try that, either!' snapped Lily pertly. 'It may work on Dorcas Meadowes, but it does _not_ work on me!'

'Doesn't work all that well on Meadowes, either,' James muttered slyly.

'And why on earth are you talking about babies, anyway?' Lily demanded, ignoring him. 'It doesn't seem like the sort of thing a couple of self-important little beasts with nothing better to do than disrupt lessons and make trouble in the corridors and throw tantrums on the Quidditch pitch.'

'Why, I've never thrown a tantrum in my life!' Sirius said loftily, tossing his head and looking down his nose in a way that made Remus flinch. Lily certainly wasn't going to like it. 'You must have me confused with someone else.'

'It wasn't a tantrum, either,' said James, suddenly defensive. 'I was… understandably distraught.'

'There's nothing understandable about you,' snapped Lily. 'Either of you. In fact, if I had to choose the three most irrational creatures I've ever met, I'd pick you and Black and that pixie Professor Meyrigg had us working on at the start of the year!'

'And I wouldn't rank either of you below the pixie,' Betta MacFusty said, grinning impishly.

'Oh, you be quiet!' James snorted, but he was smiling again. 'I still haven't forgiven you, you know. That was a rotten trick.'

'It was nearly a month ago!' Betta laughed. 'Even dragons forget quicker than that.'

Sirius snorted noisily. 'Potter likes to bear a grudge,' he said. 'Me, I like to remember the favours I've been done. When you decide it's time to put one over on _your_ best friend, MacFusty, you only need to ask.'

'Try it and you'll regret it!' Lily vowed fiercely.

Sirius smirked and was about to let loose some fresh incendiary remark when Professor Meyrigg arrived, moving so quickly down the corridor that she was raising a breeze. 'Everyone find your seats, please,' she said briskly, flinging open the classroom door and whirling towards her desk. She smoothed the front of her robes over what was indeed becoming a rather stout stomach and dug out her wand, jabbing it at the blackboard. 'All right, now: can anyone tell me how to identify a vampire?'

The frantic mood of a Monday had seized her full-force, and she tore through the lesson with frightening haste. Remus scarcely had time to look at her, so occupied was he in scribbling notes that he knew he was going to have to share with Peter. The littler boy looked positively bewildered as he struggled to keep pace with the rapid outpouring of information. More than once someone raised a hand and implored Professor Meyrigg to slow down a little, only to be rewarded with an absentminded adage about the swift passage of time. It was not only her customary feeling of reprieve that was nipping at Meyrigg's heels today: she seemed to have awakened to the realization that there were only a scant few weeks left before exams.

'Anyone would think she was racing someone,' Sirius remarked over lunch. 'Is there some kind of wager on to see which teacher can finish their courses fastest?'

'I think she's finally cracked,' James said sagely. 'Some people do, you know, and the Welsh more often than most. Comes from growing up sniffing daffodils, I think.'

At the staff table Professor Meyrigg was eating distractedly, obviously not listening to Professor Flitwick's attempts to engage her in conversation.

_discidium_

On Tuesday morning there was no letter from Andromeda. Sirius said nothing about it, and it was doubtful that either James and Peter even noticed the missive's absence, but Remus knew that his friend was worried. In Potions Sirius was so absent-minded that Remus actually caught him on the way to making a mistake – which never, ever happened in Potions. There was roast chicken and parsnips at lunch and Sirius did not even touch them, preferring instead to pick a piece of steak-and-kidney pie into tiny inedible pieces. In Herbology he very nearly hewed his toes off with a hoe, and when Professor Flitwick wished him a good afternoon Sirius reciprocated with, 'And a Happy New Year to you, sir.'

They were sitting at the supper table, three Marauders nibbling at their meal and nervously watching the fourth as he did not eat, when Dorcas Meadowes came down from the head of the Gryffindor table.

'Black?' she said. 'When you're through with your meal Professor McGonagall would like a word.'

'McGonagall?' Sirius aped, sitting up rigidly and shooting her an anxious look. 'Where? Why? Did she say what it was about?'

Dorcas shook her head. 'I expect you're in trouble again,' she said. 'If you lose Gryffindor any more points I promise you'll rue the day…'

'Sod Gryffindor!' Sirius cried. 'I haven't put a toe out of line all day!'

He was on his feet now, scrambling backwards over the bench. Before the astonished Prefect could say anything he was bounding towards the staff table, making full use of his long legs.

Professor McGonagall looked up from her plate in mild astonishment. Sirius was talking to her in hushed and hurried tones. Most of the school was watching now, doubtless wondering what the renowned troublemaker was up to this time. McGonagall shook her head and got to her feet, striding for the door to the side of the dais and gesturing for Sirius to follow her.

'Blimey,' James said. 'Do you think we ought to follow him?'

'I don't… I don't know,' Remus stammered. His thoughts were racing, trying to sift through half a dozen possibilities, but one explanation kept bobbing to the surface with the persistence of oil in water. Andromeda had lost the baby. The thought made him feel sick. He wondered if wizarding hospitals took dead babies away from their mothers to be buried in secret, as if they had never been. He hoped not.

The fifteen minutes that Sirius was gone stretched out endlessly. All around them, students were laughing and talking and chewing, but the three Marauders sat still and silent, waiting for the missing one of their number to return. Finally the silence was too much for Peter to bear.

'I think we should,' he said. 'Go after him, I mean. If something's happened…'

Remus did not know whether to be relieved or terrified by the revelation that he was not the only one who had fallen prey to dark assumptions. James was shaking his head emphatically.

'No,' he said. 'No, we'd best stay here. McGonagall will see to it. She's the teacher after all. It's her job.'

Remus did not have the courage to argue, but he could not help but think that Sirius would rather have his friends with him when faced with bad news. He had little regard for adults, and though he did respect Professor McGonagall he was not especially friendly with her. If something had happened to the baby, or to Drommie, Sirius was bound to be upset. He would need them.

The great doors swung open and Sirius came through, walking very quickly but in short, sharp steps. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed. He hurried up the length of the Gryffindor table and slid onto the bench.

'Dumbledore's had a note from Tonks,' he hissed, leaning forward over the table. 'Drommie had the baby this morning! It's a girl. Nine pounds two ounces. They haven't settled on a name yet.'

'Healthy?' Remus croaked. James was already grinning and Peter ventured a timid smile.

'Blooming, apparently,' Sirius confirmed. 'McGonagall says it sounds as though they're both well. She expects they'll send word to me when things have quieted down a little, seeing as how a new baby can be quite the handful, but she thought I'd want to know.'

Remus let out a breath that he had been holding far too long. 'Oh, I am glad,' he murmured. 'I'm so very glad.'

'Born this morning, you say?' said James. Sirius nodded enthusiastically but said nothing: he had apparently rediscovered his appetite and was tucking into the meal with gusto. 'It's Mayday. She's a Beltane baby.'

'Is that lucky?' asked Peter.

James shrugged. 'They're supposed to have special gifts, I think. Mum used to say it all the time about Ananda Smythe.'

'If the kid's anything like Drommie she'll be trouble, Beltane or no,' Sirius said around a mouthful of beets. 'Can't wait to meet her.'

James laughed. 'She's only about twelve hours old! At that age all they do is dribble and soil their nappies.'

'Ugh,' said Sirius, wrinkling his nose as he helped himself to another generous cut of meat.

Remus listened happily as the good-natured ribbing continued. Yet gnawing at the back of his mind was something his mother had once said. One of his mother's uncles had also been born on Mayday, and Remus remembered the day that a letter had come from Ireland by the Muggle post. His mother had read it silently, tight-lipped and pale. Later, when Father had tried to comfort her she had sighed and, in a voice thickly coloured with her all-but-forgotten native accent, she had murmured something mournful about Beltane children and the fate that awaited them. Remus could not remember what it was, exactly, but the vague recollection of the scrap of Irish lore left him with a burning unease.

_discidium_

The letter from Andromeda arrived on Thursday morning. Sirius tore it open eagerly, snatching at the photograph and tossing the envelope away.

'Would you look at her!' he whooped. 'Did you ever see a prettier baby! She's smiling! Two days old and she's smiling!'

'She's not smiling,' James said drolly. 'You're imagining it.'

'Shows what you know, Potter!' Sirius scoffed. He grinned at the picture triumphantly. 'Drommie looks just fine, too. You'd never guess that little nipper was inside of her just the other day.'

'Oh, do let me see!' Peter begged. 'I like babies. They're so soft and warm and they smell like honeysuckle.'

'Not according to Drommie,' chuckled Sirius, passing the picture off to Peter as he began to pore over the letters. 'Apparently the nappies are something to behold. She's got Tonks changing 'em. Says if she has to be up every hour and a half for feeding the least he can do is clean up afterwards.' He paused, raising his head quizzically. 'What sort of a bloke looks after a baby?'

'The sort of a bloke who's scared of his wife,' James said. 'Can't say I blame him. She looks about ready to jinx the roof off the house.'

'He's been taking snaps nonstop, she says,' Sirius explained. 'If he's had her pose once, he's had her pose a dozen times. He's been wasting the money that was meant to go for a pram on developer potions and film. Proud as a peacock, she says: you'd think _he_ was the one had the baby.'

The photograph had finally made its way to Remus. Andromeda was sitting up in a brass-railed bed, dressed in a frilled nightgown and a silk bedjacket. In her arms lay the baby, wrapped in a bright flannel blanket and sleeping serenely. There was something almost like a smile fading onto and off of her tiny red face, but it passed so quickly that it might have been a trick of the light. In fact, the light in the picture seemed remarkably unreliable, for the thick crop of downy hair atop the tiny head seemed at first auburn, then brownish, and then an iridescent gold. Remus blinked his eyes and stared harder. Red, brown, yellow… it had to be an illusion. Either that, he reasoned, or the developer potion had gone off.

'Says she's got a pair of lungs to equal mine,' Sirius was saying. He snorted. 'We'll see about that.'

'I can imagine it already!' James laughed. 'Sirius Black trying to out-scream a baby! It couldn't possibly end badly.'

'And Drommie says the labour was… ew. EW!' Sirius flung the letter away, clapping a hand over his eyes as if to expunge an unwanted image. 'What makes her think I want to read that stuff?' he wailed.

'She's no one else to tell,' Remus said quietly. 'Sirius, don't you think the baby's hair…'

'And they're naming her Nymphadora,' Sirius said. He already had the parchment in his hand again, having apparently skimmed over the offensive paragraph. '_Nymphadora_, can you believe it? Trust Drommie to dream up the silliest, frilliest, most confoundedly _foolish_ name she could think of! What d'you think she would have picked if it'd been a boy? Ganymede? Murgatroyd? Barry?'

'It's not so bad,' James said. 'Not from a family that came up with _Narcissa_.'

'We ought to tell her,' Remus said, glancing over his shoulder at the Slytherin table. 'Narcissa, I mean. She ought to know.'

'Why?' Sirius asked. 'So she can go trotting back to Aunt Druella with tales of the horror of a Mudblood grandchild? On second thought,' he said; 'do _let's _tell Narcissa. I'll write to Mum as well.'

'Truly?' James asked. 'Don't you think she'd be inclined to shoot the messenger?'

'Fair point,' Sirius said, almost blithely. The shadow in his eyes flickered only briefly. 'We'd best not, Remus. It'll only get them all riled up about Andromeda again. I don't want them trying to go after her or anything.'

'Surely they wouldn't do that,' Peter said. 'I mean, once they see the pictures of the baby they _couldn't_ be angry anymore.'

'Couldn't they just?' muttered Sirius blackly. 'And it's just the sort of think that Bellatrix would do: turn up like an evil godmother at the christening and curse the baby. Not that _Nymphadora _isn't enough of a curse.'

'I think it's very nice,' Remus said. 'And I do think we ought to tell Narcissa anyhow. I'll do it if you don't want to.'

'She won't thank you,' Sirius warned. Then he shrugged, looking at the photograph again. 'Do what you want, mate, but I'm staying right here.'

Remus looked again at the Slytherin table, but Narcissa Black was hanging adoringly on the arm of Lucius Malfoy, holding a forkful of custard towards his lips. He would have to choose his moment carefully, he decided. She would not want him to bring the news of her niece's birth while she was with her pure-blooded suitor.

As he turned back towards his friends, a movement at the staff table caught his eye. Professor Meyrigg got to her feet, slowly and carefully. One hand gripped the back of her chair and the other was resting on her visibly enlarged abdomen. As if a wand had been lighted in a darkened room, half of the puzzle suddenly fell into place.

'She's going to have a baby!' he said wonderingly, not realizing he had spoken aloud until Sirius laughed.

'No, mate, she's _had_ the baby. See? Isn't she beautiful?'

'Not Andromeda,' Remus said, turning earnest eyes on his friend. 'Professor Meyrigg.'


	82. A Minor Misadventure

_Note: Full moon tonight: second one in a month! And to celebrate, we have a nice long chapter. Enjoy!_

_Also, I've FINALLY figured out how to disable the web browsing tool on the dictation software, so I'm back to replying to reviews. I'm not going to be able to clear the backlog of 100+, I'm afraid, but from here on out I'll be answering again: thank you so much to everyone for your patience and understanding!_

**Chapter Eighty-Two: A Minor Misadventure**

'She doesn't look pregnant,' James whispered, leaning forward over his desk to reach Remus's ear. 'She's not nearly as large as Drommie was.'

'She's not as far along,' Remus said softly. He was absolutely convinced that he was right, and as he watched Professor Meyrigg turn towards the blackboard he became even more certain. It explained everything: her illness after Christmas, her sudden weight gain, her behaviour in the midst of Friday's lesson.

He pursed his lips and sighed softly. It did not exactly explain _everything_, but it did fit the available facts. 'Sirius?' he murmured, leaning to his right. 'Did Andromeda ever mention anything in her letters about Apparating when one's expecting a baby?'

'Apparating?' Sirius said, falling absentmindedly into the midst of the conversation. He had been studying his textbook with uncharacteristic intensity, and as he shifted his hand Remus realized why: he had the photograph of his cousin and the new baby concealed in the middle of the page. 'Don't think so: where would she Apparate to?'

'It's not recommended when you're pregnant anyway,' James hissed. 'Too much risk of Splinching the nipper.'

'You see!' Remus exclaimed, in his eagerness forgetting that they were not supposed to be talking during the lecture. 'That proves it! Madam Pomfrey tried to tell her that it wasn't, and she wouldn't hear of it.'

'When was this, then?' Sirius was no longer distracted. Keen grey eyes narrowed piercingly. 'You didn't say anything about Matey and Meyrigg having a heart-to-heart.'

'It… it happened in February,' Remus stammered, his voice falling back into a low whisper as the teacher turned to look across the assembled Gryffindors. 'Could we let it alone? We're oughtn't to talk about it here.'

'Why not?' asked James. He was staring at Professor Meyrigg as if trying to peer straight into her abdomen. 'No better place, it seems to me.'

'Except that people can hear us,' Peter piped up. 'That's the third time she's shot Sirius that look.'

'What look?' hissed James, but he did so now out of the corner of his mouth, without moving his head.

'The Those-Boys-Are-Up-To-No-Good look,' answered Peter. 'Professor Slughorn uses it all the time.'

'Usually just before we blow something up,' Sirius said solemnly.

At the front of the room, Professor Meyrigg cleared her throat. 'Gentlemen, please,' she said pleasantly. 'While I do appreciate that you've kept it to a gentle buzz, I really do not think that this is the time or place for private conversations.'

That admonition earned her almost thirty-five minutes of hush during which she expounded upon several common misconceptions about vampires. In other circumstances Remus would have found it interesting – not only the information, but the fact that the professor seemed to be trying to offer an objective view on the subject. Now, however, he was thinking of something else that he had overheard on that afternoon in the hospital wing.

So when the others gathered their books and hurried to the door at the end of the lesson, he hung behind. Professor Meyrigg was occupied in laying out her materials for the next class, and thus did not notice him immediately. Remus would have liked to wait until he was spoken to, but he was conscious of the fact that any moment now his friends would notice his absence and double back to collect him.

'Professor,' he said, his voice cracking traitorously. He cleared his throat. 'I beg your pardon, Professor.'

Meyrigg looked up in mild surprise, and smiled. 'Remus,' she said. She pushed the pile of parchment aside and folded her hands on the desk. 'How may I help you?'

He swallowed painfully. He had been apprehensive of approaching her for such a long time now, ever since the disastrous encounter in her office. Trying to spare her from his company he had allowed himself to believe that she would no longer wish to be kind to him after the way he and the other boys had behaved. Yet now she was smiling, patient and approachable and so very… trustworthy.

'Professor…' Remus took two tentative steps forward, holding his books in folded arms. 'Why don't you want to tell Professor Dumbledore that you're going to have a baby?'

The colour drained from her face, and her mouth fell open. For a moment she seemed unable to speak, staring at him with unseeing eyes. Then she blinked twice, very deliberately, pressed her lips together and shook her head.

'Why would you think…' she began. Halting in mid-sentence she pressed her front teeth into her lower lip and shook her head. In the corridor Remus could hear the din of the approaching fourth years. 'Come to my office at four o'clock, and we'll discuss it then,' Meyrigg said. 'Please, please do not say anything to anyone in the meantime. Can I have your word on that, Remus?'

His stomach churned uneasily. He had already said enough to the others to make a great deal of trouble, but perhaps he could get Sirius and James to stay quiet if he explained. Despite their almost religious disregard for the privacy of others they had a disdain for those who spread gossip, and he did not expect that they would be burning with a desire to spread the news across the school. If he could only keep them from unintentionally letting things slip or talking about the matter in public he thought that it would go no further.

'Yes, Professor,' he said, praying that he would be able to keep his promise.

The muscles of Meyrigg's face relaxed ever so slightly. 'Thank you, Remus. Four o'clock, then.'

'Four o'clock,' he repeated.

There was a roar of laughter as a trio of older girls tried to get through the doorway at the same time, hips colliding and robes entangling. They halted just past the threshold, looking from Remus to the teacher, clearly thinking that they had interrupted a scolding.

'You'll be late for History of Magic,' Professor Meyrigg said. 'Run along. Bertha, Helen, Sarah how are you this morning?'

Remus snatched up his satchel and bolted from the room, just ahead of the rest of the incoming class.

_discidium_

Sitting in their usual places, the Marauders were able to carry on whatever sort of conversation they pleased without attracting the attention of Professor Binns. Other such dialogues were underway throughout the room. Today, however, the quartet in the back corner was silent. Remus kept one eye on the parchment in front of him, so as to keep his notes from running over one another. His other eye was busy watching Sirius, who was clearly bursting with the desire to talk.

It had not been wise to ask him to be silent. James seemed content enough to let the matter rest for a few hours, and Peter was too sweet and obliging to refuse Remus anything reasonable, but Sirius was impossible to control. The four o'clock appointment had piqued his curiosity in the most dangerous way, and the old obsession with the secrets of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was smouldering behind lips that twitched with the very effort of keeping still. The thought of trying to keep him quiet over the dinner break filled Remus with weariness.

Thankfully, James seemed to have given the matter some thought. The moment History of Magic let out he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, seized Sirius by the arm and dragged him at a run from the room. Remus and Peter had to scramble to catch up before they disappeared among the many shifting staircases on the fourth floor.

'Where are we going?' Sirius laughed, awkwardly trying to look back over his shoulder while James drove him on.

'To the dormitory, of course,' James said. '_Obviously _we need a plan!'

'A plan for what?' panted Peter. 'We're missing lunch!'

'We won't miss lunch!' declared James. 'We'll have it all sorted out inside of thirty minutes: plenty of time to dash back down and grab a bite to eat.'

'I want more than a _bite_,' Peter grumbled, but he did so in such a quiet voice that the boys in the lead could not hear him.

Remus tried to offer a sympathetic smile, but he was preoccupied with worry and the desperate hope that James would manage to get Sirius up to the safety of their room before the railing began.

The Fat Lady was drowsing when they reached the portrait hole, and James roused her with a grin and a judicious bit of flattery. They reached the third landing when Sirius stopped dead.

'I refuse,' he said stalwartly, planting his hands on his hips and staring down at his friends. 'I _refuse_ to believe that all of Meyrigg's creeping about all year can be explained away by an impending _baby_! And I don't see why you'd do a silly thing like promise to keep secrets from us, Lupin!'

Remus flinched involuntarily at the hint of recrimination in those words. 'I… I'd already told you what I thought,' he protested. 'And about how I heard her talking to M-Madam Pomfrey. I d-didn't think it would make any d-difference…'

'Stop glaring at him like that!' James said, cheerfully smacking Sirius's arm. 'You look like your mother. Come on: upstairs and behind closed doors like proper conspirators. There's no fun in scouting 'round for something that's already common knowledge, is there?'

Sirius seemed undecided as to whether he was amused or offended, but he shrugged and went ambling up the stairs. Once they were safely inside their dormitory James cast a quick – and likely very short-lived – Imperturbable Charm on the door and sat down on his trunk.

'All right,' he said. '_Now_ we can talk about it without risking damage to Remus's honour. Why'd you go to her about it at all?'

The puzzled hazel eyes behind their spectacles were unnerving. Remus cast his gaze guiltily away. 'I… I wanted to know why she didn't want Dumbledore to find out,' he confessed.

'What makes you think she didn't want Dumbledore to find out?' Sirius whooped, flinging himself onto his mattress and propping his chin on one palm. 'It's just a baby.'

'It was something she said when she was talking to Madam Pomfrey,' said Remus. 'How she didn't want him to find out because he wouldn't let her go on working if he knew.'

'That doesn't make sense,' James said. 'Women having babies don't have to give up work until they start getting too big for their robes: Meyrigg's nowhere near that far along. She's a teacher, not an Auror: why couldn't she keep on?'

'That's what I mean,' Remus said helplessly. 'It doesn't make sense. That's why I had to ask her.'

'What he's saying,' Sirius observed with a voracious grin; 'is that he's just as curious as the rest of us, and he's been playing it down all this time.'

Remus flushed. It was true, of course, but he was still ashamed to be called to task. This really was none of their business, but it was just too enticing to let alone.

'It seems to me that what you ought to do is tell us _everything_ Meyrigg said on this mysterious occasion in February,' mused Sirius. 'Then perhaps we can puzzle it out together.'

'We haven't got time for that now,' said Peter. 'We've got to get down to lunch, and then we have Transfiguration. If we're late Professor McGonagall will be furious.'

'Furious? Surely not!' James said blithely. 'A bit perturbed, certainly. Her lips will disappear right into her face and she might dole out detention. But furious?'

'There isn't much more to tell, anyhow,' Remus mumbled. 'They were talking about how Professor Meyrigg felt ill all the time, and then about how these things happen in their own time, and it wasn't a good time, and then Madam Pomfrey said she had to stop her weekly escapades and Professor Meyrigg made her promise not to say anything to the Headmaster and there was the bit about Apparating and then… then they came out of the office and caught me listening.'

'Why didn't you say all this before?' Sirius asked. 'We've been trying for months to work out what's going on, and you kept all that from us?'

'I hoped you'd forget about going after her,' Remus said softly. 'I… I've been feeling badly about the whole thing ever since she caught us in her office that morning she was so ill. I didn't want to set you off again.'

'Well, you've done it now,' James pointed out, nodding at the avaricious expression on Sirius's face. 'He's not going to be reined in easily after this.'

'Oh, shut up, Potter: you're just as eager as I am to get to the bottom of this!' Sirius wafted a dismissive hand at James. 'So she's going to have a baby, and it can't be all that soon because she doesn't look like a great tweedy Erumpent yet. She doesn't want Dumbledore to find out because she's afraid he'll make her stop working, but obviously she's still fit to be teaching because she's still doing it and anyway he'd have to find a replacement to finish the year. She's only been ill since Christmastime, so she can't be expecting the thing before July or August, can she? So _why_ does she think Dumbledore would make her stop teaching?'

'P'raps she wasn't talking about teaching,' mused James.

'Come again?' Sirius lolled his head towards his friend.

'I mean, all this time we've been assuming that she leaves every weekend on some kind of personal business,' James said. 'What if she doesn't? What if she leaves every weekend on business _for Dumbledore_?'

Sirius quirked a quizzical eyebrow. 'What sort of business?' he asked.

'Hanged if I know,' said James. 'But he's involved in all sorts of things with the Ministry and the Wizengamot and international committees and Muggle rights groups and the like. Maybe she's tied up in one of those, doing something a bit more dangerous than teaching.'

Sirius grinned. 'If there's a job out there more dangerous than teaching, we're not nearly obnoxious enough,' he said.

'I mean it!' protested James. 'Maybe that's what we're missing in all of this.'

'But it can't be right, can it?' Peter said. 'That night we were under the Invisibility Cloak and Professor McGonagall was talking to her, Professor Meyrigg said that the Headmaster was making allowances for _her_ situation, and that's why she wanted to finish her proper work before she went off for the weekend.'

Sirius stared at him, clearly impressed. 'That was months ago!' he said. 'How do you remember exactly what she said?'

Peter shrugged, but there was a pink glow in his cheeks that betrayed his happiness at the implication of praise. 'I listen,' he said simply.

'This is all just speculation anyway,' James said, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a pinch of his robes. 'What we need is more information, and Remus has arranged for the perfect opportunity to collect it.'

A wicked gleam lighted in Sirius's eyes. 'So he has!' he chuckled. 'Well, that's settled, then. We'll all get under the Cloak and sneak in with him. Now we just need to work out what he has to ask her.'

An anxious flutter started up under Remus's ribs. He could not betray the trust their teacher was placing in him by letting his friends eavesdrop, but how on earth was he going to stop them? Sirius was right: he was just as driven by curiosity as the rest of them, and he was every bit as guilty. If he had earnestly wished to respect Professor Meyrigg's secrets he ought to have kept his mouth shut at supper last night. Instead he had come bursting out with a mad realization that as it turned out happened to be the truth, and his behaviour in her classroom had only reinforced his indefensible position.

'Well, to begin with, whether she's off every weekend on business from Dumbledore,' James said matter-of-factly. 'And then what sort of business that is, and whether she thinks she ought to just make a clean breast of it all 'round.'

Sirius shook his head. 'Don't be ridiculous,' he said. 'If he comes right out with all of that she's going to clam right up and he'll never get any information out of her. The trick is to go slowly and to keep it all very casual and to be sure not to get overexcited and tip his hand.'

Despite his discomfiture, Remus very nearly laughed aloud at that pronouncement. Sirius, after all, was not known for his nonchalance when excited.

James was obviously thinking much the same thing. 'Overexcited, is it?' he said. 'That raises an interesting problem. Perhaps I ought to be the one under the Cloak, and you ought to stay back here and wait.'

'What's the sense in that?' asked Sirius, blissfully oblivious. 'There's room for three, easy. And then it's three people to remember every word, instead of just one.'

'Two,' said James. 'There's Remus too, and he's not exactly unreliable. Or Peter and I could do it. He listens.'

Peter puffed out his chest a little, proud to be offered such a place in the venture.

'You want _Peter_ to go, but you won't take me?' Sirius said incredulously. 'What's got into you, Potter?'

'I'm only saying that you're not exactly known for keeping quiet when you think you're on to something,' James said frankly. 'Whoever sneaks in after Remus is going to have to be _absolutely_ silent, or Meyrigg will think he's gone and betrayed a trust.'

'Well, he _has_,' said Sirius crossly. 'He's already told us all about his private appointment, and there's not a thing he can say that'll stop us from tagging along. Is there, Remus?'

Remus's throat was dry. It was hard enough to think the truth, but to have someone else speak it so bluntly filled him with misery and embarrassment. He wondered feebly how he always managed to find himself in such situations. And then he realized that there was something, after all, that he could say to dissuade them.

'What about Quidditch practice?' he asked. 'You're meant to be down at the pitch at four, James. With the House Cup final coming so soon I know that Eldritch won't stand for skiving off. And you did promise to play Beater for the alternates, Sirius, to make sure they're at their very best for the match.'

A stunned hush fell over the room. Sirius and James were both staring at him as if he had suddenly sprouted extra limbs, and Peter's eyes were wide as he waited for the inevitable explosion.

It was James who spoke first, his tone measured and wondering and laced with grudging respect. 'Well, I'll be damned,' he said. 'I suppose it doesn't do to throw down the gauntlet at Lupin, does it.'

'It certainly doesn't,' Sirius said, shooting Remus a narrow-eyed glance of irritated defeat. 'I suppose Peter will just have to go, and there's an end to it.'

'Why do I have to go?' Peter asked. 'Remus doesn't need me.'

'_We_ need you,' said Sirius. 'Nobody can remember everything, and anything might be significant. Besides,' he added with an indignant huff; 'I want to be sure we get the whole story.'

The words stung. 'Sirius, I wouldn't…' Remus protested, horrified to think that his friend might not trust him. He would have gone further, but he realized that this accusation, too, was justified. He had on more than one occasion omitted certain truths when relaying information to his friends. He closed his mouth and let his eyes wander away from the others.

'That's settled, then,' James said, smiling happily. 'Peter will go in with Remus as an extra set of ears, and you and I can go off to practice. There's just one thing, Black.'

'What's that?' Sirius asked, getting his feet under himself and stretching his spine.

'_No_ debriefing at the supper table,' decreed James. 'You've _got_ to wait until we're safely back here. If you don't, I'll hex you tongue-tied.'

Sirius threw back his head and laughed, then sprung to his feet and ran for the door. 'I'd just love to see you try it, Potter,' he cried.

_discidium_

At five minutes to four, Remus and Peter stood together by the suit of armour around the corner from the Defence Against the Dark Arts office. Peter had the Invisibility Cloak in his hand, its shimmering length cascading through his fingers like a captured moonbeam. Remus had taken the time to return his schoolbooks to the dormitory, but even without the strap of his satchel dragging down on him he felt as if there were a colossal weight upon his shoulders. He knew he ought to say something, as he was the one ostensibly leading this venture, but he could not find the words.

'I know you'd rather I didn't come along,' Peter said after an uncomfortable interval of emptiness. He shuffled from one foot to the other. 'You'd rather have James, of course, but I promise I won't muck it up.'

'I know that,' Remus said hastily. He felt absolutely wretched. He was betraying Professor Meyrigg's trust again, and now he had wounded Peter. 'I know you'd never muck it up: you'll do this much better than Sirius could. Better than James, too. It's just… it's just…'

He closed his eyes, drawing in a measured breath. There were some things that he could say to Peter that he would never be able to express to Sirius and James. 'She asked me to keep it quiet,' he said, trying to explain. 'Professor Meyrigg. She's trusting me, even after what happened before. I can't help feeling… that if she knew what we were going to do she wouldn't trust me ever again.'

'Does it matter so much,' Peter asked; 'a teacher's trust? More than doing something that'll make James proud?'

Remus looked wonderingly at the smaller boy. Peter had managed to give voice to the one question that had been plaguing him inarticulately since the business with Meyrigg had begun: was standing on principle more important to him than his friends?

The answer, he realized, was no. Before James and Sirius and Peter there had been so many months of loneliness, years and years of curling up in an armchair in the quiet sitting room in Falmouth, watching the rain slap against the window panes and wondering what it would be like to have a friend, just one friend. Weekday afternoons leaning on an upstairs sill while below the Muggle children came walking home from school in twos and threes, laughing and shouting together, trying to imagine how it must feel to belong.

Now he had everything he had ever dreamed of, and more, and he could not bear to throw it away over something like this. It seemed such a small price to pay, to feel guilty for a while, if it meant that Sirius and James would grin approvingly and declare that he made a fine Marauder.

Remus could not let himself think of the other side of it, of the little voice in the back of his head that said that in doing this he was only proving that werewolves could not be trusted. If he allowed Peter to follow him, and lied to Professor Meyrigg, he was just another deceitful part-human. He pushed that thought aside. After all, he reasoned, Sirius and James were trusting him too, and their trust meant more than Meyrigg's, didn't it?

'All right,' he said, smiling unsteadily. He took the Cloak from Peter and shook it out, holding it so that the other boy could swath himself with ease. 'Let's go.'

'Good luck,' said Peter's disembodied voice. Remus smiled gratefully at the empty air and turned towards the adjacent corridor.

He could not help hesitating before he knocked at Meyrigg's office. When she called out to him to enter he drew in a long, deep breath as he closed his fingers on the handle. He swung the heavy oaken door open and pressed his back against it, hanging back to be sure that Peter could slip past him. He felt a fold of the Cloak brush against his wrist.

'Come in and close the door, Remus.' Professor Meyrigg was seated in one of the chairs by the hearth, slippered ankles crossed. Her expression was pleasant and encouraging, and Remus obeyed her slowly and carefully. He drew near and she gestured to the other seat. 'Please,' she said, and he sat, perched on the edge of the chair with one hand gripping an armrest.

'Now then,' said the teacher, smiling a little. 'Thank you for coming to see me. I was rather taken aback by your question this morning. How did you work out that I'm going to have a baby?'

'It fits, Professor,' Remus said. 'You were so ill earlier in the term… that's part of it, isn't it? And now you're better and you're… well, you're…' He looked helplessly at the front of her robes.

'Putting on weight,' said Meyrigg in a tone of mild amusement.

Remus nodded. 'And… and you keep putting your hand on your stomach, and I saw you a few days ago when something surprised you in class. The baby was moving, wasn't it?'

A tiny, wondering light glittered in Professor Meyrigg's eyes and her smile grew more earnest as she nodded. 'You're a clever and very observant young man,' she said. Abruptly her tone became sombre, almost guarded. 'Now tell me: what made you believe that I didn't want the Headmaster to know?'

Remus felt his cheeks grow hot. He stared down at the hearthrug. There was no use in prevaricating, and in any case if he did not press on he would never learn what he was after – and then Peter would tell James and Sirius how he had failed without ever really trying. 'I overheard you talking to Madam Pomfrey one day in the hospital wing. You made her promise not to say anything, because if she did then Professor Dumbledore would make you stop working. I felt sure you'd remember: you came out of Madam's office and saw me.'

For a moment there was silence. 'So I did,' Professor Meyrigg said. Her tone was strange, but without raising his eyes to meet hers Remus did not have much hope of making sense of it. 'That would have been February... the _seventeenth_ of February, I believe?'

'Yes, ma'am, I think so,' Remus fibbed. In fact he knew very well that it had been the seventeenth, buhe wondered how she was so certain

'Well.' There was a curious note of finality to the word, as if Meyrigg had at last made up her mind on a question that had been gnawing at her for some time. After a protracted pause, she shifted in her seat and exhaled softly. 'Perhaps you are going to understand what I am about to say better than anyone else your age possibly could.'

Remus's eyes flicked upward swiftly, but he did not allow his head to follow. He held his breath, wishing unhappily that he had stopped Peter from coming along with him. It was awful, to let her go on like this when he knew that someone was listening uninvited, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

'There are ideas… prejudices… unfair misconceptions that are common throughout society,' said Professor Meyrigg. She was on her feet now, pacing the short space before the fire. 'Often people do not even think of them as unfair, simply because they are so common, and they pass judgement and take action without stopping to consider the rights or needs of the person at the mercy of the fallacy. One such misapprehension is that the moment a woman conceives a child she turns into some kind of fragile creature that must be sheltered from the harshness of the world.'

So peculiar was her tone that Remus could not help lifting his gaze. She had stopped at the corner of the mantelpiece and her fingertip was tracing the ruched skirt of one of her figurines. 'A strong, capable and intelligent woman suddenly turns into a little china maiden,' she said, almost bitterly. Then she let her hand fall to her side and turned away from the hearth, fixing eyes suddenly fierce with passion on Remus. 'It is not right, and it is not just, and it is not even _sensible_,' she exclaimed. 'I am the same witch I was five months ago, and I am _not_ going to shatter into a thousand pieces simply because I happen to be growing another human being!'

There did not seem to be anything at all that Remus could say to this. He sat petrified, gawking helplessly at her as she recalled herself out of her outburst, carefully schooling her features and struggling to regain her usual air of calm capability.

'You see, Remus,' she said wearily; 'the moment Dumbledore learns that I am going to have a baby, he will insist that I remain at school. He will assign my task to someone else, or worse yet might decide that the duty can be done away with entirely. That would… it would be unbearable.'

'Then you are doing something else for the Headmaster,' Remus murmured, before he realized that he was speaking aloud. 'Something that takes you to Croydon every weekend.'

Meyrigg paled. Clearly she had not meant to let that slip. For a moment he could see the debate playing out in her eyes: whether it would be more damaging at this point to fall silent, or to try to reason with her impudent student. As swiftly as it came the dilemma seemed to pass, and she sank down in her chair, nodding her head soberly.

'I am,' she said. 'At least in a manner of speaking. He would have preferred to retain my services in a purely academic capacity, I think, but he could not secure me for the year without making some concessions. It is a hard thing to sit by while others risk… everything. I don't think I would be strong enough to do it, baby or no.'

She held his gaze for a long minute, steadily. 'That is why I asked Poppy – Madam Pomfrey – to keep from speaking to Dumbledore about it. I mean to keep on as I have begun, and I am not going to let anything stop me.'

'He's bound to notice eventually, isn't he?' Remus asked softly.

'I suppose he is,' she said with a faint echo of a laugh. 'If even second-year boys are beginning to work it out… though admittedly unusually observant second year boys with a knack for overhearing other people's conversations.'

'I didn't mean to,' Remus said, the sickening feeling creeping over him again as he remembered that Peter was still listening. 'I was in the hospital wing to see the matron: I didn't know you would be there. I know how it must seem, after everything that's happened, but—'

Professor Meyrigg raised her hand in a hushing gesture. 'I know,' she said. 'It was a curious coincidence, and I rather think you would have preferred not to have your own secrets broadcast either. Why don't we just call it a bit of a mischance and let it rest there?'

Remus's mouth was dry and he could not speak. What did she know or suspect of his secrets? And _which_ secrets?

'Now, then,' Meyrigg said, her posture relaxing a little as her left hand settled over her belly. 'I have confided in you: is there anything that you might wish to confide in me?'

'I'm not sure what you mean, Professor,' Remus said, far too hastily. 'I haven't any secrets.'

She fixed him with a fathomless gaze, her mouth drawn almost mournfully. 'Professor McGonagall has promised me repeatedly that you are not left to cope on your own,' she said. 'Still, I would rest easier if I could hear you say it yourself.'

'Say what, ma'am?' asked Remus. He found himself weighing a rush of relief against a lifetime of terror. She was talking about his apparent illness and his absences, not his accomplices. While his guilt was assuaged somewhat by the realization it left him with the risk of discovery.

'That you are not struggling to manage alone,' said Meyrigg. 'That there are people around you whom you can trust. That you have someone to talk to when it all seems too much to bear.' She closed her eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'I am worried for you, Remus. You are bright and dedicated, and you have a good heart. I don't want you to feel that you cannot come to me if you want to talk.'

Remus did not trust himself to speak, but Professor Meyrigg's expression made it plain that he would have to. He swallowed thickly. 'I did feel that way, for a while,' he admitted. 'I felt I'd given up the right, because of what my friends and I did. Thank you for seeing me today, Professor. I'm sorry for prying, truly I am.'

She regarded him pensively, disappointed but clearly unsurprised. 'Very well,' she said. 'That was forgiven months ago, Remus. Please do take care, and if there is anything I can do to help, you have only to ask.'

'Thank you, ma'am,' Remus said quietly. 'I hope that everything goes well, Professor. With the baby, I mean. And with your other work, whatever it is.'

'Whatever it is,' she echoed vacantly, her eyes suddenly very distant. She shook herself and smiled. 'Well, then,' she said. 'I expect you have other things you would like to be doing with James down at practice and the dormitory quiet. Do you have Astronomy tonight?'

'No, Professor,' said Remus. 'Hufflepuff's tonight: we're on Thursdays.'

'Ah. Well, it should be a fine night for it,' said Meyrigg. 'We're coming up on the dark of the moon.'

'Yes, Professor,' Remus said politely. The reminder cheered him, though she could not possibly know that. His last transformation was two weeks behind him and he still had more than a fortnight before his next: it was the very best time of the month. He got to his feet smoothly, easily, with no protest of aching muscles or twinge of fresh scars. 'Thank you again, Professor.'

'You're most welcome, Remus,' she said, almost her old hearty self again. 'Don't forget to start revising: exams will be here before you know it, and I mean to put my second years through their paces.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Remus said. He rounded the chair and made for the threshold. He started down the corridor, mulling over all that had been said. He had a great deal to think about, but on the whole he felt sure that the meeting had gone well – and certainly better than he had hoped.

He reached the sixth floor before he remembered that he had not held the door long enough for Peter to get out of the office.

_discidium_

The dormitory was in chaos. Sirius was undressing, flinging sodden clothing in every direction. James, dripping water from his robes and his hair and the tips of his fingers, was following Peter in frenetic circles on the far end of the room while the smaller boy gesticulated wildly, babbling his hurt and indignation. Remus was huddled at the foot of his bed, pressed against one of the heavy posts with his head in his hands. It was all his fault.

'…just _left _me, like I wasn't even there!' Peter wailed. 'And I couldn't leave, or else she'd know somebody had sneaked in, and I would've been caught and I would've been punished and he didn't even _care_!'

'Would you just calm down?' James begged, still trailing after him. 'Peter – _Peter_! Just _calm down_.'

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' Remus said wretchedly, for what seemed like the hundredth time. 'I was thinking. I was distracted. I forgot.'

'Forgot about me! He _forgot _about me! Like I wasn't even there!' cried Peter. 'I've never been that frightened! What was I supposed to do?'

'Well, what did you do?' Sirius asked, his voice muffled within the tangles of his damp vest. He shuffled to the right a little, very nearly tripping over his discarded broomstick. 'You're here, so it can't have been all that terrible.'

'I went back for him,' Remus whispered. 'I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry.'

'He knocked on the door and asked some silly question about exams!' Peter exclaimed, stomping his foot. 'How could he think about exams at a time like that?'

'He wasn't thinking of exams: he was thinking of a reasonable excuse to get her door open,' James said soothingly, taking hold of Peter's shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. 'Would you please, please just calm down?'

'But _he left me behind_!' sobbed Peter.

James threw up his hands in despair. 'There's no use talking to you while you're like this,' he said, moving away from the wildly pacing boy and fumbling with his belt. 'Remus, you really ought to be more careful.'

'I know,' mumbled Remus desperately. 'I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'

'There's no use saying you're sorry!' said Peter shrilly. 'You _forgot_ about me! D'you know how that feels?'

Remus stiffened as if he had been slapped. He had realized at once that Peter would be frightened, even panicked, to find himself trapped in Professor Meyrigg's office. He had not paused to think how miserable his friend would feel, imagining that he had not been worth remembering. He forced himself to look up, to face the one he had hurt.

'I'm sorry,' he said again. 'Peter, it wasn't that I don't care what happens to you—'

'But you don't care: you _don't_!' hollered Peter. 'If you did you never would have left me! If you were really my friend you wouldn't forget me. I was there to _help_ and you didn't even _think_ about me!'

'I did,' protested Remus. 'Over and over again I thought… but then Professor Meyrigg said those things about secrets and people I could trust, and—'

'I trusted _you_!' There were angry tears running down Peter's cheeks now, and his round chest was heaving. 'I would never forget about you if you were under the Cloak trying to help out: I would _never_ leave you behind!'

'Aw, Peter, it was just a mistake,' James moaned. He was down to his pants now, and paused with his hand on his cupboard door to shoot the younger boy a doleful look. 'We all make mistakes now and then. He came back to get you out safely, didn't he? Nobody got caught.'

'That's not the point!' Peter protested. 'Remus didn't even stop to think how I might feel, trapped like that, and I don't want to hear him say he's sorry, not one more time!'

'Well, neither do I!' Sirius declared, yanking on fresh undergarments and reaching for his dry robe. 'It seems to me he's apologized quite profusely enough for something that was only half his fault in the first place. Why didn't you run after him when you saw he was leaving, you silly little git? It's not _that_ hard to slip through a door before it closes – even easier if the person you're following actually knows you're following him! So Remus got a little distracted: so what? He's forgiven you a whole lot worse, and a whole lot more than once!'

Peter's jaw worked silently, his small eyes made enormous by astonishment and alarm. Remus's hands were over his mouth now, and he shook his head frantically.

'No, Sirius, he's right…' he began.

'He's _not_ right!' exclaimed Sirius. 'He's overreacting. It was just a bit of a cockup, and it all turned out fine. Anyway, if you got what you went after it's more than worth a little aggravation, isn't it? Now pull yourself together, Pettigrew, and let's hear what Meyrigg had to say for herself.'

'I'm not going to forgive him just like that,' Peter warned, shooting a last wounded glare at Remus. 'We might still be friends, but I'm not going to forgive him just like that.'

Remus bit down upon the urge to beg for absolution. Peter's anger would surely fade in time, and in the meanwhile he could bear the penance of his disapproval. He let his hands slide down into his lap and inclined his head. 'It's all right, Peter: you needn't,' he said quietly.

Sirius looked ready to launch into another irate tirade, but James poked his head through the neck of his robes and grinned. 'All right, then,' he said cheerfully. His spectacles were askew and his hair stood out in every direction, but the authority of his sunny outlook sent all three of them into obedient silence. 'Now we've all made peace, let's get back to business. What did Meyrigg say?'

It took longer than it should have to relate everything to James and Sirius, because Peter kept interrupting with acerbic corrections to Remus's version of events, and then Remus was obliged to fill in gaps and inaccuracies in Peter's. By the time the story was told it was excruciatingly obvious that two sets of ears were not necessarily more efficient than one. Nevertheless, in the end the story was told and Peter concluded with a pointed, 'And _that's _when he went off and left me behind!'

Sirius looked expectantly at Remus, who nodded meekly. 'I was distracted. I wasn't thinking. It was a stupid thing to do. It… it wasn't very Marauderly of me.'

'Marauderly!' James whooped. 'I love it! Marauderly, meaning as, like, or relating to Marauders. Very nice.'

'But you kept your head and went back to fix it,' Sirius said reassuringly. 'That's Marauderly enough for me.'

'And me,' Peter said grudgingly. 'I didn't mean to shout, Remus. I was… it was frightening.'

'Never mind the apologies!' laughed James. 'If we start on that we'll be up all night, and we've already missed supper—'

'Oh, bother!' cried Peter, looking far more distressed than he had at any other point in the last frenzied hour. 'What are we going to do?'

'Nick something later, of course,' said Sirius. 'After we work out what Meyrigg's up to.'

James rolled his eyes. 'We've already done that!' he exclaimed. 'She goes away at weekends to run errands for Dumbledore, even though he just wanted her for a teacher. What's so mysterious about that?'

Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'Now there's a question that's not in the least Marauderly,' he huffed. 'What sort of errands? Why are they so dangerous? Why do they take her to Croydon, of all sodding places? Why's she so keen to do it anyway? And why didn't she just give Remus the whole story, if she was all fired up to _confide_ in him?'

'I don't suppose you'd be satisfied if I pointed out that she probably thought it was none of his business?' asked James. Sirius shot him a withering look. 'Thought not,' he said disappointedly.

'At least we know where she's going, and who she's going there for,' said Sirius. 'Now all we need to find out is what she does when she gets there, and why she shouldn't be doing it if she's going to have a baby.'

'She explained that,' said Remus. 'Having a baby has nothing to do with it: it's only the way that people behave once they know a witch is having a baby. It's just a silly prejudice. It's a misconception.'

'I don't know,' said James. 'Dumbledore's not exactly known for his prejudices. If he wouldn't want her doing whatever it is if he knew about the nipper then odds-on it's something she shouldn't be doing. My father always said that people who don't listen to Dumbledore usually come to bad ends.'

'Sure.' Sirius waggled his hand dismissively. 'But what _is_ this she shouldn't be doing?'

'_I_ don't know, do I?' said James. 'And there's really no use speculating. If we keep on like this you'll come up with another one of your wild theories, and that never ends well for anyone involved.'

'My theories may be wild,' Sirius said, feigning hurt; 'but at least I take the trouble to have them. If it were up to you we'd spend all of our time hexing Slytherins and planting Dungbombs.'

'We don't wind up at one another's throats planting Dungbombs,' James pointed out. 'I'm not convinced this quest is in the best interests of the group.'

'I know what would be,' Peter said slyly.

'And what's that?' said James.

Peter grinned. 'Raiding the kitchens.'

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he was laughing almost before he finished the circuit. 'We're going to find out what she's up to one of these days,' he said, brandishing his index finger to punctuate his determination. 'You mark my words.'

'Someday, maybe,' said James as he collected the Invisibility Cloak from the corner in which it had been unceremoniously hurled. 'Not tonight.'

The four of them were already moving towards the door when Sirius smirked and said; 'Of course not. It's only Wednesday: Meyrigg never goes anywhere 'til Friday night.'

Remus followed the others down the stairs and out of the portrait hole. Once around the corner and out of the Fat Lady's field of view they piled under the Cloak. As James and Sirius giggled and swore under their breath, Peter nudged nearer to Remus, reaching to give his hand a quick and apologetic squeeze. Remus felt a great weight lifting from his chest. He was forgiven.


	83. Lashing Out

**Chapter Eighty-Three: Lashing Out**

Thursday was a long day filled with worry for Remus. Sirius obviously had some kind of nefarious plan in the works, but he did not even see fit to share it with James. All that anyone could get out of him was a sly smile and a pledge to stand guard against Meyrigg's weekly departure on Friday night. Remus spent nearly every minute of each lesson that day in an agony of apprehension. More than once he felt sure that he ought to go to Professor Meyrigg and warn her, but always he found himself pushing the idea aside. He couldn't betray Sirius to a teacher, and in any case he had nothing concrete to say. In all likelihood she would not believe him anyhow – or at least that was what he told himself.

He scarcely slept at all that night, lying awake and dreaming up all manner of outrageous strategies that Sirius might employ. So it was that at breakfast he sat in something of a fog, scarcely aware of the conversations going on around him. He did not even notice that the post had come in until Sirius swore breathlessly over his scrambled eggs.

'What is it this time?' James drawled boredly. 'Don't tell me: you're grandfather's gone and made _Witch Weekly's _"Worst Warlocks" list and you've got to go to London for cocktails and silly cheeses to celebrate.'

Sirius was too distracted to be amused. He looked up from the letter in his hand, pale and obviously frightened. 'It's from Tonks. Drommie took the baby to the hospital last night. Says I shouldn't worry but he thought I'd want to know. There's something wrong with her head.'

'With her head?' James repeated. 'How can you tell if a four-days-old baby's gone mad?'

'She hasn't gone mad!' Sirius snapped reflexively. Then he glanced down at the letter again, gnawing on his lip as he read. 'Tonks says there's something wrong with her eyes and her nose and her hair. Drommie thinks…' There was an ominous silence before Sirius went on in a low and dangerous voice. 'Drommie thinks she's been hexed.'

'Who would do something like that?' Peter cried. 'To a little baby, I mean. Who would do that?'

Sirius's eyes were slitted now, narrow gleaming grey beams of hatred. 'Bellatrix,' he snarled. 'Bellatrix would, in a minute.' He swivelled on the bench, fixing his fearsome glare on Remus. 'Did you tell Cissy about the baby?' he demanded.

'No!' protested Remus. The word came out as more of a yelp than he had intended, and he tried to recover himself. 'I didn't. I mean, I meant to because I think she'd want to know, but I haven't found the chance yet…'

'She could have found out from anybody,' James reasoned. 'After all, you haven't exactly been trying to keep it a secret, mooning over that photograph every chance you get and raving about what a _cute_ little thing she is. And Andromeda's got friends in seventh year: the whole of Slytherin's probably a-twitter with it by now.'

'I don't think Narcissa would have written home about it,' Remus ventured. 'She wouldn't want to be seen to be interested.'

'She would if she thought it would win her Bella's approval,' argued Sirius. 'And this is just the sort of hateful thing Bella would do. That horrid, cruel, _hateful_…'

He tucked his right knee up so that his foot was on the bench and hurtled himself up and back, whirling as he landed and charging off towards the Slytherin table and muttering maledictions as he went. Remus watched him go, realizing with a horrid sinking in his stomach that Sirius truly believed that his cousin had betrayed Andromeda to Bellatrix – and worse, that Bellatrix had actually tried to harm the baby.

'Any volunteers to stop him?' James asked hopefully. Neither Peter nor Remus could speak, so he shrugged. 'Guess it's me, then,' he said as he scrambled to his feet.

Remus knew that he ought to go hurrying after them. Sirius looked ready to fly into a wild rage, and James alone could not stop him. Yet he found himself unable to move his legs or arms. Only his head could pivot, following the two blurs of black as they descended on the head of the Slytherin table.

'_WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU DOZY LITTLE HAG?_' Sirius's accusation echoed up to the enchanted ceiling, and a hush fell upon the Great Hall.

Narcissa looked up from her plate, knife and fork dangling languorously from her fingers. The wild alarm on her face gave way almost immediately to a carefully cultivated look of condescending boredom. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said coolly. 'You don't belong at this table: shoo.'

A couple of her usual retinue tittered, but Sirius shot them a murderous glance that brought about instant silence. 'YOU TOLD HER! WHAT THE _HELL_ WERE YOU THINKING?_'_

Narcissa straightened her shoulders, trying to retain her dignity. 'Told who?' she said. 'About what?'

'Don't lie to me!' Sirius hollered, his voice screeching up an octave. He cleared his throat ferociously and growled; 'Don't you _dare_ lie to me! You told Bella about the baby and now she's gone and done something awful to her and Drommie's at St Mungo's right now trying to find out if they can fix it and if you'd just kept your sodding _mouth_ shut—'

James had caught up to him at last, coming up from behind and grabbing him above each elbow. He tugged Sirius half a step backward, craning his neck to whisper something in his ear.

'No, I won't!' cried Sirius indignantly. 'She's done an indefensible thing and I demand an explanation!'

'You're not going to get it,' a new voice said, cold and level but loud enough that it could be heard clearly across the Hall. Prefect Malfoy, who was seated immediately above Narcissa, curled his arm around her shoulders and fixed chilling and disdainful eyes on the two second years. 'Ten points from Gryffindor for showing disrespect to a Prefect. If you do not get back to your own table at once I'll make it twenty.'

'You don't scare me!' Sirius snapped. 'You're probably the one who put her up to it! That's your idea of fun, isn't it, Malfoy? Hexing harmless little babies and terrorizing new mums?'

'Oh, so the blood-traitor heifer has dropped her calf, has she?' drawled Malfoy. 'It's scarcely a surprise the little brat's deformed. Miscegenation has its own rewards.'

Narcissa looked positively miserable now, her cheeks a brilliant shade of red and her mouth tight with the humiliation of having her family linen aired in public. She did not, however, attempt to pull away from Malfoy despite the fact that he was the one making the odious comments.

Sirius let loose an inarticulate snarl of rage and likely would have scrambled over the back of the nearest Slytherin and onto the table to attack Malfoy with his bare hands if James had not been holding him back.

'Steady there, mate; steady!' he said, tightening his hold on Sirius's arms and bracing himself with his left foot back and turned to the outside, and his right firmly between the taller boy's shoes. 'It's what he wants, you know. Don't give that git what he wants.'

Remus looked anxiously at the staff table, wondering whether the teachers were going to intervene. Professor McGonagall was already on her feet, watching warily to see if Sirius would back down. In contrast Professor Slughorn seemed to be doing his utmost to pretend that nothing was amiss. He had one elbow resting on the table, his hand shielding his eyes while he kept eating at a great pace. Flitwick and Arachne were both watching uneasily. Professor Meyrigg had her eye on McGonagall, her chair pushed back so that she could rise quickly if necessary. Only Professor Binns and the Headmaster appeared unaffected by the spectacle: Binns was half asleep, a trickle of porridge oozing from the corner of his mouth, and Dumbledore was taking in the scene before him with serene interest.

'I wouldn't listen to Potter if I were you,' sneered Malfoy. 'He's counselling cowardice. Are you a Gryffindor, or aren't you?'

With a howl of feral frustration Sirius flung off James and lunged towards the older boy. The Slytherins in his way scrambled backward off the bench just as Sirius sprung up onto it.

'_BLACK_!'

Professor McGonagall's voice made the goblets shudder. Sirius froze, one foot on the Slytherin bench and the other planted in a platter of bacon. His head whipped around towards his Head of House, who seemed to tower over the staff table, her stern eyes flashing and her hands at her sides.

'Come down from there _at once_,' she commanded. Like a marionette bound to obey the puppeteer, Sirius lifted his now-very-greasy shoe out of the serving dish and turned around to hop off of the bench. McGonagall was moving now, swooping down from the dais and striding towards the Slytherin table. She took Sirius by the elbow and drew him forcefully towards the startled Ravenclaw Prefects, then waved her wand so that the contaminated food disappeared.

'Go back to your seat and finish your breakfast,' she said. 'You will report to my classroom immediately following History of Magic, and we will see about a suitable punishment for this disgraceful display.'

'But Professor—' Sirius held up Andromeda's letter helplessly, but McGonagall's expression silenced him.

'Back to your seat, Black,' she said tersely. 'And you too, Potter. At once.'

James nodded obediently and grabbed for Sirius's wrist. McGonagall released him and watched as the two boys started back across the Great Hall. Then she turned frigid eyes on the Slytherins.

'And you, Malfoy, will refrain from baiting younger students,' she said coldly. 'It ill becomes any sixth year, but it is particularly distasteful in a figure of authority. Miss Black?' Narcissa cringed as if she had been slapped. 'I do not know what your part in this sorry affair might be, but let me remind you that the breakfast table is not an appropriate forum for your family quarrels.'

She turned crisply and moved back to her place at the staff table, straightening her tall hat and smoothing her robes as she sat primly down.

James was herding Sirius back to his seat, and Remus offered a hand as Sirius flung his long legs over the bench. 'It's not right,' he muttered bitterly. 'McGonagall ought to _do _something, not just scold 'em!'

'Do something about what?' James asked, crossing his arms and frowning down through his spectacles in what might very well have been an impersonation of their teacher. 'Narcissa couldn't have hexed Drommie's baby, nor could Lucius. Worst they could be accused of is gossiping, which you can't prove, and anyway I don't really think it counts as gossip if you tell your one sister what the other's been up to.'

'But the baby!' cried Sirius. 'We've got to find out what was done to it so we can get word to St Mungo's and they can help her!'

'We don't even know for certain she was hexed,' James soothed. 'And anyhow they're very good at St Mungo's: they'll work it out. For all we know they've put her right already.'

'But we have to do something!' Sirius protested. He turned pleading eyes on Remus. 'We've got to do something.'

He was looking for agreement, but Remus couldn't give it. The matter seemed so entirely out of their hands. 'I don't see what we can do, Sirius,' he said. 'Surely they'll take care of her at the hospital.'

'And if they find she has been hexed, they can turn it over to Magical Law Enforcement,' James added bracingly. 'There's laws against malicious hexing of infants, you know. Just think what that snobbish cousin of yours will do when a brace of Hit Wizards turn up at the door with a warrant!'

'Like as not set them on fire,' mumbled Sirius, but the notion seemed to cheer him a little. 'She will be all right, though, won't she? It couldn't be anything permanently damaging.'

'Surely not,' Remus pledged. As unpleasant and intimidating as Bellatrix Black was, he could not really imagine her trying to hurt her sister's niece. 'It's just as likely to be some kind of a magical malady, you know.'

'Something like Dragonpox, you mean?' Sirius said. 'That doesn't make me feel any better, you know.'

'Dragonpox?' Peter cried. Remus shook his head in gentle reproof and he tried for a comforting grin. 'I'm sure it's not Dragonpox,' he said, not convincingly.

James was looking thoughtfully at the staff table. 'I wonder if Dumbledore would let me stick my head in at home,' he said. 'Dad's on the Board at St Mungo's, you know. He'd make sure she got the very best Healers.'

Sirius chuckled hollowly. 'I shouldn't worry about that, mate. Andromeda's nothing if not strong-willed. She'll have half the Board on the case already, if I know her.'

'There, then, you see?' Remus said consolingly. 'Andromeda will look out for her, and the Healers will take care of her. Nymphadora will be all right, surely.'

Sirius nodded, drawing in a long breath that hissed over his teeth. 'She will,' he said. 'She's got to be. I want to meet her, you know, and it's going to be ages before I ever get the chance. She's got to hang on for that.'

'Oh, yes,' agreed James sardonically. 'Who _wouldn't _want to hang on for that?'

Sirius swatted in his direction, but James took a swift sidestep and waggled his eyebrows. 'Eat up,' he said. 'From the look on McGonagall's face you might not have time for lunch.'

_discidium_

It was decided midway through History of Magic that Sirius would not be allowed to face the Gryffindor Head of House alone. Remus had simply assumed that they would tag along, as Sirius and James did whenever he was held back by a teacher, but James made the mistake of spelling it out after Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was not surprising that Sirius was a good deal harder to sway than Remus: the debate that followed reached such heated heights that Professor Binns actually cleared his throat and called for 'A little less noise, please…' in the midst of his lecture.

In the end Sirius conceded that the others might wait in the corridor, but were not to follow him into the classroom. James proceeded to reject the compromise, but he wisely backed down when Sirius's face settled into its most obdurate lines and he started reaching for his wand.

The pact did not prevent James from attempting to listen at the keyhole, but either Professor McGonagall had charmed the door or the conversation was being carried on in whispers, because he could hear nothing. After half an hour Peter was almost frantic with hunger, and James waved him off with instructions to pilfer some sandwiches for the rest of them. Remus declined the invitation to leave and stood helplessly with his back to a pillar while James tried to cast an Amplification Charm on the doorknob.

Sirius came out ten minutes before class was supposed to convene, just as Peter returned with his satchel burgeoning with food and his pockets full of apricots. They had a hasty picnic lunch on the floor of the corridor while James tried to interrogate his best friend and Sirius kept hushing him and gesturing at the door behind which McGonagall was preparing for the afternoon's lessons.

All through Transfiguration Sirius was distracted. He failed his first three attempts to make a bottle into a soup tureen, and on his fourth produced a hubcap instead. While trying to give it handles and a lid, he accidentally transfigured Betta MacFusty's textbook into a newt, which slithered off her desk and up Charlotte White's leg. In the ensuing chaos it was difficult to trace the mayhem conclusively to him, but Remus found himself wilting under Professor McGonagall's knowing eyes.

The moment the lesson was over Sirius was halfway to the door, his books and his satchel left behind. Remus grabbed the former and James the latter, and they caught up to him in the Entrance Hall, where he flung open the doors and hurtled headlong into the sunlight.

'Where are you going?' James asked, leaping from the third step onto the grass and hurrying after him.

'I'm looking for someone to hex,' Sirius said wrathfully.

'If it's Malfoy or Narcissa, I think they're both still in lessons,' said James.

Sirius snorted derisively. 'I'm not fool enough to go after either of them!' he said. 'I'm going to find some nice, safe under-year and I'm going to hex him. Maybe a third year Hufflepuff.'

'Third year Hufflepuff has Defence Against the Dark Arts right now,' James pointed out.

'Fine, then, I'll find someone _else_!' yelped Sirius.

'I don't think that will solve anything,' Peter puffed, catching up to the others only to have Sirius double his pace.

'It'll make me feel better!' Sirius shouted back over his shoulder.

James rolled his eyes. 'You know, you could just _tell_ us what McGonagall said.'

'She didn't say anything!' Sirius halted, whirling around and pounding his foot violently into the grass. 'Not a single sodding useful thing! What that woman doesn't know about family would fill an encyclopaedia! She—oh, perfect! _Perfect_.'

His angry indignation morphed into unholy glee and he reached for his wand without shifting his eyes from his target. He flexed the fingers of his free hand portentously. 'Eyes, nose and hair, Tonks said. What do you think, Potter? Curling Charm for the hair, Bat Bogey Hex for the dirty great nose… what was that nasty one he tried on my eyes?'

Remus had been afraid to turn around, and now he didn't need to. The Slytherin second years had Herbology on Friday afternoons: undoubtedly Severus Snape had just come out of the greenhouse.

'Forget the Curling Charm: it's silly, not painful,' said James solemnly. 'I can't remember the incantation for that other one. Remus?'

The Conjunctivus Curse, Remus thought. Used on dragons. He could not quite bring himself to say it.

Sirius reached out his left hand and grabbed Remus's sleeve, tugging him forward and to the side. 'Out of the line of fire, you two. Never get between a wizard and his prey.'

Peter scurried around James, watching eagerly. Remus had to turn in order to get properly out of the way, and he saw Severus trudging towards the castle. His shoulders were rounded under the weight of his satchel and his wand was nowhere to be seen. Two against one without warning was an ambush, but there was nothing to be done. Remus closed his eyes as James drew his wand.

'Oi! Snape!' Sirius called out. There was a noise of a bag full of books hitting the ground and the shrill shriek of a flying curse followed by a hoarse scream far too near at hand. Remus opened his eyes just in time to see James flinging himself into the grass, his arm limp at his side. He slithered forward, scrambling for his dropped wand with his left while Sirius flung a hex towards Severus. The pale boy was in a duelling stance, wand drawn and obviously freshly discharged. Remus scarcely had time to marvel at the speed with which he had armed himself when a wicked-looking bolt of blue flames whizzed over Sirius's shoulder and narrowly missed his own head.

Peter, who had been left exposed by James's sudden fall, was tripping over himself in an effort to get away. As Sirius sent off another deftly-deflected spell Severus levelled his wand at Peter, clipping him squarely on the backside. Peter let out a howl of agony, clutching at his posterior and scrambling towards the group of spectators that was beginning to gather, even as his fingers fused together into what looked sickeningly like hooves.

It was Sirius against Snape now, and Snape had the advantage of the terrain, to say nothing of the calmer affect. Remus let go of his own bag and grabbed for his wand. He dropped to one knee next to Sirius and in spite of himself sent off the dragon curse. He must have mispronounced the incantation – or perhaps he just didn't have Severus's talent – because although the spell hit its target and Snape stumbled nothing else happened. On the margins of the skirmish someone hooted loudly, a vulture's call over a vulgar spectacle.

The Stinging Hex that Severus shot at him missed Remus's wand-hand, but struck him to the right of his breastbone. He bit down upon his tongue as the fiery fingers of pain spread out into his ribs. Above him Sirius was shouting out jinxes one after another as quickly as his tongue would allow. James, up on his knees now with his dominant arm hanging loosely, did the same – though his aim was poor and his casting erratic. One of the spells found its mark at last and suddenly Severus was flung into the grass, lying flat on his back like an overturned beetle.

Remus was still struggling to breathe through the searing needles of the hex and so could do nothing when Sirius bolted out across no-man's-land, looming over his fallen opponent with his wand trained steadily on the other boy's head.

'Aren't you just _ever_ so clever, Snivellus?' he sneered. 'Not a bad marksman: three of us down. It's just a pity you didn't get me.'

'Sirius, _don't_!' a girl's voice called, articulating what Remus wanted so badly to say but did not dare. It was useless anyhow: the wand discharged with sundering force.

_discidium_

Remus stood with his back against the windowsill in the far corner of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was bent over the nearest bed, examining James and clicking her tongue disapprovingly. Peter, whose tail and pigs-feet had been set right with a swift flick of the matron's wand, was lying curled on the next one, prostrate with nervous exhaustion. Sirius was poking through a shelf full of linen with no particular purpose in mind save perhaps to annoy. Despite the mixed outcome of the encounter on the grounds he seemed to be in better spirits than he had been all day. Remus supposed that the release of pent-up tension and helplessness had done him some good.

'Well, you are in a pretty fix,' Madam Pomfrey said at last, straightening up and smoothing her apron. 'Your humerus is gone.'

'Don't be silly!' James said cheekily. 'I'm still plenty humourous, and I've got a floppy arm to boot.'

'You've got a floppy arm because the bone between your shoulder and your elbow has disappeared,' said the matron. 'And I doubt you'll find it quite so funny at half past one when the potion takes effect.'

'Half past one?' Sirius echoed, whirling around. 'You don't mean you're going to be keeping him here overnight?'

'That's precisely what I mean, Mr Black,' the witch said. 'Growing bones is a slow and unpleasant business, and not one to be carried out in the dormitory – or in detention, where I fancy the rest of you will be spending your evening.'

'Aw, Matey, you can't set us detention!' Sirius wheedled. 'You've got absolutely no evidence that we've done anything wrong!'

'Is that so?' said Madam Pomfrey archly. 'I suppose it's nothing more than a coincidence that I have Mr Snape on the other end of the ward?'

Remus could not help glancing in Severus's direction, despite his efforts to avoid doing so. He was flat on his back on the very farthest bed, blankets folded at his waist. His chest, arms and face were plastered with a thick layer of purplish paste that was beginning to crack and harden. His eyes were covered with poultices and his mouth was fixed in a thin line of misery.

'Coincidence! The very word!' Sirius sang out.

'I wonder,' the matron muttered, sweeping away from the bed and vanishing into her office.

'All in all a successful endeavour,' James said happily, nodding his chin towards Snape. 'What did you use on him?'

'Caliotus Hex,' said Sirius smugly. 'You might be regretting it at half past one, but I promise that he's regretting it _now _– and probably for the next few days, if I cast it right.' He looked at his fallen opponent and grinned. 'I don't think it was meant to be used at short range.'

'I want to go back to the dormitory,' Peter said crossly. 'Can't we just go back to the dormitory?'

'Buck up, Pettigrew!' said Sirius. 'We won!'

'It doesn't feel like we won,' argued Peter, rubbing at his tailbone. 'I wasn't even involved and I got hit. James will be in here all night growing his sense of humour back, and we'll probably all wind up in detention.'

'Pomfrey won't give you detention,' scoffed James. 'She's more concerned with putting us right. Now, if Meadowes hears about it _then_ you're out of luck, but even so we came out the worse for it.'

'I don't think that's true, Remus said, looking at Severus. His hand was twitching as if he desperately wanted to scratch his injured skin, but they had all heard the matron's stern warning that if he did he would wind up with great festering sores instead of itchy red blotches.

'He landed three spells, we landed two,' Sirius said. 'Well, three, only yours didn't do anything. How'd he get so good at duelling all of a sudden?'

'He didn't get good: we've got sloppy.' James's expression soured. 'We've been spending too much time fretting over professors' secrets; we've been letting our skills stagnate. The minute I'm out of here we're back to regular practice sessions, do you hear?'

'Damn it!' Sirius cried, causing Peter to clap a hand over his upmost ear. 'If you're in here tonight we won't be able to follow—'

'Hush!' hissed Remus, jerking his head at Severus.

'Right,' Sirius said in an exaggerated whisper. 'We won't be able to investigate a _certain someone_, which means we'll have to wait until next week!' He frowned. 'I don't suppose you could manage with one and a half arms, just 'til tomorrow?'

'Most certainly not!' Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, bustling back into the main ward with a phial in one hand and a goblet in the other. 'You've had your fun and now you'll have to take the consequences, if you ever want to use that hand again. If it's not convenient, that's not my worry. My job is to set you right, no matter how foolish, and you are going to do as I say!' She pried the stopper from the bottle and decanted its entire contents into the cup. She thrust it towards her patient. 'Drink!' she commanded.

James took the goblet with his left hand and took an experimental sniff. His nose wrinkled instantly. 'What _is_ this stuff?' he groaned. 'It stinks like Hippogriff poo.'

'Skele-Gro,' said the matron. 'It smells awful and it tastes worse and you're going to drink _every drop_ of it, young man. At once!'

Muttering something unintelligible, James curled back his lips and took a sip. He very nearly choked on it, coughing and gagging and letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. Madam Pomfrey snatched the goblet from his hand before he could drop it.

'Stop being so dramatic,' she said firmly. 'I would tell you to hold your nose while you drank, but as you've only one working hand at the moment…'

'Ooh, I'll hold your nose, Potter,' Sirius squealed, doing a little dance of excitement. 'Let _me _hold your nose.'

'It's not very nice to mock a friend in distress,' James groused. 'Give me that thing and let's have done!'

He took back the cup and screwed his eyes tightly closed. Then in one long draught he bolted back the entire gobletful, shuddering convulsively and letting out a squelching noise of disgust as the potion went down.

'Gah!' he exclaimed, thrusting the empty vessel away. 'Suppose you run and fetch me some pumpkin juice to get the taste out of my mouth, Black?'

'No,' said the matron. 'Nothing by mouth for you until that arm's whole again. Your stomach is bound to be a bit dicky, and believe me when I say that potion is much worse coming up than going down.'

James pulled a horrible face. 'Eugh.'

'And to top it off you'd have to take another dose,' Madam Pomfrey said conclusively. 'Now just you lie there and rest while you can. You're going to need it.'

'Will I have to stay here overnight, Madam?' Peter asked, rolling over to look up at the matron.

Her expression softened a little. 'No, dear: you're right as my leg. You can run along with your friends.'

'We're not running along anywhere,' said Sirius obdurately. 'We're staying with James.'

Madam Pomfrey seemed to contemplate whether this challenge to her authority ought to be met or ignored. She glanced at James, and then at Remus.

'You may stay until suppertime,' she said, not unkindly. 'But I expect you to keep to this side of the room, and remember that this is the hospital wing and you must be quiet. Furthermore,' she said with a stern look at each of the dark-haired boys; 'if I hear any of you teasing my other patient I shall turn the lot of you over to Professor McGonagall. Understood?'

'Yes, Madam,' said Remus promptly. 'Thank you.'

'Understood,' agreed Peter.

Madam Pomfrey turned on the third Marauder, hands on her hips. 'Mr Black?'

'All right, all right. Understood.' Sirius held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

The matron moved off towards Severus and Sirius grabbed two visitors' chairs, settling them between the two beds so that he and Remus might sit. 'It's a shame,' he said, leaning back to put his feet up on James's bed tray. 'I really think we could've cracked it tonight.'

'Would you be quiet!' James hissed. 'Snivelly's listening to every word, you know.'

'I could go and stop his ears,' Sirius offered. 'Wad of chewing gum ought to do the trick.'

'No, we'll just stop talking about things we shouldn't be talking about around the matron anyhow!' said James. 'Besides, I just said we're going to forget about Meyrigg: she's already having an adverse effect on our duelling prowess.'

Sirius snorted derisively. 'That's just an excuse,' he said. 'We can do both.'

'As long as we're all sitting here _not _talking about things we shouldn't be talking about around the matron anyhow,' Remus said pleasantly; 'we could quiz each other on Charms. Our last section practical is next week, you know.'

'I don't need to be quizzed on Charms!' scoffed Sirius. 'Charms is a doddle.'

'That's what you said about that Herbology project last spring,' Peter said in a 'reminding' sort of voice.

Sirius scowled at him and then leaned further back in his chair. 'All right, then. You go first.'

_discidium_

Eldritch McKinnon's face was a horrible shade of puce, and he looked as if he were going to vomit. 'His arm?' he exhaled hollowly, horror tainting every syllable. 'His _right_ arm? His _throwing _arm?'

Sirius shrugged and went on eating. McKinnon was not the first person to inquire after James's absence from the supper table, but he was certainly the most upset. 'Matron says he's in for a rough night.'

'But she can fix him, right? She can fix him?' said the Quidditch captain. 'It's only three weeks until the Cup final! We're playing Slytherin! We've got to win! _His throwing arm?!_'

'Calm down,' Sirius said. 'Of course she can fix him. If you're so worried, go and see for yourself. I'm sure he'd be glad of the company.'

Eldritch strode off, clutching at his hair and mumbling in anxious derangement.

'I think I'm going to go back to the hospital wing and ask if I can sit with him tonight,' Remus said quietly. 'Madam said he would be in a lot of pain, and I think it would help to have somebody with him.'

'If I know Potter that's the last thing he'd want!' said Sirius. 'He'd only feel the need to show off what a tough bloke he is. Besides, if he really wanted somebody with him he could send for his mummy. I'll bet she'd come right quick.'

He sounded rather bitter, and at that moment there was a flurry of wings above. Sirius stiffened, watching the ceiling as an owl circled into a descent. It had a letter in its talons and it was not wearing postal jesses. Remus held his breath. Perhaps it had been sent by Andromeda or her husband with news about the baby. He hated to think that Sirius might have to spend the night worrying.

The bird was only ten feet from the ground now, and it barked sharply to the left before alighting on the staff table. Sirius exhaled heavily, scrubbing at his forehead with the heel of his hand. He was not watching as Professor Meyrigg reached out to take the envelope, and he did not see her open it, scan the letter within and blanch. Murmuring something to Professor Flitwick she got to her feet and hurried through the side door of the Hall.

'Sod it,' Sirius muttered. 'She's going to be fine. You've been to St Mungo's: they're going to take care of her, aren't they?'

Remus's throat felt tight. His own treatment at the hospital had never been pleasant, and seldom had it been more than minimally adequate, but he was a werewolf with a Muggle mother, and little Nymphadora Tonks was fully human with two magical parents. He was certain that Andromeda – who had bested her parents _and _Sirius's to get most of her inheritance despite her rebellious marriage – would not accept anything less than the best for her daughter.

'Of course they will,' he said. He understood all too well Sirius's feelings of helplessness. He would have done anything to ease his friend's anxiety, but there was nothing at all that he could do.

_discidium_

Remus wasn't certain that it was a good idea to leave Peter and Sirius alone: Sirius was fretting again and that seemed likely to drive him to some fresh folly. But he felt that he owed James at least the offer of a night's company. He knew that if he was not wanted his friend would have no compunctions about telling him so, and if James did want company it would be a terrible thing if no one even tried. So after supper he went up to the dormitory to collect his spellbook and his Charms notes, and he made his way to the hospital wing.

The ward door was still unlocked, and he slipped in quietly. The curtains were already drawn and in the muted light of sunset he could see Severus lying in the leftmost bed. His muscles were relaxed now: he appeared to be sleeping. Remus moved a little further into the room.

'Merlin's beard, am I glad to see you!' James was still propped up in bed, his useless right arm on the pillowcase. The upper half was a rubbery, shapeless mass under the loose sleeve of the hospital smock: the potion did not appear to have done much yet. 'C'mere, sit down, is anyone else coming?'

'No, just me,' Remus said, taking the chair nearest the bed and setting down his belongings. 'I thought I'd see if I could sit with you tonight. If you want me to, that is. If you don't I'll go.'

'Don't be stupid!' said James. 'Of course I want you to. I'm bored sick and it's only just gone eight. I don't know what this potion is meant to be doing, but so far all it's done is made me a bit queasy, and that's passed now and I'm _starving_. I'd make conversation with the other patients, but even if he could talk through the mud-pack Snivelly's worse than no company. And to make it worse, I've got _The Doxy Went for a Chase One Night_ stuck in my head!'

The litany of misfortunes was so woefully delivered that Remus wanted to laugh, but on the off chance that James was serious he nodded solemnly. 'That's awful,' he said.

James tried to hold back a laugh, but it burst out in a noisy snort that made Severus startle. 'Ssh!' Remus wheezed, and James winked at him.

'What's this?'

Madam Pomfrey had just come through the ward doors, and she was watching the two boys shrewdly.

'Remus has come to keep me company,' James said, beaming happily at her.

'I wondered if I might stay, Madam,' said Remus. 'I promise I won't be disruptive. I just… I don't think James ought to be alone.'

The witch studied his face thoughtfully. He wondered if she knew how badly he wished to stay, even just for a while, in order to repay a small part of the debt he owed to someone who spent hours each month at his bedside distracting him from his hurts. Certainly she was gauging his own state, trying to determine whether he was well enough to lose a night's sleep. He could have told her that he was – it was still nearly a fortnight until the full moon – but he held his tongue. It was better to let her decide for herself.

At last she nodded. 'If it's what you both want, then Remus may stay,' she said. 'But if James changes his mind, or you get too tired, I want you to go straight back to your dormitory. Do I make myself clear?'

'Perfectly, Madam,' Remus said politely.

Madam Pomfrey hummed quietly to herself, and hurried into her office. Only then did Remus realize that the ward door was still ajar and there was someone lurking just past the threshold. He caught the flash of glasses and a glitter of green, and then he saw the Prefect's badge: Dorcas Meadowes.

'James,' he whispered, flicking a finger unobtrusively towards her.

'Bollocks,' hissed James. 'Detention after all.'

But Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, stuffing rolls of bandages and a pot of salve into a little leather satchel already heavy with potion-bottles. She went to the door and handed it to the older girl. 'Tell her that if there's anything seriously wrong she's to bring him straight back here,' she instructed. 'And when you've done that go and ask Hagrid to keep watch by the gates. I don't want her carrying anyone anywhere.'

'Yes, Madam, but who is she going after?' asked Meadowes. 'And is it true she's…' She let out a two-noted whistle, gesturing with her free hand in front of her belly.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. 'We've asked for your help because you don't ask those kind of questions, Dorcas dear. Just do as you're told, and hurry: we haven't any time to waste.'

A moment later Dorcas was gone. James looked quizzically at Remus, and then hastily averted his eyes in the very picture of bored innocence as the matron turned back into the room.

_discidium_

They talked for a while, first about Eldritch McKinnon and then about Andromeda's baby. Then Remus brought out his book and they studied for a while. Then James yawned enormously and drew his legs up to his left and dozed while Remus read quietly by the dim light of the lamp over the bed.

It was just after eleven when the Skele-Gro began to work. Remus knew at once that it was taking effect, because James's whole body stiffened and his eyes shot so wide that it was a marvel they did not spring out onto the coverlet. He took in a ragged breath that he let out in uneven pants, and Remus dropped the roll of parchment he had been reading, scooting to the edge of his chair and reaching for James's good hand.

James snatched at his fingers, gripping with crushing force. His jaw was clamed so tightly that his teeth were squeaking under the pressure.

'I know it hurts,' Remus whispered. 'I know it hurts, but you've got to breathe. It's easier to bear if you can breathe.'

The other boy gasped, tightening his hold even further. Then he relaxed a little, puffing shallowly. 'Great Gryffindor's gregarious gob,' he wheezed. 'It's like bloody knives in my shoulder!'

Remus was groping for something to say when another spasm took his friend. The bed shuddered and James stifled a yelp of suffering. His eyes were watering now and he cast a wet glance in the direction of Severus's bed, clearly unwilling to give his rival the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

'You're all right. It's all right. It won't last forever,' Remus chanted. James took another series of spastic breaths, adjusting his hold on the other boy's hand. Then the next paroxysm took him, robbing him of air and sight and everything but a stubborn refusal to yell.

It went on for hours. James would lie still for a while, and then his whole body would stiffen, bracing against the pain. Now and then he choked out colourful exhortations on how much it hurt, but Remus did not need to be told. He knew very well what it felt like to have the very bones within you shifting, snapping and bending and stretching and growing. He knew the anguish that sank into the very marrow, and the caustic fire in joints pushed beyond all natural limits. He knew what James was feeling, every bit of it, and when it dragged on and on without even the release of feral madness he felt tears of pity and frustration burning in his eyes.

Twice Madam Pomfrey came out in her nightcap and dressing gown to check on her patients. She reapplied Severus's paste and gave him a potion to ease the itch, but there was nothing she could do for James but check his pulse and promise that the bone seemed to be regrowing nicely. Then she slipped away again and the night dragged on.

'B-bloody hell,' James stammered at last, falling back against the pillow. The slip and the sheets were soaked with perspiration and his face was pale. His lips tilted into a quivering smile. 'It's over,' he breathed. 'I think it's over: I can feel my fingers.'

Remus raised his head and looked. James was lifting his right arm gingerly, waggling his digits so the nails winked in the lamplight. 'It's over!' The words came out in a laugh of relief. James let his arm flop down onto the mattress and shook his head. Remus realized abruptly how strange he looked without his glasses: not much like James at all, save for the dark tufts of hair and the indomitable grin.

'Does it still hurt?' he asked. It was a silly question: of course it didn't hurt as it had been, or James would not be smiling.

'Twinges a bit,' said James drowsily. He curled onto his side, working his fingers again. 'Remus… thanks. I don't think I could've managed without you.'

'Of course you could have,' Remus demurred, though the knowledge that he had helped to make the ordeal bearable suffused him with a warm, quiet pride.

'Not without waking _him_,' James said, pointing at Severus and then grinning again as his right index finger obeyed him. He loosed a luxurious yawn. ' 'M sleepy,' he mumbled.

'I'm sure you are,' Remus said, carefully smoothing the bedclothes and tucking them neatly around the other boy.

'Ought to gff mff dffimy,' mumbled James, the words slurring together into a drowsy noise that stretched into a shallow snore.

Remus sat at the ready for a long time, lest the spasms should resurface and James have need of him again. Eventually he leaned back in his chair and let the dim lamplight play through his eyelashes. He did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he felt someone shaking his shoulder.

Sirius was standing over him, grinning. 'If I'd know it was just napping, I'd have come along,' he said.

Remus hid a yawn in his fist and straightened up. The night was still thick behind the drapes, and James was slumbering peacefully. 'What did you do?' he asked.

'Do? I'm shocked that you would think such a thing of me!' Sirius said. His shoulders slumped. 'I couldn't sleep,' he confessed. 'I just keep thinking of all the nasty hexes a body could put on a baby. So I figured as long as I wasn't sleeping I might as well be here. I'll take over: you get to bed. You look knackered.'

He held out his arm, waggling it so that the Invisibility Cloak danced from between finger and thumb. Remus thought about staying, but the prospect of bed was entirely too tempting. The worst was over and James was resting: Sirius could sit with him now. Besides, he reasoned as he hefted himself out of the chair and shimmied under the Cloak, it would be a help for Sirius to be distracted from worry over his little cousin.


	84. Raising Spirits

_Note: Excerpt from "John Wellington Wells" from __The Sorcerer_, _1877, Gilbert and Sullivan._

The last chapter came in a little under quota, but after finishing this one I just couldn't wait any longer. Enjoy!

**Chapter Eighty-Four: Raising Spirits**

Remus woke up sometime after daybreak to the noise of Sirius returning to the dormitory. He came in like a bull elephant, yawning noisily and hurling his shoes onto his trunk.

'Is James all right?' Remus mumbled, forcing his half-asleep voice to work.

'Fine: matron's given the arm her seal of approval and he'll be out before lunchtime,' Sirius said on the other side of the curtain. His bedsprings groaned as he hurled himself onto the mattress. 'I could sleep for a week!' he announced emphatically.

Remus, who had gone almost three days without a proper rest, rolled onto his other side and buried his head in his counterpane. He was very nearly asleep again when a strange sound disturbed the warm placidity of the room. It was a sharp, hollow noise that seemed to fill the whole room and penetrated the sanctuary of the bed hangings with desperate persistence. Over and over again it repeated until Remus's fatigue-fogged mind finally recognized it: something was tapping on the windowpane.

It could only be an owl, of course, coming to look for one of them after failing to find its addressee in the Great Hall. Remus knew that he ought to get up and let the poor thing in, but he hesitated, hoping against all probability that one of the others would bestir themselves first.

'Somebody shut that thing up,' Sirius slurred sleepily. On the far side of the room, Peter made a drowsy grunting noise that was not quite intelligible.

The rapping went on, hasty and insistent. Resigned to the fact that no one else was going to get up, Remus crawled out from beneath the bedclothes. He paused briefly, his knees near his chest as he savoured his last seconds in the warm cocoon of the four-poster, then steeled himself and plunged out into the room.

The cool spring morning was not quite the shock he had expected: he was halfway to the window before he even felt it. On the other side of the glass a large tawny owl was clinging to the sill. It cocked its head to one side, shooting Remus a look of intense annoyance. When he did not immediately let the bird in, she leaned forward and thrust her beak into the glass thrice in rapid succession.

Remus had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the latch, but in a moment the window was open and the owl was hopping into the room. He smiled apologetically at her. 'I'm afraid I was half asleep,' he explained.

She did not appear to be interested in excuses. She launched off the windowsill and glided gracefully down to the third trunk, alighting and shaking her foot until the letter came loose. Then, with a self-important toss of her head and one satisfied hoot, she whirled back through the open window and was gone.

Fastening the hook with care, Remus turned around. He paused, leaning with the small of his back against the jettied stone as he considered his next move. Obviously Sirius had not thought the letter worth getting up for, but on the other hand he had not then known it was for him. If it contained news of Andromeda's baby he would doubtless want to read it at once – but if it contained _bad_ news then he might be better off doing so once he had had a little sleep.

After some deliberation Remus decided that it was not his choice to make: it was Sirius's letter, and he had a right to decide. He moved towards his friend's bed, bare feet noiseless on the rug. He could not help but hesitate to look at the hand that had penned the address. It was elegant, sloping, the leading letters embellished with curling trails. It was unmistakeably Andromeda's hand.

'Sirius?' he said. There was no response. '_Sirius_.'

A muffled grunt issued from somewhere within the bed.

'Sirius, the letter's for you,' said Remus.

Silence.

'Sirius…' Remus reached over the trunk to tug aside the curtain at the foot of the bed. A thick wedge of sunlight spread over the mount of blankets and the tousled head of dark hair. 'Sirius, I think it's from Drommie. There might be news about little Nymphadora.'

Sirius snorted and moaned, and then rolled onto his side and raised his head a little, squinting against the light. 'Can you read it?' he asked blearily. ' 'M not sure I can get my eyes open.'

Remus glanced at the envelope uneasily. 'Oh, I don't know…'

'Please?'

He took no more convincing. After all, it was not for him to refuse his friend such a small thing. And if he were being honest, he was nearly as anxious as Sirius to know what the letter contained. He picked it up and climbed onto the foot of the bed, resting his feet on the trunk and holding the curtain aside with his shoulder. He broke the seal and drew out the letter. It was a good-sized piece of parchment with one side nearly covered in Andromeda's writing. He cleared his throat and read.

_Dear Sirius,_

_I do hope you haven't done anything foolish. I expressly forbade Ted from writing you until we knew more, but he's a bit of a sentimental silly and he thought that as you and Alphard are for all practical purposes the only family I've got left he ought to write you both at once. I can't say that I regret it: the old man came all the way back from Kuala Lumpur to be with me at the hospital. My father and your mother would rake him over the coals if they found out._

_Anyhow, I hope you haven't made any trouble over this because Nymphadora is _fine_. Not that we haven't had our share of worry over it: it took two Trainees, three proper Healers and the head of the Spell Damage department almost two days to work out why her hair and her eyes and her nose keep changing like they are. It seems she hasn't been hexed, which they actually might have worked out sooner if I hadn't been quite so insistent that Bellatrix is the sort to know a raft of undetectable curses – but can you blame me? Ted's being a goose about it now, clucking over me and scolding and saying my sister's not as bad as I make her out to be…_

'She's mixing her metaphors,' Sirius said. 'Or at least confusing her fowls.'

Remus looked up, wondering whether this was a sign that he ought to hand off the letter. After a moment Sirius waved for him to continue.

… _but really, it did seem so plausible at the time. I'm sure you know just what I mean, and I hope to goodness that you haven't tried to do anything about it!_

_It seems our little girl is something called a Metamorphmagus. They're very rare: she's only the fifth one born in Britain this century, though apparently they're somewhat more common in other parts of the world. It was actually Alphard who first suggested it, as he once met one in a place called Flin Flon sometime after the Muggle war. We're all at a loss as to why Nymphadora wound up this way, since of course Ted's family hasn't any history of magical blood and there's never been one in our family, either, but she's passed every test they put her through and it's a pretty firm diagnosis._

_Sirius, you ought to see her! Now that my heart's stopped racing every time it happens, it's actually perfectly adorable. Her hair's been changing colour almost from the moment she was born, but I thought perhaps that was normal for new babies – you might be too young to remember that Regulus's hair was a sort of a reddish tint when he was first born, and Aunt Walburga fretted over it to no end until he was about six months and it darkened up to a proper Black hue. Then her eyes, they seem to shift depending on what she's seeing, so at first I just thought that it was a trick of the light. It was her little nose that truly scared me. It changes shape: nothing drastic, but obvious shifts in width and length and nostril size. It ordinarily happens when she has gas or is about to soil her nappy…_

'Ugh!' said Sirius. Remus offered a small smile as he read on.

…_and of course when she's crying. It was terrifying, to see her little face all screwed up to bawl, red and wrinkly, and in the midst of it her tiny nose growing and shrinking and turning up and down! Now, of course, it couldn't be funnier: she does look ever so silly when it happens!_

_The Healers said that she'll be able to control it once she gets older, and to change her whole face and even her height and body weight and soforth. I'm not certain how I feel about that, but it ought to be an interesting talent. Just imagine being able to make yourself look however you want! Ted has been trying to teach her to morph on command, which is ridiculous because she's not even a week old and she's much too young to be learning anything. But he ran out and got a ring of paint samples in every imaginable colour and he spends every second that her eyes are open waggling them in front of her face. It makes the camera seem like a welcome diversion._

_I do hope you haven't done anything rash, Sirius, on the assumption that Nymphadora was hurt or damaged. She's such a perfect little angel, and it's ever so sweet when her hair suddenly goes golden or her bright little eyes turn green. I wish I could describe it more thoroughly, particularly what she does with her nose, but it's just so remarkable. We'll try to catch it in a photograph for you: now Ted really will have something to click his shutter over. It's a shame you can't see her in person, really. She's ever so sweet, my little darling girl._

_Do write when you have the chance. Alphard is staying for a few days to help with the shopping and the mountains of dirty linens, but he'll be gone soon and Ted is back to work on Monday. I'm not sure I fancy the idea of long days at home alone again; I had quite enough of that in my last weeks' confinement. While I fancy Nymphadora will keep me busy enough, I'd still like to hear from you when you can manage it._

_I'm sorry for any worry Ted put you through, and I hope you haven't done anything foolish because of it._

_Love from,_

_Drommie_

_PS: Nymphadora sends her love too. Or rather, I've decided that she would if she knew you. A.T._

'A.T.?' said Sirius when Remus had finished. 'What's she mean by that?'

'Andromeda Tonks, I expect,' said Remus. He folded the letter neatly and slipped it back into its envelope. 'So the baby's all right after all.'

'Yeah,' Sirius exhaled. He sat up and crossed his arms over his knees. 'She's just got Metamorphmagitis.'

'She's a Metamorph_magus_,' corrected Remus.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. 'I've never heard of such a thing,' he said. 'You're going to have to do some reading about it, you know. Find out if there's any sort of long-term complications.'

'It's not a disease, Sirius!' Remus chuckled, brandishing the letter. 'From the sound of things she's going to have quite a useful gift when she gets older. I think it would be most useful to be able to change the way you look from time to time.'

'Useful?' said Sirius. 'I don't know about that, but it would certainly be fun. Imagine turning up to lessons every morning with a different nose! Professor Flitwick would never be able to look away!'

'What's going on?' a sleepy voice inquired. Peter had tugged aside his hangings and was leaning towards the edge of his bed.

'Andromeda's baby wasn't hexed,' said Remus.

'She's a Metamorphoser!' boasted Sirius, leaning his head back and speaking far louder than necessary to the friend he couldn't see. 'She can change her hair colour and her nose and things all on her own.'

'Oh!' said Peter, looking bewildered but happy. 'I suppose that means she's not a Squib.'

'Of course she's not a Squib!' Sirius exclaimed in a scandalized voice. 'The very idea of Andromeda giving birth to a _Squib_! Honestly, Peter, do you even think about what you're saying?'

Remus said nothing, but he could not help but notice the unhappy flush creeping up towards the smaller boy's ears. 'I'm glad she's all right,' Peter said timidly.

'Yeah,' said Sirius, grinning lopsidedly. Then he chuckled. 'I suppose I hexed Snivelly for nothing, then.'

'For nothing? Never! For the honour of the Marauders!'

The dormitory door swung open and James entered with an epic flourish. He was wearing yesterday's robes, somewhat rumpled, and his hair did not appear to have been brushed – though it was not always easy to tell. Sirius squinted at him over Remus's shoulder.

'What are you doing up and about?' he asked. 'I thought Matey was keeping you in for another hour or two.'

'I begged off,' James said. 'She was only being silly and cautious. See?' He whipped his right arm around like a windmill. 'Good as new. Besides,' he added, wrinkling his nose in disdain; 'Evans showed up at first light, fawning over that Slytherin creeper and shooting me all sorts of arch looks and rather nasty comments. That girl has her priorities all askew.'

He kicked off his shoes and ambled to his bed, stopping to yank aside Sirius's bed curtains so that the four of them could see each other. 'What's all this about hexing Snivelly for nothing?'

Sirius smiled enormously, bouncing a little against the mattress. 'Drommie's baby!' he exclaimed triumphantly. 'She's all right! Bella didn't hex her after all: she's a Metamorphagenic.'

'Metamorphmagus,' Remus corrected.

'Metamorphwho?' said James.

The two of them explained, with many gestures and several interruptions. At last both James and Peter seemed to grasp the situation fully. James nodded wisely and his smile faltered a little.

'I'm glad the post brought _some_ good news, then,' he said. 'Have you seen this morning's _Prophet_?'

'How could we?' asked Sirius. 'You're the only one with a subscription, and obviously we haven't been downstairs yet.'

James pulled a rolled-up newspaper from his belt and tossed it across to Sirius. 'There was another attack in London yesterday. A firm of Advocates-at-the-Bar with three Muggle-born partners. They struck in broad daylight: half a dozen nutters in masks. The Aurors showed up and there was a right little battle, but they all got away. Magical Law Enforcement reckons at least a couple of them got injured, but obviously not badly enough.'

Sirius was staring in horror at the front page of _The Daily Prophet_. Remus turned and crawled further onto the bed so that he too might see the photograph. Amid the ruins of one of the barristers' chambers in Diagon Alley, Aurors were prowling while Healers scrambled over the rubble to assist the wounded. The caption revealed that at least eight bystanders were injured and an Advocate and one of the clerks were dead.

'It's strange,' said James hollowly. 'It says in that next-to-last paragraph that one of the whatchamacallits…'

'The Death Eaters,' Sirius growled. 'They call themselves Death Eaters.'

'Right. That one of them seemed to be keeping watch across the street, only he sent up some sort of flare before the attack began and he didn't look to be doing anything else. They think he's one of the ones that the Aurors winged.' James frowned perplexedly. 'Seems a bit odd, doesn't it?'

'Not really,' snorted Sirius. 'A lot of them are just spotty youths with delusions of greatness. Silly git probably didn't know how to throw a curse.'

'I wonder,' said James.

Remus was beginning to get an uncomfortable crawling feeling in his ribs, too, but he didn't know what James was thinking and he was too numb with horror to ask. He closed his eyes so that he no longer had to look at the tableau of suffering in front of him. There was a noise of crinkling paper as Sirius crumpled the _Prophet_.

'Sodding evil gits,' he said hoarsely.

'They're getting bolder,' murmured James. 'I mean, in broad daylight in the heart of wizarding London? Do you… d'you think we ought to start worrying?'

'Not you and me, no.' Sirius spat the words out as if they were bitter to taste.

'What do you mean?' Peter asked anxiously. 'Remus, what does he mean?'

'That we're safe at Hogwarts, of course,' said James. 'Dumbledore looks out for his students. It's just… it's upsetting.'

Remus stole a sidelong glance at Sirius, who was very pale now and looked rather like he was about to be sick. He flung the newspaper onto the floor and flopped back onto his pillow, yanking the covers up to his chin. 'Damned blood-zealots,' he choked out.

_discidium_

All weekend a horrified hush held sway over Hogwarts. News of the attack had spread with the speed of a well-cast curse, and everyone walked around in a daze of dismay. The older students spoke in sombre whispers when they met in the corridors, cutting off abruptly if any of the under-years drew near. The Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl patrolled the halls in silence, providing a visible presence and a tangible reminder of order and safety. One or two of the firsties seemed to stumble around on the very verge of tears. Meals were an eerie affair, hundreds of boys and girls eating without laughter, with scarcely a word, while the staff watched them soberly.

Adding to the feeling of mournful oppression was the Headmaster's absence. Dumbledore had gone off on Friday night at the request of the Minister for Magic – and the only reason anyone knew that much was because Aeolus Andrews had announced it in the Gryffindor common room on Saturday. Professor McGonagall was in charge, and the students had instructions to direct any questions to her. No one was bold enough to do so. Professor Meyrigg was gone, of course, and Hagrid was nowhere to be seen. The gaps at the staff table yawned like missing teeth in a leper's mouth.

Only Professor Binns seemed unaffected. He still drowsed over his pudding and dribbled when he took his soup. On Sunday afternoon he was seen wandering aimlessly through the library, mumbling to himself about goblin revolutions.

Monday morning came and still Dumbledore was absent from breakfast. The pupils of Hogwarts dispersed to their morning classes with none of the usual jostling or jokes. The second year Gryffindors filed into an empty Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, settling numbly into their seats and waiting for a teacher who seemed unlikely to appear.

Ten minutes into what should have been the lesson, Sirius clapped his hands. 'All right, that's enough!' he announced. He bounded from his seat and hopped up onto his desk, standing with his hands on his hips and surveying the room defiantly. 'We've all got to perk up a little!' he cried. 'It's terrible what's happened, and it's right to be upset, but we can't go on like this forever.'

'Easy for him to say,' Athena Andrews muttered to her brother, not really trying to keep her voice down. 'It's his sort that did this!'

Sirius's jaw went slack and his eyes grew very small. Before he could react, however, James was on his feet. 'None of that!' he snapped. 'It's what these people want, to turn decent folk against each other. And the other thing they want is to keep us all quiet and frightened! Now, Sirius is right. It's a sad, awful, hateful thing that they did, but we have to buck up. We're Gryffindors, aren't we? It's up to us to set an example for the rest of the school: put on a brave face and get back to the business of living.'

'Exactly!' exclaimed Sirius, snapping his fingers. 'Just look at us: moping about when we've got a free period! I don't know about you, but I don't think Meyrigg is going to show today, and—'

'They probably killed _her_, too!' sobbed Elsie. Several people made noises of agreement.

Betta MacFusty was on her feet now, too. 'Don't be foolish!' she scolded her friend. To the rest of the room she said; 'Everyone knows she goes away at weekends: she's obviously just delayed at coming back. I'm not the only one in this room who's got a family estate: we all know the kind of work they are! Her ghillie has probably given notice or something. She's _not_ dead.'

'Certainly not!' agreed James. 'She's a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and she used to be a champion duelist. These nutters are the sort to go after _lawyers_: they wouldn't stand a chance against her!'

There were some murmurs and a few emphatically nodding heads. The energy in the room was mounting.

'So what do you suggest, Black?' asked Betta. 'How do we make the most of a free lesson?'

Sirius grinned and turned to his friend. 'Remus?' he asked.

'I… I suppose we ought to revise,' said Remus, astonished to have been consulted. 'Exams are coming up in just a couple of weeks.'

James laughed, and several others joined him. Remus stiffened, looking frantically around to see whether he was being mocked, but Sirius winked at him and went on. 'That's a sound notion,' he said. 'All in favour of revising for exams like a bunch of good little Ravenclaws?'

There were a few half-joking _ayes_. Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

'All in favour of playing a game instead?' he asked.

This time there was a chorus of cheers.

'Right, then!' said James. 'Everybody out of your desks, and we've got to pull the empty ones against the wall.'

'And yours, Andrews and Andrews,' Sirius said, shambling up to the front of the room. 'And anybody who doesn't want to play, move yours too. The desks against the wall are off-limits.'

'What makes you think that _we_ want to play?' asked Aeolus tartly.

Sirius smirked at him. 'Because you're the grandchildren of the Minister for Magic,' he said; 'and it's your civic duty to keep up the spirits of the populace in times of strife. Now shift that desk!'

Aeolus spared him a dumfounded stare before moving to do as he was told. There was a banging and scraping of table legs as the extra desks and chairs were shifted, but no one seemed to want to abstain from whatever it was that Black and Potter had in store for them.

'Right, then,' said James, climbing up onto his desk. 'Everybody up off the ground! Only one person to a desk.'

Sirius sprang onto Meyrigg's table while everyone else scrambled onto their desks. Aeolus Andrews, bereft of such a surface, bolted for Sirius's empty desk. He was halfway up when he remembered that his twin had nowhere to go either, and he grudgingly stood back and gave her a hand up.

'Very good!' said James. 'Now…' He flicked his wand at Lily Evans's feet, transfiguring the surface beneath them into a brilliant red. 'If you're standing on that desk, you have to get down on the floor before you can get onto another one. Everyone else jumps from desk to desk. When Sirius stops singing we've all got to scramble: whoever's caught without a desk is out, and we'll take away another table and start again. Understood?'

'Understood!' chorused a good two-thirds of the class.

James grinned and bowed towards Sirius, who cleared his throat and touched his wand to his neck. His voice was amplified as he launched into a rollicking song that prattled on so quickly that Remus could barely make out the words:

_Oh, my name is John Wellington Wells.  
><em>_I'm a dealer in magic and spells;  
><em>_In blessings and curses  
><em>_And ever-filled purses,  
><em>_In prophecies, witches, and knells.  
><em>_If you want a proud foe to "make tracks",  
><em>_If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax,  
><em>_You've but to look in on our resident Djinn:  
><em>_Number seventy, St. Mary Axe._

_We've a first-class assortment of magic,  
><em>_And for raising a posthumous shade  
><em>_With effects that are comic or tragic,  
><em>_There's no cheaper house in the trade…_

Within moments everyone was laughing as they bounded around the room. Even with the entire class in motion it was difficult to find a vacant desk within jumping distance, and soon people were leaping to the ground and running for empty spots. When Sirius finally cut off in mid-line there was a colossal stampede for the safe spots, and Charlotte White was the last one on the floor. She stepped aside gracefully, flushed with excitement but looking happy to be out of the rout.

They played through several more rounds, and both Peter and Remus were in their turns eliminated. Sirius had a sizeable repertoire of silly songs, both wizard and Muggle, and when he began to run low he tore into improvised Christmas carols. There were only half a dozen people left in the game, including James and Betta and Aeolus and Lily, when Sirius cut off considerably sooner than expected. For a moment the crowd of cheering children was too absorbed in watching the remaining competitors vie for the desks, but then a hush fell over the room as they began to realize what had made Sirius stop.

Professor Meyrigg was standing in the doorway, her wand in one hand while the other clutched the doorpost. She was wearing an expression of indescribable astonishment, and seemed utterly incapable of motion.

James and Aeolus were struggling to clamber onto the last desk, and James managed by virtue of a well-turned shoulder to win the high ground. 'Hah!' he cried, springing triumphantly to his feet so that the desk rattled. 'You're out!' Then he realized that the room had gone silent, and he turned slowly towards the door.

Meyrigg was still speechless. Sirius, standing on her desk, looked as uncomfortable as Remus had ever seen him. Betta MacFusty's face was bright red, and both Peter and Elsie looked ready to cry.

James cleared his throat and jammed his hands into his pockets. 'Uh… hallo, Professor,' he said, forcing a good-natured grin. 'We thought you weren't coming in today.'

She exhaled audibly, her wand finding its way back to her belt. Slowly she smiled, but Remus noticed how haggard she looked – as if she had not slept in days. She smoothed a hand over her rounding belly and inclined her head. 'Please, carry on,' she said. 'Only four rounds left, I think?'

No one knew quite what to say to that. Meyrigg turned to Sirius. 'Go on,' she urged, moving towards the crowd of spectators and drawing out a chair. 'You might as well finish.'

Sirius looked anxiously at James, who shrugged helplessly. Licking his lips, Sirius began to sing again, uneasy warbling levelling off into his usual confident tones as he went.

_J-Joy to the world,  
>The dragon's drunk!<br>He ate… my favourite trunk.  
>And then, just to be jo—ol—ly,<br>He burnt up all the ho—ol—ly,  
>And ran off with a monk,<br>And ran off with a monk,  
>And ran off – RAN O—O—OFF<br>With. A. Monk._

The remaining contenders slipped swiftly under the spell of Sirius's willpower, and the game continued until James and Betta MacFusty scrambled for the last desk. James would have won, save that Betta reached out and flicked his glasses at the last moment, gaining a crucial second's advantage. A raucous cheer sounded through the room.

'Very nice,' said Professor Meyrigg, spreading silence almost instantly with the reminder of her existence. Sirius blanched and leapt down off her desk, hurrying towards the safety of the herd as if he could vanish into anonymity among them. James tapped the desk that Betta was still standing on, restoring its original colour before hurrying to join his friends.

Meyrigg got to her feet. 'I'm pleased to see you were able to occupy yourselves while waiting,' she said, moving to offer Betta a hand down. The girl alighted and moved off a little as the teacher took the dais. 'I suppose I ought to be grateful there's anything left of my classroom, hmm?'

Suddenly a mischievous twinkle lighted in her dull eyes and she smiled earnestly at her students. 'Now, let's see how quickly you can restore the room to order, shall we?' she said. 'There are still fifteen minutes left in the lesson: we ought to be able to revise a little.'

Never had a group of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds moved with such efficiency. Inside of three minutes the desks were back in their tidy rows and the chairs were filled with black-robed bodies, eyes front and ready to learn. As he stole a long look around the classroom, however, Remus could not help but notice that everyone sat a little straighter, and their brows were no longer furrowed in worry. Even Professor Meyrigg, who looked worse than she ever had on a Monday, seemed better for the catharsis of watching the game. Sirius and James were lounging contentedly in their seats, obviously played out, but happy. Remus felt a burst of pride that they were his friends: they had cheered up the entire class against all odds, by sheer determination. He was certain that was a worthwhile achievement.


	85. Occupied

_Note: Whew! Dialogue-heavy chapters are HARD to dictate! Reward the effort: read and review!_

_Also, I'm considering another Missing Moments poll. If you would be interested, please let me know! If you have any suggestions for plot bunnies to vote on, note it in a PM or in your review._

**Chapter Eight-Five: Occupied**

On Friday, despite protests from James that their time would be better spent practicing their wand-work in the dormitory, Sirius dragged the other Marauders downstairs to stake out Professor Meyrigg. As the weather was fine and curfew still a good twenty minutes off, they went out onto the grounds. The sun was hanging low over the Forbidden Forest and apart from some sixth year couples strolling by the lake the lawns were deserted. There was a light at Hagrid's window, but no smoke in the chimney. The twilight chill had not yet set in.

Ignoring the older students and their romantic advances, Sirius cut straight across the grass towards the school gates. Peter made an uneasy noise deep in his throat and James rolled his eyes.

'We could just hide by the stairs, you know,' he said. 'We'd be out of the wind.'

'What wind?' scoffed Sirius. 'It couldn't be calmer.'

'There's no cover by the gates,' James rephrased.

'We've got the Invisibility Cloak,' Sirius countered. 'And besides, there are the hedges.'

'Sirius,' said Remus; 'the hedges are on the _other_ side of the gate.'

'I know that, Lupin!' Sirius waved his hand dismissively. 'She can't very well Disapparate on this side, can she?'

'We're not allowed to leave the grounds,' said Peter.

'We're not allowed to be out after lights-out, either,' argued Sirius. 'That doesn't keep us from sneaking down to the kitchens when you get peckish.'

'It's not the same thing,' protested the younger boy. 'At least we stay in the castle.'

'What about the time we snuck off into the Forest?' asked Sirius. 'We weren't in the castle then.'

'And we were almost eaten by that dirty great spider!' cried Peter.

'At the very least you could tell us what you're planning, Black,' said James. 'You've been smug about it for a fortnight now, and it's getting tiresome. It's too late for any of us to talk you out of it anyhow.'

'No it's not,' argued Sirius, thrusting out his jaw and sauntering on at a double pace. James shook his head incredulously.

'Hopeless,' he said. 'Utterly hopeless.'

They hurried after Sirius and soon reached the towering gates. The ornate iron grills were open, of course – Remus did not remember ever seeing them closed, and Sirius paused for only a moment before plunging across the boundary that separated Hogwarts from the lands beyond.

'Come on and get out of sight!' he hissed, running off the road and into the bracken. 'Potter, get the Cloak out. It's only just gone nine: we might have a long wait.'

They settled down in a huddle on the fresh-smelling grass, the Invisibility Cloak like a tent over them. It was not unpleasant, the waiting: they talked quietly together about nothing in particular and although the night grew colder as the sun disappeared they were near enough to keep one another warm. If it hadn't been for a niggling unease about the whole situation Remus would have enjoyed himself thoroughly.

There was one false alarm at half-past ten, when they heard footsteps and Sirius scrambled out from beneath the Cloak to hide in the bushes. But instead of Professor Meyrigg it was Sprout and the young man who taught Arithmancy, apparently on their way to the village for a nightcap. When they were safely out of sight Sirius rejoined his friends and the watch resumed.

It was nearly midnight when once again they heard someone coming from the direction of the castle. Sirius was gone like a shot, taking up a position in the shadows beside the road. Peter, who had been drowsing with his head on Remus's shoulder, sat up with a start and James clapped a pre-emptive hand over his mouth.

The waxing gibbous moon was low, but it cast enough light to walk by – and to clearly identify the walker. It was painful to watch Professor Meyrigg move: the eager spring was gone from her step and her shoulders were stooped. Her wand was in her right hand and her left fingers played nervously over the growing mass below her belt. Looking at her now it was hard to remember the cheerful, spirited teacher who had drawn the entire class out of themselves at the beginning of the year. Remus felt a wrench of remorse, praying that he and his friends were not too much to blame for the change.

He was just about to get out from under the Cloak to warn Sirius off when Meyrigg raised her wand. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, centring breath. As the slender stave began to move Sirius darted onto the road, a blur of robes and long limbs. He flung one arm around Meyrigg's waist just as she Disapparated. Her startled cry was cut off mid-note.

'Bloody hell!' James shouted, bolting to his feet and taking the Cloak with him. Remus and Peter scrambled up just as he hauled it off entirely. 'Of all the cheek! He might at least have _told _us!'

Remus could not speak. He was staring at the place where, a moment ago, his friend and his teacher had been standing. In his wildest imaginings he had never supposed that Sirius would do something so bold, so irresponsible, so undeniably _dangerous_.

Peter was hopping from one foot to the other, his fist pressed to his mouth. 'We're going to be in so much trouble!' he squealed. 'Oh, Professor McGonagall is going to be furious!'

'I'm sure Meyrigg will be a mite put out, too,' said James, shaking his head incredulously. 'The nerve of that bloke. We're privileged to know him, gentlemen.'

'James!' Remus found his voice at last, but it came out far more shrilly than he would have wished. 'He's gone mad! They might both be Splinched! And it's not recommended to be Apparating at all with a baby on the way: what if Meyrigg's seriously hurt herself? We've got to go back to the castle at once and get help!'

'Oh, do calm down,' said James. 'They'll be all right. Meyrigg's a talented enough witch: she can cope with the occasional Side-Along.'

'Unexpected Side-Alongs are dangerous!' cried Remus. 'I'm not—' The protestation of defiance died on his lips and he rephrased it less provocatively. 'We've got to go and get help.'

James squinted at him through the thin sheen of moonlight. He was gnawing thoughtfully on his lower lip, but appeared to reach his decision without much difficulty. He let out a puff of air through his nose and nodded grimly. 'All right,' he acceded.

Remus was almost too astonished at this easy victory to take action, but James started back up the road towards the gates at once and Peter hurried after him. Remus had just crossed back onto the school grounds when a sharp sound rang out in the night behind him. Before he realized what was happening James had seized him by the wrist and dragged him around the turned-back iron grating. There the three boys dropped to their knees while James scrambled to shake out the Invisibility Cloak to hide them more completely.

They heard the angry Welsh patter even before they were back under cover. 'There! What were you thinking? Of all the foolish, childish, _audacious_ things to try! Do you have any idea the danger you just put yourself into?'

'I thought you were good enough to cope with the unexpected,' a familiar voice argued cheekily. 'Looks like I was right, too: we've still got all of our limbs.'

'I'm not talking about Splinching, you foolish boy!' cried Meyrigg. She sounded angrier than Remus could have imagined, and a moment later she came hurtling past the gate, her hand closed securely around Sirius's arm as she hurried him after her. 'I should think I can keep my head when assaulted by a stowaway. No, I'm talking about coming after me – _leaving _school grounds and grabbing onto someone Disapparating to God-knows-where in the _middle of the night_! Have you taken leave of your senses? I could have appeared _anywhere_, with _anyone_! It was just luck there was no one to see us: how do you suppose that would have looked?'

'It was just an empty street…' Sirius began.

'Quiet,' she snapped. She was striding off towards the knoll near the Whomping Willow now, and Sirius had to double his pace to keep up with her. She was halfway across the lawn when she paused and shouted, 'RUBEUS!'

Instantly the door of the cottage flew open, the lamplight within eclipsed by the groundskeeper's massive shadow. Poppet let loose several choruses of her stentorian bark, bounding after her master as he came thundering down towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and her errant student.

Meyrigg had stopped moving, but against the sky her silhouette quivered as if she were shaking iwht some fearsome emotion. 'Sirius Black has broken curfew,' she said. 'He has left school grounds without permission, and he just snatched a ride with me to Croydon. I want you to take him straight to Professor McGonagall. Wake her if you must and tell her what's happened. Tell her that I'm fine, that none of us Splinched, and that I'll speak to her on Sunday.'

Hagrid scratched the crown of his head. 'Wouldn't ye rather explain yerself, Brynna?' he asked. 'I'm sure ye could do it much better 'n me.'

'I can't, Rubeus: I have to go,' Meyrigg said desperately. 'Owyn will be waiting and after last week I'm afraid what I'll find. Please. Please just take care of this for me.'

Sirius twisted around to look at her, hampered somewhat by the hold she still had on his arm. 'Who's Owyn, again?' he asked.

A strangled noise came from Meyrigg's throat, but Hagrid put one huge hand on the boy's shoulder and drew him away from the agitated professor. 'Never mind 'im,' he said soothingly. 'I'll see to it. Off ye go now, an' see ye go safely.'

'Thank you,' Professor Meyrigg breathed, almost quietly enough that the boys could not hear. She cast a last look at Sirius, her entire posture exuding exasperated despair. Then she turned and hurried back down the slope towards the gate.

'Hagrid,' Sirius said, not even trying to be quiet; 'who's Owyn again?'

'Hush, lad,' said the gamekeeper. 'Ye've made enough trouble for one night. Come 'long now.'

The pair of them started off towards the castle, Hagrid maintaining his gentle but determined hold on the boy. Remus's attention was draw away as Meyrigg came rushing past, fumbling with her wand. She passed through the gateway and there was a pause before the noise of Disapparition sounded out again.

'She was crying,' Peter said in a very small voice. 'Her face was wet: she was crying. W-we made her cry.'

'_We_ didn't: Sirius did,' said James, getting to his feet slowly so that the others could follow suit without leaving the shelter of the Cloak. 'He's a force of nature: we couldn't have stopped him.'

'We could have tried harder,' Remus whispered miserably. Sirius and Hagrid were on the steps now, headed for the great double doors.

'Well, it can't be helped now,' said James. 'Let's hurry back inside before McGonagall sends Sirius back to the dormitory under armed guard and discovers we're all out of bed.'

They reached the castle about four minutes behind Hagrid and his charge, and it was James who took the monumental risk of reaching outside the Cloak and opening the door. They slipped into the abandoned Entrance Hall and hurried up the stairs, stumbling only a little as they tried to coordinate three pairs of feet without lifting the hem of the Cloak.

They got as far as the second floor corridor when they heard her. What their Head of House was doing abroad at this hour they could not guess, but she had apparently met up with Hagrid on his way to her office, for she was in the midst of a furious tongue-lashing.

'…the insolence of it! You have been told – I cannot _count_ how many times you have been told – to leave Professor Meyrigg be! I have told you, she has told you, Hagrid has told you and still… It is not enough that you have broken into her office _repeatedly_. It is not enough that you interrogate the staff about her, and make summary searches of the Trophy Room, looking for who-knows-what! It's not enough that you make a study of her every move and enlist the aid of other students in meddling in her private affairs. Now you have abandoned school property and endangered yourself and Professor Meyrigg and at least two other lives, and for what? For a bit of childish curiosity? Black, I have tried to be tolerant, and Professor Meyrigg has been more than patient, but you have finally gone too far!'

James gestured for silence, herding Remus and Peter into the shelter of a pillar. Around the corner Hagrid's massive shadow and Sirius's slender one flickered in the torchlight. The groundskeeper patted Sirius's shoulder consolingly.

'Aw, Professor,' he said kindly; 'the lad's learned 'is lesson. No need ter be fussin' at 'im so. You'll behave after this, woan' ye, lad?'

'No. No, Hagrid, he has _not_ learned his lesson!' McGonagall snapped. 'If he has not learned it by now it may well be that he is incapable of learning it, and I am going to have to take more drastic measures to stop this insane vendetta that he seems to have against a member of the staff. Black,' she said in a deep and terrible voice; 'I would be within my rights to expel you for this. Your other offences aside, running away from school—'

'I didn't "run away from school"!' Sirius protested. 'I…' He fell silent, obviously under the power of one of Professor McGonagall's coldest looks.

'You might have been hurt,' Professor McGonagall said, slowly and very clearly. Every syllable was chiselled out with such precision that there could be no mistaking the gravity of her words. 'You might have been killed. You might have cost Professor Meyrigg her life, or worse, and you might have compromised a very delicate business with implications so far beyond the scope of your present understanding of the situation that you might as well be a tadpole contemplating advanced volumetrics. There is nothing that I can say that will make you understand how serious this is, and I am weary of trying.'

There was a long, terrible hush. Hagrid's hand had fallen to his side and his shadow was stooped as if he wanted very much to slink away. Sirius's wrists were trembling, and he moved his arms convulsively behind his back.

'Professor, please,' he whispered. 'Please, _please_ don't write to my mother.'

'You are in detention, Black,' McGonagall said. 'Every night for a week, and every Friday evening until the end of the term.'

'Yes, Professor,' Sirius said meekly. 'Only might I have Wednesday night free and do an extra day the following week? I've been helping Gryffindor practice for the House Cup.'

James drew in a sharp hiss of air that shook his whole ribcage. Remus held his breath, fearful lest the sound should be heard. From around the corner came Professor McGonagall's reply.

'Very well,' she said in such a stern manner that there could be no mistaking this compromise for weakness. 'You may have Wednesday night free, but I expect you to make it up on the morning of the twenty-sixth instead.'

'The twenty-sixth?' Sirius cried, anguished. 'But—' His upraised face fell forward into a resigned bow. 'Yes, ma'am,' he murmured. 'That's fair.'

James was silently seething now, though Remus could not think why. Sirius had been freed up for Quidditch practice, and considering the severity of infraction he had got off very lightly. The thought twisted his stomach unhappily. They had _all_left school grounds, but only Sirius had been caught.

James seemed to know what he was thinking, for he shook his head so fervently that the whole Cloak swished around them. Peter pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing ferociously for silence.

'Furthermore,' said McGonagall coldly; 'I expect an essay from you, twenty inches explaining in detail what right you think you have to Professor Meyrigg's private affairs. I want it on my desk by the start of Transfiguration on Monday, meticulously checked for spelling and grammar and written out in your very best hand with no ink-spots, blotter smears or crumbs of food to be seen. You may report to Mr Filch at eight o'clock tonight for your first detention. Dismissed.'

'Yes, Professor,' said Sirius. 'Thank you, Professor. And… and you w-won't…'

'No, Black,' said McGonagall. Her voice had softened enormously with those words: her tone was almost kind. 'No, I will not.'

'Thank you,' Sirius whispered reverently. He took two swift steps forward before a shadow-hand reached into the boys' field of view to stop him. 'Black,' McGonagall said pointedly. 'Aren't you forgetting something?'

'I'm sorry, Professor,' said Sirius earnestly. 'And Hagrid, mate, I'm sorry to get you out of your cottage at this hour of the night. No hard feelings?'

Hagrid protested profusely that there certainly were not, and Sirius was allowed to disappear around the corner. His footsteps moved off and Remus shifted to head back down the corridor in the direction they had come. They could cut through the Charms hallway and take the other stairs, he reasoned. James grabbed a handful of his robe and shook his head.

'Pardon me, Professor,' said Hagrid; 'bu' doan' ye think ye were a bit hard on 'im? Twenty inches?'

'If Sirius Black can tear through half of the library's reference section on Dangerous Creatures, and learn as many hexes as an average fifth year, and start up a junior Quidditch league while staying for the most part on top of his lessons and learning how to dismantle Muggle clocks as he stalks a member of staff with diligence ordinarily reserved for veteran Aurors, Rubeus, then he can find time to write a twenty-inch essay,' said Professor McGonagall.

'An' detention on the twenty-sixth? Isn' that…'

'Yes, it is.' McGonagall sounded oddly satisfied. 'Perhaps having to lose something important to him will at last make an impression. And as he's not actually on the team it won't hurt Gryffindor's chances.'

Hagrid chuckled, and Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, obviously recomposing herself. 'Rubeus, are you sure that Brynna was all right?'

'She were in a state,' said Hagrid; 'but I doan' think it went beyond worry an' temper. She'll be seein' ye about this when she gets back, bu' as 'e's expectin' her she was anxious to get away.'

'I should think so,' said McGonagall. 'After last week…' She sighed. 'I'm beginning to think that Albus is right, but it would drive her mad to be shut up here while he's still in the field. All right, Rubeus. Thank you. I… I think we had best go to bed, don't you?'

Hagrid mumbled his good nights, and then came lumbering around the corner. The three boys pressed themselves more tightly into their niche as he passed. They stood still for what seemed like a long while, until they were certain that Professor McGonagall was gone. Then, as swiftly and as silently as they could, they hurried up to the Gryffindor Tower, roused the Fat Lady with a hasty apology and a bit of flattery, and bolted up the stairs. Once safely in their dormitory Peter collapsed on his bed and James tossed the Invisibility Cloak into his cupboard.

Sirius was sitting cross-legged on his trunk, looking pensive. 'Oi, Remus,' he said as soon as the door was closed. 'Who's Owyn again?'

_discidium_

It took the combined efforts of all the Marauders over the course of the weekend to turn out twenty inches' explanation. In fact, it was about two inches of explanation and eighteen of the general philosophy of privacy and why they – and Sirius in particular – had been wrong to violate it. Remus poured every waking minute of those two days into working on it, whether helping Sirius directly or mulling over drafts of sticky paragraphs or ruminating on the wrongness of their actions in silence. There was something almost cleansing about dwelling on the guilt and expressing the wrongness of their actions. He wasn't sure whether the others felt it too, but they were almost equally dedicated to the effort with the exception of James.

He was incensed. The twenty-sixth, as it turned out, was the date of the Quidditch final against Slytherin. It was obvious that James considered it a horrific violation of basic civic freedoms to deny Sirius, as a loyal Gryffindor and an important member of the shadow-team that had been so instrumental in practices, the right to attend. He threatened to complain to the school governors. He offered to have his father intervene on Sirius's behalf. He declared that he would go to Dumbledore himself and plead his friend's case. Yet every time Sirius would shake his head and put a stop to it.

James found this complacency in the face of such terrible punishment bewildering, but although he said nothing Remus understood. Sirius was grateful, though he could not admit it openly. He was grateful that McGonagall had not expelled him, he was grateful that she had promised not to write home to his parents, and he was grateful that she was letting him go out for practice on Wednesday. The loss of his chance to watch Gryffindor's victory was a comparatively small price to pay.

With Sirius in detention every evening it was a very quiet week. The nearest they came to excitement was when Peter set a bit of dried valerian root on fire in Potions and burned the two small fingers of his left hand. Even James refrained from much of the usual mischief, though procuring victuals for Sirius to enjoy after detention was a routine part of the nights.

Though once again present in lessons, Professor Meyrigg was subdued and pale and obviously anxious. In between debates about syntax and impassioned speeches on the topic of Quidditch and liberty, the boys had managed to piece together a collective theory that, although it certainly did not explain everything, at least made a little more sense than anything they had come up with so far.

Owyn, of course, was Professor Meyrigg's husband and obviously it was he whom she met in Croydon every Friday night. Something had gone wrong the week before to necessitate her hasty departure and belated return. Whatever he was doing was dangerous, and presumably at Dumbledore's behest. James insisted it had to do with the Dark wizards rallying around the pure-blood zealot calling himself Lord Voldemort. Sirius was not convinced. Remus preferred not to speculate and Peter obviously found the whole situation well beyond uncomfortable.

Still, though Sirius was far from satisfied and James was beginning to display a certain belligerent determination to get to the truth just to spite McGonagall, there was little time to talk about it and no time at all to do anything about it. Sirius went from lessons to homework to detention and back, and Remus's energy abandoned him almost entirely as the full moon drew near. He was almost too weary to worry any longer about the fact that despite Meyrigg's obvious distraction the Defence Against the Dark Arts class was very nearly finished with vampires. He couldn't even bring himself to fret over the fact that the full moon fell this month on a Thursday, which meant that his classmates would be atop the Astronomy Tower staring up at it while he ravaged himself in the safe house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He was beginning to understand just how Professor Meyrigg must feel, weighed down with so many fears and worries that they all blurred together into a sort of a fog of sheer exhaustion.

It was an enormous relief to leave Potions on Thursday morning and to retreat to the haven of the hospital wing. He rested and he bathed and Madam Pomfrey dosed him with potions and rubbed liniment into his aching shoulders. Late in the afternoon his friends came to visit him, Sirius foregoing his homework to do so. Ordinarily Remus would have tried to rib him about it and hope that the jokes would not fall flat. Today he was content to lie on his side and listen to the others chattering happily beside him.

The weather was not particularly pleasant, but Madam Pomfrey took him down to the tree while the school was at supper anyhow. The grounds were often busy in the evenings now, and a little rain didn't thwart firsties eager to charge around outdoors, nor flirting pairs of fifth years making the first overtures of romance. There was a price for secrecy: Remus was left alone with almost four hours to wait. He undressed straight away and went upstairs to curl up in the big old bed. The sunlight filtered between the boards upon the window, and somewhere outside a clutch of finches were singing to each other. The room was warm and not so musty as usual, and Remus drifted off to sleep. He did not awake until the first tremors of the transformation tore through him.

_discidium_

Sunset was late, and moonset was early. Summer was coming and the nights were short. He had not been especially agitated on the day before the transformation, and he had slumbered until almost the last moment. It should have been an easy transformation, but when Remus awoke in the grey light of dawn to the grim realization that he was crumpled at the foot of the stairs in a position that was not natural by either human or lupine standards he realized that he had not been so fortunate. That was his first thought, wry and distantly regretful. His second thought was that he ought not to be able to see his rib, not bare and white like that. Then the anguish of trying to breathe stole his consciousness entirely.

_discidium_

He was insensate through the anguish of Madam Pomfrey disentangling his body and closing the worst of his wounds. He did awaken when the cold, dewy air burned in his lungs as she hurried him across the grounds to the little side door that led to the hospital wing. Once or twice he drifted near enough to consciousness to hear her soothing voice murmuring over him, reciting every move before she made it as though he were any other patient. He had no memory of the matron mending the torn flesh in his chest, or knitting together the broad ropey muscles that were supposed to keep his rib cage in place. He did not find out until days later how the distraction of gnawing on his left foreleg had kept the wolf from burrowing right through to the lung. Now and then he awoke for brief, blinding instants of pain or for the gentle fingers that brushed along his throat to induce him to swallow bitter but blessedly effective potions. He heard Sirius, as if from a great distance, telling him to heal up quickly and apologizing that he wouldn't be able to come back after supper: detention, you know.

Yet for the most part he slept, or swooned, or floated somehow beyond true awareness in a place where the pain was muted and the anxieties were not so pressing. He would have been content to stay there forever, save that a noise like a thunderclap woke him and the racing of his heart refused to let him slip away again.

He heard a voice in the ward beyond: a sharp cry of alarm that echoed off the walls. 'What are you _doing_? I warned you against carrying him, didn't I?' Madam Pomfrey yelped.

'That was last week,' a familiar voice wheezed. Professor Meyrigg's breath was short and the words came out thickly. 'I couldn't chance magic until I worked out what they've done to him. Apparating was enough of a risk.'

There was no chance of drifting off now. Remus was wide awake now, holding his breath as he listened.

'I should say so – give him here, you foolish girl! You'll do yourself an injury and then where will you be?'

'I don't… I think… Poppy, I can't find any marks but he'd crawled out into the street and his pulse was racing when I found him and he's… he's…'

'Had a bit of an accident,' the matron said calmly. There was a determined grunt as if a weight was shifted onto Madam Pomfrey. Her voice was gentle and capable as she went on. 'Come on, now. Just another three steps to the bed.' Something heavy scraped along the stone floor, followed by the moaning of bedsprings.

'He can't hear… I don't think he can hear you,' Meyrigg stammered. She was speaking very swiftly and with mounting panic. 'He hasn't said a word, and he's not moving anymore…'

'Fainted dead away,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'It's probably a mercy, Brynna. You've no idea what happened?'

'Th-there aren't any marks,' the younger woman said tremulously. 'None that I can see, anyhow; no new ones. And there's no bruising around his nose, b-but it's been bleeding something awful. I think… I m-mean do _you_ think it might be… b-be…'

'I can't make guesses,' the matron scolded gently. 'I've got to have a proper look at him, and I'll not be able to do that if I'm tending you as well. Sit down at once, before you collapse!'

There was another squeaking noise as Professor Meyrigg obeyed. For a while all that Remus could hear were the soft sounds of Madam Pomfrey at work. 'He seems to be breathing all right,' she said at last, but she did not seem relieved by the verdict. 'There's no sign of trauma to the nose. Here, love, I'm just going to check your eyes…'

'He can't hear you…' Meyrigg said again, hollowly. Perhaps she didn't realize that Madam Pomfrey always talked to her patients as she worked, whether they could hear her or not.

'His pupils are equal, dear: that's a good sign.' Again, the tone of voice belied the comforting denotation of the words.

'And?' asked Professor Meyrigg frantically.

'And he's burst a vessel in the left one,' answered the matron. 'It's only superficial,' she added hastily; 'but…'

'But I'm right,' said Meyrigg, sounding very near to tears. She exhaled raggedly. 'I've got to see Dumbledore. He must be told at once. If… if he said anything…'

'Don't talk like that!' Madam Pomfrey said sternly. 'You know in your heart he wouldn't say anything, whatever they did. And if he had, do you think either of you would have been allowed to get away? Of course not! When he wakes—'

'If he wakes,' whispered Meyrigg.

'_When_ he wakes,' the matron insisted; 'he'll be able to tell you that himself. You go and talk to the Headmaster if you must, but I won't have you stumbling through corridors or rocketing up flights of stairs. Use my office: the Floo Powder is in the little jet bottle on the mantel. Go on,' she said after a moment's hush. 'It will give me a chance to clean him up, poor man.'

There was a low strangled sound and then the clatter of booted feet and the creak of the office door. Madam Pomfrey was murmuring again, doubtless busy with her patient, but though he strained to hear Remus could not make out the words. Curiosity was a powerful motivator and he very much wanted to sneak a look beyond the door, but common sense won out where honour did not. He doubted very much that he would be able to sit himself up, with his chest in the state that it was. Crossing the room was out of the question.

He was very thirsty, and he reached cautiously for the glass of water by his bedside, mindful not to touch the bell. His hands shook, but he managed to drink without spilling more than a few drops. Exhausted by the effort he let himself go limp against the pillow. His eyelids were leaden and he might have drifted off to sleep again save that the door to the hospital wing swung open again.

'My God…'

'Hush,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Close the door: I wouldn't put it past young Sirius Black to choose tonight to come visiting, and if he does we had best have a little warning.'

'I doubt that he will,' said the new arrival. It was Professor McGonagall, her voice low and sober but clearly unsettled. 'Argus had him scouring mop buckets until half past eleven… Poppy, what happened?'

'I don't know yet,' the matron said. 'Brynna couldn't say for certain, and the poor thing is in no state to be speaking for himself. Now, dear, I fancy you'd rather have your wife see to this, but I think it's best for all concerned if I… _oh_!'

There were twin gasps, sharp and startled. When Professor McGonagall spoke the words trembled dreadfully. 'Is… isn't that the Scalding Curse?'

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue grimly. 'She should have brought him to see me last week,' she muttered. 'I told her, but she's as stubborn as a Welsh ox and she wouldn't hear of it.' Her tone shifted to one of perplexed professionalism. 'It doesn't seem infected: the edges are healing nicely and the blisters have started to drain. It wouldn't account for the nosebleed or the eye.'

'Alastor might have used a lighter touch,' Professor McGonagall said grimly. 'Much more determination and he might have killed him.'

'He couldn't have known who he was hexing.' Professor Meyrigg was back: she must have come by Floo, for Remus had not heard the door. Her voice was hoarse and spell-shocked. 'They… they wear masks. I don't think he even knew that Owyn was with them.'

'He never should have been with them at all!' said the matron sharply. 'Far too dangerous. I don't know what the Headmaster was thinking.'

'Where is he?' Professor McGonagall asked. 'I would have thought he would want to be here.'

'He's gone to see Daedalus Diggle,' Meyrigg said hollowly. 'We've got to find out if he said anything; if anyone else is in danger.'

'Said anything?' echoed the older teacher. 'Then you think…'

There was a horrible silence, during which Remus could only imagine Meyrigg nodded.

'I'm afraid it looks as if you're right,' whispered Madam Pomfrey in a voice that would have been suitable for bringing news of a death. 'Minerva, give me that blanket. There's a pot of orange salve on my desk: fetch that as well.'

'I did my best with it,' murmured Meyrigg tearfully. 'He… he swore it wasn't paining him.'

'I'm afraid that he wasn't completely honest about that, dear,' Madam Pomfrey said gently. 'Perhaps that's how he came to let his guard down.'

There was a sound somewhere between a hiss and a sob. Professor McGonagall's footsteps came back across the stone floor.

'There!' said the matron, once more firm and capable. 'I'll just get you bandaged, my lad, and then we'll see.'

'Will he… will his mind be affected?' There was a note of pleading in Meyrigg's voice now. 'If they did use it, I mean.'

'We'll know when he wakes,' Madam Pomfrey said.

'Can you wake him now?' asked McGonagall. She was trying very hard to sound like her usual calm and collected self, and she very nearly succeeded. 'Just to put her mind at rest.'

'It's best if I don't,' said the matron. 'The body knows what it needs: he lost consciousness for a reason and until he's ready to come out of it he ought to be left alone.'

'You mean he may still be in pain,' breathed Professor Meyrigg.

'I'm afraid there is no way to know,' said Pomfrey.

'He cannot stay here,' said Professor McGonagall. 'There is no telling who might come in search of your services, and if there is any chance that his position hasn't been compromised—'

'They tortured him!' cried Meyrigg shrilly. 'Do you really think his position _hasn't_ been compromised?'

'Brynna, you need to be calm,' McGonagall declared. 'Brynna… Brynna, _look _at me. You need to be calm. If they found out the truth, why did they let him out alive? Why did they allow you to collect him? You need to look at this sensibly.'

'That's just what I told her,' Madam Pomfrey muttered.

'Now, sit down and breathe deeply, slowly. There. You won't help Owyn by working yourself up into a state: all you'll do is make things more difficult for Poppy and perhaps do yourself an injury. Deep breaths. There.'

After a minute or two of this, Professor McGonagall seemed to turn to Madam Pomfrey. 'Can we move him somewhere less conspicuous?' she asked.

'My office,' said Meyrigg. Her voice had the steadiness that only came in the wake of monstrous anxiety. 'I can stay with him: you can stop by to check on him…'

'It's out of the question, I'm afraid,' said the matron. 'He can't be moved from the bed, and I do not think it would be a good idea to try to Levitate it up and down stairs. Besides, if he takes a turn I shall need swift access to my dispensary. He will have to stay here.'

'The quarantine room, then,' said Professor McGonagall. 'So that at least he is out of sight.'

Remus's pulse quickened again. She meant his room: the room in which he was lying right now. He supposed that Professor McGonagall might have forgotten about the full moon – after all, she had a great deal on her mind, and his transformations were surely not as significant to her as they were to him. Still, he felt a pang of betrayal: now Meyrigg would have to be put off somehow.

'It's occupied,' said Madam Pomfrey hastily.

'Occupied?' echoed Meyrigg.

'Occupied,' repeated the matron. She exhaled heavily and Remus could hear her fingers drumming on a bed-rail. 'I suppose if we put him in the corner with screens we might be able to manage.'

'Poppy…' McGonagall began.

'Is it contagious?' asked Meyrigg anxiously. She was beginning to sound rather paranoid. 'Ought I have taken him to St Mungo's instead?'

'Certainly not!' exclaimed the Transfiguration professor. 'You have done the right thing, and he will get better care here than he could at the hospital. It's nothing contagious, and you needn't worry, and Poppy, is there any chance that _he_ is well enough to be moved?'

Remus realized with a sickening jolt that she was talking about him. His hand crept under the counterpane to where the bandages swathed his chest. He seemed to remember that the muscles were once more stretched over the denuded ribs, but there was a sticky, spongy feeling to the dressing that told him the wounds were still open. He did not want to be sent back to the dormitory in such a state. He did not want his friends to know how badly he was injured: Sirius would worry and James would fret and Peter would be so frightened…

'No,' said Madam Pomfrey. Remus could have wept for gratitude. She sighed. 'We shall just have to shut down the wing.'

'I cannot allow _that_,' McGonagall said grimly. 'If students have need of medical attention they need to have access to it. First and foremost this is a school, and that responsibility has to take precedence. Can we not—'

There was a knock at the outer door. All three women seemed scarcely to breathe.

'Madam?' The voice was courteous and reassuring despite its solemnity: Professor Dumbledore. 'Please do let me in.'

Someone hurried to the door and there was a sound of rustling robes and the swish of a travelling cloak. 'Headmaster…' Professor Meyrigg choked out.

'There, my dear: there's no need for that,' soothed Dumbledore. 'Has he woken yet?'

No one spoke, but there must have been some sort of answer given, for the Headmaster went on. 'There has been no sign of unusual activity in Croydon,' he said. 'All subjects under observation are accounted for, and none of our people appear to be in imminent danger. I have asked Alastor Moody to keep us informed, but for the moment it seems that the situation is under control.'

'Under control indeed,' scoffed Madam Pomfrey. 'Have you any idea the state this boy is in? He never should have been in that position in the first place. As for Alastor Moody, I shall have some very strong words for him when next we meet. You'd think he was fixing a lobster dinner, not hunting down criminals!'

'We shall have to move him,' said Professor Dumbledore. 'He cannot stay in the open: the chance of word getting out is far too great. I presume we are avoiding unnecessary charms until we're certain what has been done to him?'

It was not at all difficult to imagine the matron's curt nod.

'Then I suppose it's best that we wheel him. Poppy, if you will steer. Minerva, please get the door.'

There was a startled pause.

'It's occupied,' said Madam Pomfrey hoarsely.

'Occupied,' repeated McGonagall.

'Occupied?' said Dumbledore. 'By whom?'

As emphatically as he tried to tell himself that the Headmaster of Hogwarts could not be troubled with such minutia, Remus could not help but feel wounded. Worry was more pressing, however. The uneasy realization that something would have to be done at once, and that Professor Meyrigg – who was not party to his secret – was just beyond the door set his stomach churning.

'We can put him in my office,' said Madam Pomfrey, dispersing the uncomfortable quiet with a firm and decisive voice. 'Minerva, if you would just shift the sofa out here the bed should fit nicely.'

There was a murmured incantation and the noise of gurney wheels. Madam Pomfrey's solicitous murmuring resumed, further away now and swiftly muffled by a closing door. At first Remus thought that everyone had repaired to the matron's office, but then Professor McGonagall spoke.

'I suppose this is the end of this madness?' she asked in a low, grim voice. 'You will pull him out now, of course.'

'I don't know.' Dumbledore's voice was pensive, his words very slow and deliberate. 'If they meant him harm then surely they would have finished the job. We shall have to see what he has to say for himself when he wakes.'

'If he wakes,' murmured McGonagall. The silence that met her stretched on until Remus lost all sense of time and fell back into foggy slumber.


	86. Uneasy Revelations

_**Note: **__Wow! You met the review quota in record time! Here's the new chapter, hot off the presses and rushed to post just for you. Cheers!_

**Chapter Eighty-Six: Uneasy Revelations**

When Remus woke up with a desperate searing in his throat and intolerable pressure in his bladder, he felt certain that it had all been a dream – a vivid and not implausible dream, but a dream nonetheless. He lay still for a time, trying to decide whether he could bear his discomfort a little longer and spare Madam Pomfrey the trouble of coming to help him. As devoutly as he wished he might, it was obvious that if he wanted to keep his dignity and spare the matron the ugly chore of cleaning him up, he was going to have to ring. The ligaments in his shoulder protested as he reached for the bell, but his fingers obeyed him and the silvery summons sang out.

He heard the matron's footfalls almost at once, and a moment later his door was open. Beyond it the ward was enshrouded with the grey light of dawn. Remus saw the matron's office across the way, tightly shut up. Nearby sat the sofa that ordinarily resided within. His eyes shot to Madam Pomfrey, still fully clothed in rather rumpled robes. Wisps of hair were coming loose from the ordinarily tidy knot beneath her cap and there was a smear of orange unguent across the front of her apron.

Remus felt the last memory of moisture vanishing from his mouth. It had not been a dream, then.

He placidly took his potions and swallowed nearly a glassful of water at one go. She helped him with the bedpan, checked the dressings on his ribs, and sealed a suppurating claw-mark on his left arm. All the while she murmured soothing nothings, but her mind did not seem to be on the task at hand. When Remus was settled again she offered him another drink and brushed the hair back from his brow.

'How do you feel, dear?' she asked gently, as if seeing him for the first time.

'I'm well, Madam,' Remus said politely. His voice was so hoarse that he could scarcely make himself heard: the wolf must have howled through the entire night.

She frowned probingly. 'And are you in pain?' she asked.

'A little, Madam,' he confessed, colouring a little. 'The… the potion's beginning to work.'

'You be sure and tell me if it doesn't,' she said sternly. 'I'll not have my patients suffering if I can help it.'

Remus wanted to ask whether the man brought in last night was going to be all right. He was almost certain that it had to be Professor Meyrigg's husband: what else could have driven her to such a state? But he held his tongue. He knew that he had not been meant to be listening, and he did not want Madam Pomfrey to think badly of him for eavesdropping. Fervently he pledged that he would never let on to his friends what he had overheard.

Madam Pomfrey produced a damp flannel and began to wipe crusted blood from Remus's hands. The nail beds were rusty with it, and of the third fingernail on his right hand only a ragged scrap remained. The wolf had obviously been scrabbling at something with mad abandon. 'Did you sleep all right?' she asked, focusing intently on her work so that he could not look her in the eyes.

'Yes, Madam,' he said, too quickly. She glanced at him, and he cast his gaze away. 'I heard a bit of a commotion, I think,' he whispered. 'I thought I was dreaming.'

'I'm sorry, Remus: it couldn't be helped,' said Madam Pomfrey sadly. 'There was someone else in need of my attention last night, and I'm afraid in all the confusion I didn't think to keep the noise down. Did you… that is to say…'

There was a startled cry somewhere out of sight. Remus stiffened and Madam Pomfrey dropped the flannel even before Professor Meyrigg cried out; 'Poppy! _Poppy!_'

Hurriedly the matron wiped her hands on her apron. She turned distractedly between the boy and the door before patting Remus's shoulder in a hasty gesture of consolation. 'I'll be back as quickly as I can, dear, and we can discuss it.'

She bolted out the door, down the little step and across to her office. As she swooped inside Remus caught sight of the foot of a hospital bed, something large and lumpy beneath its blankets. Professor Meyrigg was standing over it, her braids loose from their pins and her eyes wild. He did not think she saw him: she seemed to focus at once on the matron. Then the door of the office swung closed.

There were sounds of hushed commotion, and something like a hysterical sob. Then for a long time all that Remus could hear were low murmurs that did not form anything like words. He let out his breath in forced puffs and tried to slow the hammering of his heart, which was beginning to pain his mauled ribs. Finally there was silence, but Madam Pomfrey did not emerge.

How he was able to fall asleep with the door ajar he did not know. Still, his body seemed set upon rest despite the state of his mind, and he drifted away again.

_discidium_

'Knock-knock,' someone whispered. Remus tried to open his eyes, but they were crusted with sleep and he lacked the fortitude to force them. His thumb found its drowsy way to his face, scrubbing away the scratchy flakes and enabling him to squint at the dark shapes silhouetted against the golden glow of daylight. Sirius crept around the door while Peter slipped after him. He closed it with care and grinned enormously.

'How's my best werewolf?' he asked, still keeping his voice very low.

'Are you all right?' Peter queried anxiously, hurrying towards the bed. He stopped short when he saw the bandages where they peeked from under the bedclothes. Remus was not yet healed enough to justify putting him in a hospital smock. 'Oh, dear…'

'You've put Pomfrey through her paces,' Sirius said. He dragged the chair near to the bed and flopped down upon it. 'She's passed out on a sofa out there! Snuck right by her, we did. Blimey, Remus, I knew you didn't have an easy time of it this month, but you could at least let the woman get a bit of a kip the night after, couldn't you?'

Remus could not say anything. It had not been he who had kept the matron up all night, but he was firmly resolved not to hint at that. He ran his swollen tongue along his cracked lips.

Sirius recognized the signs at once, and a moment later he was bracing Remus's neck and shoulders with one arm while the opposite hand offered the glass of water. Remus drank and let his friend ease him back down onto the pillow.

'Thanks,' he exhaled, managing a weary smile. 'It's not as bad as it looks, I promise.'

Sirius snorted in disbelief, but Peter looked relieved. 'We'll tell James,' he said fervently. 'I'm sure he'll be down to visit as soon as he hears.'

'Potter,' scoffed Sirius, wafting a hand in mild exasperation. 'You'd think he's the one with the delicate constitution. He's a right girl when it comes to these things.'

'Perhaps you ought to go,' Remus said. He knew it was impolite to say such things, and there was a part of him that cried out against discouraging his friends from spending time with him when he very nearly lived for their visits, but the anxious thought that they might discover what was going on fluttered in his chest. 'Madam Pomfrey was most insistent that I rest, and you can tell James that I'm all right so that he doesn't worry, and anyhow there's breakfast…'

'Breakfast?' laughed Sirius. 'It's gone eleven! We ate ages ago. That's one of the reasons we came, actually,' he said, producing a rolled newspaper from his belt and smoothing it over the coverlet. 'Today's _Prophet_. You're famous!'

Puzzled, Remus looked down at the paper. The leading photograph showed a decrepit old house, door and windows boarded tight. There were bald patches on the roof where slates had blown away, and the eaves were drooping. The boards of the stoop were broken and an upstairs shutter was hanging loose, swinging from a single rusty hinge. Below it the headline announced:

_Sightings Confirmed: Hogsmeade Home to Britain's Most Haunted House_

'There was a team from the Department of Mysteries in the village on Thursday!' Sirius said eagerly. 'Seems the good people of Hogsmeade have been complaining about the especially violent ghosts who have taken up residence in the old house on the edge of town. The Ministry sent down a couple of blokes and that mad old witch who's always banging on about spirits over the wireless. They spent the whole night making observations and taking notes and trying to get into the house, but they couldn't. Popular opinion has it that the ghosts are guarding their property somehow.'

'It's very interesting,' Remus said, scanning a paragraph about poltergeist control; 'but I can't see what it has to do with me.'

Sirius grinned. 'Can't you?' he asked. He tapped a line at the head of the second column. 'Seems the ghosts only ever get together for a barney at the _full moon_: yowling and shrieking and screaming and carrying on, banging around and smashing things all night. I mean, it's you, isn't it?' he asked eagerly. 'This house: this is where the tunnel goes.'

Remus would have paled, if he had had enough colour in his cheeks to do so. His stomach churned. It had never really occurred to him that it was unlikely that there was an Imperturbable Charm on the house. He had taken it as written that there would be: it was one of many wards that his father cast on the cellar door at home. But of course, one door was very different from an entire building, and anyhow he never saw Madam Pomfrey casting spells before she left him. He should have known that he might be heard, but he had never thought of it until now.

And the Ministry had sent people to investigate. They had been trying to get into the house. His fingers crept up to the wadded bandages around his chest. That explained it, then: if the wolf had sensed people – prey – so near, it would have done everything in its power to reach them. A lost nail, a bruised skull: these were nothing to the temptation of human flesh. And when the wolf realized at last that its prize was out of reach…

'…_Professor Filius Flitwick, who confirmed this reporter's suspicion that the ghosts in question had been relocated from Hogwarts Castle some eighteen months previous,_' Sirius was reading. '_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore could not be reached for comment_.'

He looked up, still grinning. 'Well?' he asked. 'What do you think?'

'It… it's awful!' stammered Remus. 'It's frightful! People… people have been _hearing_ me!'

'And they think you're a gang of ghosts!' whooped Sirius, clapping his hands. 'Don't you see how brilliant it is? You've got the whole village fooled. You've got the _Ministry of Magic_ chasing their tails! It's a practical joke on a grand scale! You're… you're the consummate Marauder!'

Peter plucked at his friend's sleeve, shaking his head slowly. 'Sirius, I don't really think…'

'You're the haunting in the most haunted house in Britain!' Sirius went on. 'Just imagine what they'd all say if they knew the truth!'

A spasm shot through Remus's abdomen and he clamped his teeth shut over the rising bile. His skin was clammy and he felt certain that he was going to be sick.

Sirius's brows furled. 'Are you all right?' he said worriedly. 'Should I go and wake Pomfrey?'

'No,' Remus said tightly, not trusting his stomach to endure any head-shaking. 'No. I just… I think I'd like to be alone now.'

'Alone?' said Sirius. 'Don't be daft. Look, if I've said anything to upset you…'

'I think we should go,' said Peter quietly. He reached across Sirius's lap and picked up the newspaper, folding it so that the picture, the headline and the article all vanished beneath the winged horse-racing results. 'I said he wouldn't find it funny, Sirius. I did.'

'Well, yeah, but _you're_ never right,' Sirius said, looking about in bewilderment. 'Remus, I wasn't trying…'

'I know,' said Remus. 'I know. I just… it's a surprise, that's all. I didn't know anyone could hear me. I didn't think…'

'The paper says there's s-s-screaming,' whispered Peter, his expression piteous. 'It's not true, is it? I mean, it isn't _that_ awful.'

Remus closed his eyes and turned his head away, unable to face either the question or the two shocked and sympathetic expressions before him.

'Let's go,' Sirius said huskily. 'Remus, you send word when it's all right for us to come back and see you, all right? When you want us, I mean.'

Remus thought he must have nodded, but in any case the others moved off and the door closed quietly. He heard them moving on tiptoes past the sleeping matron, and the ward door swung too. There was a snort in the next room, and he could hear Madam Pomfrey as she rose from the sofa.

He wanted to curl onto his side, but his injuries would not allow it. A flood of anxious and hurtful thoughts slammed against the dam of his mind, and it was about to break over when he heard voices. He seized upon the distraction.

'He's sleeping again.' It was Professor Meyrigg. Her voice was strained and tremulous, but the note of enervated relief was impossible to miss. 'He woke for a little while: he recognized me, he asked about the baby, he knew he wasn't at home. Those are all good signs, aren't they?'

'Yes,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Yes, those are all good signs.'

'They must have… I mean, it must have been more than just the once, to send him off like that,' said Meyrigg. 'Do you think perhaps… more than one of them at once?'

'It's best not to dwell on these things,' the matron chided gently. 'When he's able to tell you what happened you'll have no choice but to cope with it: there's no sense in fretting now.'

'He should have pulled out after the strike in Diagon Alley,' said Meyrigg. 'I should have insisted. If I had brought him here instead of seeing to him at the estate _you_ might have insisted.'

'There's no use in that, either,' said Pomfrey. 'You did what you thought was best at the time, and there is no way that you could have known it would come to this.'

'That's the trouble, though, isn't it? It was always going to come to this. We knew we couldn't keep it up for ever: sooner or later they would work out what was going on.'

Madam Pomfrey made a soft, solicitous sound in the back of her throat. 'Surely not,' she said.

'But they knew,' said Meyrigg fiercely. 'He _told_ them who I am and what I do. He insisted it gave them a chance to learn what Dumbledore was doing, with me at Hogwarts and seeing him every weekend. Owyn thought it would give him more credibility, especially as it's almost certain that some of them have nieces or nephews or sons or daughters or grandchildren at school. But what if, after Moody only winged him, they realized it's been going the other way all along?'

'Moody didn't _only wing him_,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'That was an earnest curse, and the only reason it didn't kill him is because Moody makes it a policy to bring in his targets alive. Two weeks with burns like that… he couldn't have been right in the head.'

There was a rustling of tweed robes and the sofa creaked. A moment later Madam Pomfrey was clicking her tongue softly. 'There, Brynna, I didn't mean it like that. You did your best, and he's the fool for lying to you. You weren't to know. None of this is your fault.'

'That isn't true,' sobbed Professor Meyrigg. 'It isn't true and you know it. Poppy… Poppy, if I lost him I don't know what I would do…'

Remus drew the blankets over his head and shifted his hands so that he might stop his ears. He didn't want to hear this, any of this. He didn't want to think of his cheerful, amiable teacher crying on the matron's shoulder. He didn't want to think about the wizard from the photograph in her office, with the earnest face and the overgrown hair, lying unconscious in Madam Pomfrey's office under the influence of some kind of terrible curse. He didn't want to think of the sinister secrets in the world outside the walls of Hogwarts that had given rise to these troubles.

Still, he could hear Professor Meyrigg weeping.

_discidium_

Several times that day Madam Pomfrey came to check on him, bringing broth and potions and fresh bandages. She progressed a little on the mending of his chest and she put right most of his lesser hurts. There was a tender place on the crown of his head that she couldn't much help: it was bruised rather badly, but his hair covered it. His fingernail was still missing, but she promised to re-grow it for him in a day or two when he was stronger.

In between visits Remus tried to study. Exams were coming, of course, and he was afraid of falling behind. Yet more pressing was the need for distraction. The article in the newspaper had distracted him from the previous night's happenings, and Meyrigg's conversation with Madam Pomfrey had distracted him from the newspaper, and now he needed distraction from that as well, or he was quite sure he would go mad. He wondered if there was a limit to the number of worries the brain could sustain at once. When he realized that he ought to be fretting over what Sirius and Peter had reported to James, too, he began to suspect that there was not.

Madam Pomfrey brought him tea and toast for supper, but Remus could not manage much of either. The one blessing in his situation was that his injuries and the loss of blood – to say nothing of the concoctions that the matron kept supplying – had left him exhausted, and sleep came more easily than it might otherwise have done. Warm beneath the blankets he dozed again, drifting in and out despite the comings and goings beyond his door. Sometimes he heard Madam Pomfrey's voice, capable and soothing. Now and then Professor Meyrigg said something, almost always a question or a simple request. Then Headmaster Dumbledore, sober and kindly, and McGonagall – calm and firm and reassuring now.

He awoke to an unfamiliar voice: deep and timbrous but unsteady, the accent unmistakeably Welsh.

'…as bad as all that, Brynna, really. If I hadn't been flagging already I would have been perfectly all right.'

'Perfectly all right.' Professor Meyrigg's words came out in one long sigh. 'They tortured you.'

'In a way, yes, I suppose they did,' said the man who could only be Owyn. 'Do you see what that means?'

'It means this has gone too far,' she said. 'You are not going back: I forbid it. Dumbledore's opinion is entirely irrelevant.'

'You don't understand,' argued Owyn. 'I'm perfectly all right now: I'll be fit by Monday morning, and I can go back as if nothing even happened. Don't you see, Brynna? They've accepted me. I'm moving up into the next cell: I'll only be a step below his inner circle. The information I can gather…'

'I do not see how you can possibly say that!' said Professor Meyrigg. 'It's perfectly obvious to anyone with half a mind: they are suspicious because Alastor Moody hexed you but didn't take you into custody, so they used the Cruciatus Curse to get you to talk, and now that you haven't they're only going to try harder.'

'Alastor Moody didn't take anyone into custody,' argued the man. He was making an obvious effort to shape a reasoned argument in the face of what he clearly thought to be irrational opposition. 'The Aurors couldn't touch them: they were too organized and they had surprise on their side. That is precisely why I have to go back. These people, Brynna, they have to be stopped. If we don't make an end of it soon then people are going to die. More people. Hundreds of people, perhaps thousands. The man is deranged. He has to be stopped.'

'I agree,' Meyrigg said. 'What I don't see is why you have to be the one to stop him. You've done your part and established that he's directly involved. You've been wounded by one of our own and you've been tortured by the enemy and you've done enough. You are paid up, Owyn. It's time to step back and let someone else take the risks.'

'Damn it, no one else can do it!' exclaimed Owyn. There was a soft _thud_ as he brought his fist down on the arm of the sofa. 'I'm in. I've _done_ it. After eleven godforsaken months of scraping and fawning and running out to the shops for a paper or a packet of fags or a bottle of wine, I've finally been accepted. What happened the other night… it was an initiation.'

'It was a life sentence in Azkaban!' cried Meyrigg. 'I cannot believe that you want to go back, to put yourself at the mercy of these lunatics, to risk your life _again_ when it's plain that you—'

Something muffled her tirade. Remus thought for a moment that he recognized the sound, but indistinct uneasiness came with that feeling and he forced both away. There was silence on the other side of the door now, until it was broken by a soft, wistful sigh.

'I don't want to go back,' said Owyn gently. 'I don't _want_ to risk it. But we both know that I have to; that neither of us would ever forgive me if I didn't. The Dark Lord has to be stopped, and if there is any chance that I can help to do it I have to. In my place you know you would do the same thing.'

'They're turning you,' murmured Meyrigg. 'You're talking like them now: _the Dark Lord_? You've never called him that before.'

'They all call him that: he insists upon it,' the man said. 'No one speaks his name, and so I don't either.' There was something like bitterness in his voice as he added, 'I'm a very good spy, Brynna. I might have been rubbish on the stage, but in close quarters it seems I'm first rate. It's easier if I don't slip in and out of character.'

There was a long pause. 'What are you saying?' Meyrigg asked, her voice rasping hollowly.

'You know what I'm saying,' Owyn murmured. 'I am not their errand-boy anymore. The strike on the Advocates' office was a test, and I passed it. Friday night was my induction, and I finished it. They are going to want me to be on hand all the time now. I shan't be allowed to run home at week-ends, and they certainly won't stand for me having any more contact with you than is strictly necessary. If I am going to make the best use of my new position, you are going to have to stop coming to collect me.'

'No…' The empty breath hardened into a sharp declaration. '_No._ You can't say that you have to do your part, and then in the same breath tell me that I can't do mine! The only thing that has made this arrangement bearable is being able to see you at week-ends: I cannot possibly sit by while you risk everything. You have no right to order me to stand down: I'm your wife, not your chattel, and I absolutely refuse!'

'You're the handler; I'm the agent,' countered Owyn. 'You know the rule: I am in control. What I say goes. It's too dangerous, Brynna. Even if there were no risk to me, there's the baby to consider. You are not supposed to be Apparating at all, much less across the country and back, carrying runaway schoolboys and unconscious passengers. After what has happened these last three times, I would have thought it was obvious that you couldn't continue.'

When Meyrigg spoke her words were hard and very cold. 'I have _not_ lost my talent just because I am going to have a baby,' she said. 'I am no less of a witch because of it, and I am no less a member of the Order. If you have so little respect for me then perhaps we never should have contracted this child in the first place!'

Breathless silence seemed to seep through the door. Remus once again wished that he were anywhere but here. He did not want to listen, but he could not help himself. He couldn't even try to cover his ears. It was unthinkable.

'But we have, Brynna,' said the man. 'And it's my child, too. I'm trusting you with the life of my baby: don't you see that? You have a responsibility to both of us to keep him safe. That's more important than nannying me. Dumbledore has agreed to arrange for someone else to debrief me every week. He's a rogue and a crook and a petty thief – precisely the sort of person to be found in the back streets of Croydon these days. It is much safer for all of us; much better for my cover; much more responsible. We should have made the switch months ago, only you insisted otherwise. Stay here. See to your students. _Rest_. When I have enough information Dumbledore will pull me out. Don't worry.'

'Don't worry. It's as simple as that, is it?' Meyrigg sniffed.

'There is nothing about it that's simple; you know that,' he said. 'We are all doing what we have to do. I know that this is an impossible thing to ask of you, but I have no choice. If you had told the Headmaster about the baby before now he would have put a stop to it before Easter. You know you've been working on borrowed time.'

The next words were a whisper, so low that Remus could scarcely hear them. 'Sometimes I think that borrowed time is all that we have left.'

_discidium_

On Monday morning the sofa was gone from the main ward, and Madam Pomfrey brought in the breakfast tray with a smile and a cheerful greeting. It was as if nothing untoward had happened at all. When Remus had eaten she removed the bandages and helped him into a warm bath. By the time he was finished there were clean sheets on the bed and his nightshirt was laid out for him.

He was not quite strong enough to return to lessons, and so he sat up against the cushions and forced himself to work on his final essay for History of Magic. There was a great deal that he might have mulled over, but it seemed wiser to try not to think about it. He had promised himself that this time, for certain, he was not going to tell his friends what he had heard, and the conversation of the night before had only fixed the idea more firmly in his mind. As much as he wanted to protect Professor Meyrigg's privacy that was no longer his sole concern. The truth was that her words had frightened him. It was one thing to read about such horrible things in _The Daily Prophet_, safe in the knowledge that newspapers liked to sensationalize the truth. It was another thing entirely to hear an adult he respected and trusted, someone who was certainly not prone to unreasonable outbursts or exaggeration, speaking with such grim terror. For Professor Meyrigg to be so distraught the situation had to be very serious indeed.

He wanted to hope that perhaps it was not as bad as it seemed, and that most of her distress was due to the fact that her husband was mixed up in all of it – but that did not carry him very far. If Professor Dumbledore himself was taking the threat of the madman in Croydon seriously enough to send someone to infiltrate his organization, the danger had to be real. That realization filled him with unease.

He could not let his friends know any of this: it would only upset them. James would be angry, righteously wrathful against this Slytherin lord and his followers. Peter would be terrified. And Sirius… the rage that Sirius harboured for the blood purists and their doings went deeper than almost any other emotion he had ever shown. Remus knew that the Blacks were mixed up in the political aspects of the movement, though surely they had nothing to do with the masked wizards who murdered Muggles and hunted down Muggle-borns. For a long time James had managed to calm his friend's fits of choler by pointing out that it was possible that this man whom Sirius's parents so admired was only a political zealot who had unwittingly inspired radicals to violence. Now it seemed that this was not the case. When Sirius found that out there was no telling what he might do.

So he had to keep quiet, and to do that Remus was convinced he had to stop thinking about it. The more he thought, the more he felt that he _had_ to say something to someone, if only to lighten the weight of worry on his heart. He wished that he dared to tell Madam Pomfrey what he had heard. Surely she would have been able to say something kind and sensible and comforting, but then he would have to admit that he had been eavesdropping. Although he had not really had much choice, with all of them shouting right beyond his room, Remus could not help thinking that he was in the wrong. He could not bear to have the matron think badly of him. She was always so sweet, so good to him; she never made him feel like a part-human or a burden or a beast. He did not want to risk losing that.

He sat, therefore, and he fixed his mind on History of Magic. Wizarding involvement at Agincourt was an interesting enough subject, and made all the more challenging by the fact that he had grown up steeped in the Muggle version of events which, post Statute of Secrecy, were less than complete and often contradictory. After a while his own worries and the larger problems of the nation seemed to dim a little, and the sense of impending doom receded. There was a comforting rhythm to organizing his thoughts neatly on paper, categorical and impersonal and concerned with matters left far away in the safety of the past. He felt calmer than he had in days as he focused intently on the work before him.

So it was when his friends arrived he was in a fit state to see them. He smiled, laying aside his quill and meticulously blotting the parchment as they piled into the room. James elbowed Sirius aside and took the place nearest the head of the bed.

'All right, Remus?' he said cheerfully, hazel eyes making a sweeping assessment of the other boy. 'Have you heard you're famous?'

'He doesn't want to talk about it,' Peter said with quiet insistence.

'But it's _brilliant_!' said James. 'What a joke!'

'That's just what I said,' Sirius agreed. He grinned. 'You are looking better, you know. Any chance Pomfrey will let you out tonight?'

'I don't think so,' said Remus. 'Tomorrow morning, perhaps.'

'It's been a long stay,' said James. 'The longest since October, isn't it?'

Remus said nothing. He did not want to have to explain how the proximity of Ministry ghost-hunters must have provoked the wolf. He shifted his legs awkwardly between the sheets. It seemed such a long time since he had last had so many secrets to keep from his friends. He told himself hastily that the gravest of them were not _his_ secrets to tell. It was not wrong to respect the privacy of others: he had helped Sirius write a twenty-inch paper on that very subject little more than a week ago.

'I've got something to show you,' Sirius said, fumbling in his satchel. Remembering the newspaper, Remus braced himself. He almost laughed aloud with relief when his friend produced a sheaf of glossy rectangles and flung them upon the bed. 'Drommie sent a whole bundle!' he cried happily. 'There's one of the baby sleeping, and one of her taking her bottle – four ounces at a go, Drommie says – and a cute one of her having a wash. I'm sure she'll find that _dreadfully _embarrassing when she gets older.'

'Her belly button is black,' Peter said, wrinkling his nose.

'I think that's normal,' Remus told him. 'It'll heal.' He picked up what appeared to be an extreme close-up of a tiny hand, slender fingers clasping against a terrycloth romper. 'She's very sweet, Sirius.'

'The sweetest!' he agreed stoutly. 'Oh, and look at this one! They've caught her at it at last! Took three rolls of film, according to Drommie.'

He plucked up another photo and held it for Remus to see. The baby's serene little face bunched up into a mass of wrinkles as if she was going to scream. Her cheeks flushed and her mouth shrivelled into a tiny pink raisin and then suddenly the wee nose broadened, flattening noticeably. Her face relaxed abruptly and she let out a sigh.

'Apparently she left quite the present in her nappy after that one,' said Sirius proudly. He winked. 'Drommie made Ted clean it up.'

'Honestly, you're getting to be a bit of a bore about those photos,' James said. He cast a long-suffering eye on Remus. 'He was passing them 'round the room in Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'So?' said Sirius. 'It's not as if Meyrigg was doing much teaching. She's looking off-colour again,' he added for Remus's benefit. 'Whatever she got up to over the weekend it obviously didn't agree with her.'

Remus bit down on the tip of his tongue, picking up the image of Nymphadora and her bottle. Andromeda's hand was in the frame, her fingernails trimmed shorter than he had ever seen them but still buffed to a high sheen. He supposed that even with a new baby to care for there were some standards the fashionable young woman refused to let slip. It meant that she was coping well with her new responsibilities, if she had time to see to her nails.

'Perhaps she's ill again,' said Peter. 'I heard Lily Evans tell Charlotte White that there's flu going 'round the school.'

'Shows what she knows, silly girl,' scoffed James. 'It's not flu; it's the baby. Mum was sick off and on the whole time she was expecting me. Used to say it was a cruel trick to call it _morning_ sickness, too.'

'Oh, you'd make anyone sick who had to carry you about for nine months, Potter,' Sirius ribbed. He sighed despondently. 'I don't suppose I could convince the three of you to follow her on Friday, could I?'

'_No!_' chorused all three boys at once. Remus's exclamation was one of horror. Peter sounded anxious. James let the word out in a whoop of laughter.

'Absolutely, positively, unequivocally under no circumstances whatsoever!' he declared. 'Even if you hadn't ruined any chance of any of us getting anywhere near her ever again, Saturday is the House Cup. If you think I am going to jeopardize my place on the team by disobeying Professor McGonagall, or risk hurting my performance by staying up 'til all hours then you have another think fast approaching in the last mile! I will be drinking plenty of fluids and going to bed early, and if you weren't going to be in detention I would suggest you do the same! There are some things, Sirius Black, that don't wait on your curiosity. I have a match to win, so sod Meyrigg and her secrets!'

Sirius looked mildly affronted at the outburst, but he collected himself quickly and shrugged. 'Who am I to stand in the way of a Gryffindor victory?' he asked.

After that the conversation turned to Quidditch, and specifically Eldritch McKinnon's strategies for the big day. Remus was at last able to relax and enjoy the gleeful banter of his friends. It seemed that, for the moment at least, he did not have to worry about how to hold his tongue.


	87. A Weary Week

**Chapter Eighty-Seven: A Weary Week**

Remus had been anxious to leave the hospital wing where he had nothing to do but lie in bed fretting, but by midmorning on Tuesday he had repented his haste. Professor Slughorn was feeling the pressure of the end of term, and he was trying to push the class through lessons that had been put off for one reason or another over the course of the year. On this particular day he had them brewing a Soothing Solution while at the same time bobbing up and down the aisles between tables, lecturing at a great pace about the Draught of Forgetfulness. It was impossible to focus on brewing one potion while absorbing the theory of another, and Remus's head – which ached at the best of times in this classroom with wolfsbane in the cupboards – was swimming. All around him his classmates were fumbling, whispering anxiously to their partners and spilling from their mortars and smearing their notes. At the table across the way Sirius was moving like a cyclone, mouthing dirty words whenever Slughorn's broad back was turned. James kept alternating between his knife and his quill, and there was a quantity of clove oil oozing across the countertop between them. Remus reached for the rag they kept on hand for such instances, and very nearly knocked over his inkwell. His throat was tight and his chest was aching and he was beginning to realize that he was still short on blood despite Madam Pomfrey's diligent dosing.

'This is ridiculous,' James hissed, very nearly dropping his pen into the cauldron. 'Does he think we've got four hands apiece?'

Remus shook his head helplessly. On the far side of the classroom in the front row were the only two students who did not seem to be struggling. Lily Evans and Severus Snape, perennial partners despite the customary friction between their two Houses, were functioning like a well-oiled machine. Lily was writing with her right hand and stirring with her left, while Severus chopped the snakeroot leaves, pausing now and again to add precisely-measured portions of the other ingredients. Both wore looks of intense concentration, but there was a serenity in their expressions and their motions that the rest of the class lacked. He watched as Lily monopolized upon one of Slughorn's frequent asides to highborn students to set down her quill. Without a word Severus passed her the clove oil and plucked up the bryony. Perfectly coordinated, they added the two ingredients at exactly the same time while Lily stirred all the while.

'No, watch it!' James yelped, swatting Remus's hand away before he could sprinkle his snakeroot to their cauldron. 'It's got to simmer another two minutes yet!'

'I'm sorry!' Remus moaned. He dropped the oozing green mess onto the cutting board and tried to scribble down what Professor Slughorn had just said about betony overdose and long-term memory damage. There was a nasty squalling squeak as his quill shuddered across the parchment, its nib splitting right up to the vanes. He dropped it with a little shudder of despair: it was his last one and he had not yet found time to go up to the Owlery to look for suitable spares.

'…essential to test a _small_ quantity of the potion before administering a full dose!' Professor Slughorn chortled. He seemed to think the remark wildly funny, but only Aeolus Andrews managed a strained giggle. Like everyone else he looked rather deranged, and his sister had a clump of screw-moss in her hair.

Professor Slughorn planted his hands on his hips and rocked back and forth on his heels so that his substantial belly bobbed under his robes. 'I don't know what's wrong with all of you today!' he said. 'This is the interesting bit! You've been working all year to get to the point where you can understand these kind of concoctions, and now you're here you aren't enjoying it!'

A murmur of dissent rippled through the room. Sirius picked up his ladle and grimaced at it, looking as if he very much wanted to throw it at the teacher. Remus hissed and when Sirius turned to look at him, shook his head fervently. They had all been making quite enough trouble lately without starting another conflagration of mischief in Potions. Regretfully, Sirius put down the utensil and reached to rescue his textbook from Peter's sticky-fingered attempt to turn the page.

'Perhaps if you would talk about the potion we're _making_, Professor, we might find it all a bit easier to follow,' said Athena Andrews with a simpering smile.

'There, there, my dear: you're quite clever enough to think about two potions at once,' Slughorn assured her fondly. 'After all, how can you aspire to greatness if you're not willing to – no, _no_, dear, you're stirring _much _too quickly!'

Athena made a small noise of frustration and let go of her ladle, clutching at her temples. Her fingers found the spongy bit of moss entangled in her tresses and she withdrew her hand with a yelp, shaking it frenetically to loosen the foreign matter. Most of the Slytherins and a good number of Gryffindors chuckled.

Remus did not notice Sirius's hand creeping beneath the countertop until one of the Slytherin girls stifled a surprised cry. Her helping of screw-moss was rising into the air – as were half a dozen others. Remus looked immediately at Sirius, who was staring off into space with an innocent smile on his lips and intense concentration in his eyes. James choked on an anticipatory laugh. Peter, who was still trying to make sense of the heap of ingredients before him, did not seem to notice anything was amiss.

Nor did the Andrews twins, who had turned their focus back on their cauldron. Slughorn had moved on to Lily Evans and Severus Snape, and was lavishing an inordinate amount of praise on their work while Lily beamed happily up at him and Severus looked quietly smug. It was not often that he was singled out for praise by the teacher – despite his aptitude for the subject he was neither extraordinary enough nor well-connected enough to interest his Head of House.

Slughorn was just in the process of awarding five points to each of them when Sirius's body jerked ever so slightly to the left. His off-hand was resting on the table, and his right was hidden beneath it, presumably holding his wand. At once the hovering chunks of screw-moss flew through the air, swarming like honeybees at the heads of the Andrews twins.

_discidium_

Professor Slughorn was never very good at sorting out the pandemonium in his classroom, and it was rare for the guilty party to get his just reward. Professor McGonagall, however, was not so easily fooled. At twenty past twelve the four self-appointed Marauders stood before her desk, hands behind their backs. In the visitors' chairs sat the Andrews siblings, arms crossed and twin expressions of righteous anger on their faces. James's attempt to greet them amicably had been met with stony silence.

'Now, then,' said Professor McGonagall. She was standing behind her desk, holding her wand like a switch and staring down at her four suspects through the lenses of her spectacles. 'Is one of you inclined to confess, or shall I punish all four of you?'

'If you'll pardon my mentioning it, Professor,' said Sirius pleasantly; 'don't you think you've left logic behind this time?'

She turned a very cold eye upon him. 'I beg your pardon, Black?' she said.

'Well,' said Sirius; 'I mean, dragging Remus and Peter in. Obviously it's not outside the realm of belief that James or I might be responsible for this… unfortunate mishap, but they couldn't possibly have anything to do with it.'

'I see.' The Gryffindor Head of House studied the quartet before her. 'Why is that, precisely?'

'Well, Remus is too well-behaved for a start,' Sirius argued. 'He's not one to go around disrupting lessons. It's all most teachers can do to get him to speak up to answer a question. You know that: only last week you practically had to enchant his tongue to get him to take us through that equation, when it was perfectly obvious he knew it cold. It's just the same in every lesson apart from Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'And History of Magic,' said James sagely; 'but that's only because Professor Binns never asks questions.'

McGonagall took the time to blink twice, ponderously, before shaking her head. 'What is your point, Black?' she asked.

'Well, he's _good_ at Transfiguration,' he said; 'and even then he doesn't like to draw attention to himself. It's even worse in Potions, because he's sort of rubbish at it. 'M sorry, Remus: no offence meant.'

'None taken,' Remus said courteously. The teacher shot him a sharp look before turning back to Sirius, impatience obvious in her progressively thinning lips.

'I see,' she said. 'So your argument is that Lupin would not cause trouble in Potions because he is already struggling with the subject and would not wish to draw any more untoward attention to himself?'

'Yes!' Sirius said, pleased that she understood him so completely.

'And does the same rationale apply to Pettigrew?' asked McGonagall.

Sirius seemed surprised by the suggestion. 'Well, Professor, it certainly could,' he said. 'I mean, he's definitely worse at brewing than just about everyone else, Remus included.'

'Apart from that Slytherin girl with the short hair,' said James.

'Apart from her, naturally,' Sirius agreed. 'But no, I was going to say that levitating seven different things in different parts of a classroom all at once and making them swarm at two separate targets is rather outside of Peter's scope.'

'It's true,' Peter said fervently, bobbing his head in agreement. 'It's right outside my scope. I can hardly manage to levitate _one_ thing at a time. Seven would be impossible. Professor,' he added, suddenly timid as he realized that he was speaking to a teacher.

McGonagall seemed to consider this carefully, studying the portly boy as she did so. At last she nodded. 'That, at least, is a compelling argument,' she said. 'Pettigrew, you may go and finish your lunch.'

Peter took two eager steps towards the door before the thought struck him that perhaps he ought to show solidarity with his friends. He hesitated, looking back. James grinned and jerked his head at the exit: he was free to go.

Obviously relieved, Peter scurried off, leaving three suspects to face their accusers. Aeolus Andrews was scowling bitterly now: clearly he felt that Peter should not have been let off so lightly.

'Professor,' Sirius said in his most reasonable voice; 'don't you think you had better let Remus go, too? He could do with lunch, too, and a bit of a sit-down.'

'Lupin, you may sit if you wish to,' McGonagall said, indicating the bench by the entrance.

It was certainly tempting: it had been a difficult morning and Remus was beginning to feel overwarm – which usually meant he was on his way to growing faint. But he stubbornly refused to let the Andrews twins see him showing any weakness if he could help it. 'No thank you, Professor,' he said. 'I trust it won't take much longer to settle this.'

'He's right, you know,' said Sirius. 'Because when it comes right down to it you haven't got a shred of evidence that any of us were involved. The room was _full_ of Slytherins, Professor: any one of them might have decided to liven things up by taking a shot at a couple of Gryffindors.'

'Especially Gryffindors so high in the favour of the Slytherin Head of House,' James agreed. 'Professor Slughorn's indiscriminate fondness for persons of talent and influence is bound to cause some resentment among the more insignificant breed of Slytherin, wouldn't you say, Sirius?'

'Indubitably.' Sirius nodded solemnly. 'It's a perfectly reasonable explanation, Professor.'

'Really it's Slughorn's fault, when you think about it,' added James.

Professor McGonagall's expression could have withered holly. '_Professor_ Slughorn's rapport with his students is neither here nor there,' she said. 'Furthermore, if I had cause to believe that any of your classmates bore responsibility in this do you not think that I would be questioning them as well?'

'I'll allow you make a good point there,' said Sirius.

Aeolus was smirking now. Clearly he thought the matter was about to be decided in his favour.

'However,' said McGonagall; 'as there are no witnesses to the casting of the spell in question I am left with only one method of establishing whether any of you are the guilty party. Your wands, please.'

Remus produced his at once, hesitating only an instant before setting it down on the tartan blotter. He knew that he had nothing to fear from Professor McGonagall, of course. James dug out his wand with a long-suffering sigh, settling it next to his friend's. His fingers lingered a moment longer on the handle before he stepped back and clasped his fingers behind his back.

'Why should I give you my wand?' Sirius demanded stoutly. 'You've no proof of anything.'

'Give it to her, you berk,' James muttered out of the corner of his mouth, not really trying to be inconspicuous. 'Or she'll take it as read that you're guilty.'

'Ah!' said Sirius. 'Well, we can't have that, can we? Must mount a proper defence, after all. This is England! Well, Scotland. Either way we've a right to a fair trial, haven't we?'

'I think so,' said James. 'Perhaps we ought to ask the Minister for Magic's _personal_ representatives. Andrews, Andrews? Do we have a right to a fair trial?'

Aeolus scowled and Athena ruffled pertly. Either one of them might have made a biting comment, but Professor McGonagall tapped her knuckles on the desk. 'That will be quite enough of that,' she said, so sternly that all five children stiffened. 'Your _wand_, Black.'

Sirius grinned and drew it out lazily, inspecting it with care before holding it out. McGonagall plucked it from his hand and set it down with the others. She straightened her spectacles and lowered her own wand so that it was almost tip to tip with James's. '_Priori Incantato,'_ she said. There was a burst of energy from James's wand, and the inkwell upon her desk suddenly looked a great deal like a teapot.

James grinned, shrugging his shoulders lazily. 'Hasn't been used since yesterday afternoon,' he said cheerily. He turned to Remus. 'For the record, that spell worked much better on the cabbage. You gave me full marks, didn't you, Professor?'

McGonagall cast him a quelling eye, but handed his wand back to him. Next she moved to Remus's, repeating the spell. A sheaf of papers rustled as the wand emitted a gentle column of air. Remus flushed a little.

'A Dusting Charm, Professor,' he said softly. 'I've been practicing: Professor Flitwick is going to be examining us on basic cleaning spells this week.'

Sirius snorted as the teacher returned the wand to its owner. He felt that cleaning spells were not something that ought to be taught in school, and he took every opportunity to ensure that everyone, Professor Flitwick included, was aware of that fact.

'Only one remaining,' observed McGonagall coolly. 'Is there anything you would like to say before I proceed, Black?'

'No, ma'am.' Sirius donned his sunniest smile. 'You go right ahead, ma'am.'

McGonagall nodded, lowering her fingers again. '_Priori Incantato_,' she said.

The tip of Sirius's wand glowed briefly golden and then snuffed softly out. '_Nox_!' he sang merrily. 'I like to read by wandlight when the rest of the blokes have gone to sleep. More considerate than a lamp, don't you think, Professor?'

It was not precisely a lie: Sirius _did_ often sit up by wandlight after the others were asleep, and sometimes he was reading. Remus breathed a little easier despite the mounting ache in his spine. If Sirius had lied to Professor McGonagall the consequences would have been terrible.

She seemed to feel much the same way. The tight line of her lips softened somewhat and she tucked away her wand, folding her hands neatly before her. 'Very well,' she said. She turned to look at Aeolus and Athena, who seemed to realize that their victory was slipping away. 'And neither of you saw who cast the spell in question?'

'No, Professor,' they muttered in sullen unison.

'Then I am afraid there is no evidence that these boys were involved,' said McGonagall. She peered shrewdly at James and Sirius in turn. 'Rest assured that if I _did_ have evidence I would not hesitate to mete out the appropriate punishment,' she said. 'This kind of behaviour is not to be tolerated.'

'Absolutely, Professor,' Sirius said, bobbing his head obediently. 'Absolutely.'

'And if there are any further scenes in second year Gryffindor lessons,' McGonagall added sternly; 'then I shall be obliged to assemble the entire class on Saturday morning until the guilty party is found.'

James blanched, his mouth falling open to protest. Sirius elbowed him in the ribs. 'Understood, Professor,' he said. 'We'll be sure to spread the word to all the usual troublemakers.'

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. 'That should not prove difficult,' she said dryly. 'Very well: you may go.' She moved to shepherd the students towards the door, drawing Remus aside. 'Lupin, I would like to speak to you.'

Sirius bristled, and this time it was James who stepped forward to ensure silence. He grabbed the taller boy's sleeve and fairly dragged him from the room. The Andrews children followed, understandably disquieted. McGonagall closed the door.

'Come and sit down,' she said, moving back to her desk and taking her seat. 'Not there,' she amended as Remus moved towards the bench. 'Take a chair.'

He shuffled to the more comfortable seat and lowered himself into it carefully. The muscles in his chest were still healing, and they pained him quickly if he made any sudden movements. Professor McGonagall opened a desk drawer and drew out a tin of Ginger Newts. She held it out so that Remus could take one. He bit off a tiny piece.

'How are you feeling, Lupin?' Professor McGonagall asked, her expression one of genuine concern.

'I'm well, Professor,' said Remus politely. 'I'm managing.'

'I understand that you had a difficult time of it this month,' she said. 'I suppose the misguided efforts of the Department of Mysteries did not help matters.'

Remus felt a hot flush rising from his collar. 'You… you know about that?' he whispered.

McGonagall nodded regretfully. 'I am afraid there is not much that can be done about it,' she said; 'but I promise that I will do my best to discourage any such expeditions in future. I am not without connections in the Ministry of Magic: perhaps we can try to keep it from happening again.'

'Oh, thank you, Professor!' Remus exclaimed. It was still so novel to find people willing to take his part in such matters: willing to inconvenience themselves just to help a werewolf. 'It... that… I'd be ever so grateful.'

A sad half-smile touched the teacher's mouth. 'There is little enough I can do to help you,' she said. 'At least there is this. Now, Lupin, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you. Are you willing to do so now, or should we arrange another time?'

Remus knew what she was asking and he shook his head. 'We should be all right now, Professor,' he said. 'James will have got Sirius well away: he doesn't want anything to keep him from flying for Gryffindor on Saturday.'

A wry glint appeared in the Deputy Headmistress's eyes. 'It is a pity we do not have a House Cup final every week,' she said. 'It might deter a great deal of mischief.' She took out her wand and brandished it deftly. A platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice appeared on the corner of her desk. She picked up the latter and poured a glassful, holding it out to Remus. 'As I am keeping you from your lunch, you had best eat,' she said.

Remus took the glass and set the biscuit on his knee so that he could reach for a sandwich. He had not quite his usual appetite yet, but the spicy sweetness of the cool drink soothed his throat and he nibbled the corner of the sandwich as he waited for the witch to speak again.

She seemed to be having some difficulty in settling on the best way to word whatever it was she wanted to say. That alone was strange: Professor McGonagall was nothing if not clear-headed. At last, with a brief glance into her lap, she fixed a steady gaze upon him. 'Your recent stay in the hospital wing was not as quiet as usual,' she said.

Remus did not quite know what to say to this: he wasn't sure how the observation was meant. Fortunately she continued almost at once.

'There were… other things going on this week-end that might have disturbed you. Lupin, were you disturbed?'

The double meaning in the question did not escape Remus. He wondered how much Professor McGonagall knew or suspected. 'You needn't worry, Professor,' he said carefully. 'I know that I am not the only person Madam Pomfrey has to look after. I am lucky she finds time for me, and I quite understand that other patients need her attention, too.'

'I am glad that you understand that,' said McGonagall. 'Do you have a sense of who else was being treated this week-end? Or why?'

She was testing the waters, he realized: trying to work out how much he knew or guessed without giving away any more information than she had to. The heavy knowledge that he ought not to have overheard the things that he had crept down his spine to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Professor McGonagall waited almost a minute, giving him ample opportunity to speak. Remus could not think of a single thing to say that would not make the situation worse.

'It seems to me that our comings and goings must have roused you at some point,' the Transfiguration teacher said sombrely. 'It would be a great help to me to know whether you have an idea of what was going on.'

Her face was earnest and her eyes were gentle. Remus wondered if perhaps he was not in trouble after all. 'Perhaps a bit of an idea, Professor.'

'And would you tell me what that idea is?' she asked.

The glass of pumpkin juice was heavy in his hand. Remus reached out to set it down on the desk. He wiped his hand on his robes, scuffing away the condensation. 'It… it wasn't a student Madam Pomfrey was looking after, Professor,' he said softly.

'No,' said McGonagall. 'No, it was not.'

She did not press him further, but the question was in the air nonetheless.

'It was Professor Meyrigg's husband,' Remus whispered.

'Yes,' said McGonagall.

'He… he'd been injured on an errand for the Headmaster, hadn't he? And he's going to go back even though Professor Meyrigg doesn't want him to, because the blood-purists in Croydon have got to be stopped.'

There was a beat of potent silence. Then Professor McGonagall exhaled and pressed her shoulder-blades against the back of her chair. One hand moved up to adjust her spectacles. 'Well. It seems you know or guess a great deal, Lupin.'

'I couldn't help it, Professor!' he protested anxiously. 'I tried not to listen, truly I did! They were just outside my door, and they weren't even _trying_ to be quiet. I didn't mean to eavesdrop – I _promised _Professor Meyrigg that I would keep out of her affairs, and I tried, Professor. I did _try_…'

'I'm sure you did, Lupin,' McGonagall soothed. 'No one is angry with you. It was not your fault that Mr Meyrigg required Madam Pomfrey's services, and it is _certainly_ not your fault that you were an inmate of the hospital wing at the time. I would not have chosen to have you hear what you did, for your sake as much as Professor Meyrigg's, but it cannot be helped now.'

'No, Professor,' Remus murmured, looking down at his lap and the half-eaten sandwich curled in his bony fingers. 'I don't suppose it can.'

'Then we must move forward from here,' said the witch. 'I assume you have shared your new knowledge with Black and Potter?'

'Oh, no, Professor!' Remus exclaimed, raising his head to look earnestly at her. 'No, I haven't! It would only set Sirius off again, and poor Professor Meyrigg has quite enough to cope with without him sneaking out of detention to try to follow her again, or meddling in her office, or… or worse.' He could not think what might possibly be worse, but he knew from experience that Sirius's behaviour was not limited by the scope of a werewolf's imagination.

To his astonishment, McGonagall smiled. 'I am relieved to hear that one of you has some sense,' she said. 'Yes: Professor Meyrigg has more than enough to worry about. Because of that, and because of the sensitive nature of her husband's work for the Headmaster, I must ask that you keep everything you heard to yourself. Everything. If word got out that Mr Meyrigg is working for Professor Dumbledore – if word got out that he had even been in the school – the results would be dreadful. Disastrous, Lupin. The results would be disastrous.'

'Yes, Professor,' whispered Remus. He knew that he ought not to say anything more, but he could not help himself. 'They would hurt him, wouldn't they? The people in Croydon.'

Pain lanced through Professor McGonagall's eyes. She nodded sombrely. 'Yes, I am certain that they would,' she breathed.

A hundred anxious questions warred for precedence. Remus wanted to unburden himself, to cast his worries into the open so that Professor McGonagall could refute them calmly, logically. Only the fear that she would not, and indeed could not, held back the flood. He forced himself to take another bite of his sandwich, though it tasted like ash and his mouth was so dry that he could scarcely swallow.

Professor McGonagall was watching him, her expression almost sorrowful. 'You should not have to fret over any of this,' she said quietly. 'I am sorry for that, Lupin. I wish that I could tell you that there is nothing to fear, but I cannot. These are dark times, and there are things going on in the south that may very well change the course of all of our lives. Professor Meyrigg's husband is fighting to protect us all, and the only way we can help him is by our silence. Do you understand?'

'I think so, Professor,' Remus managed. He thought about reaching for his glass again, but his hands were trembling. He tucked his fingers into his palm and made an effort to loosen his deathly grip on the last scraps of sandwich.

'Good,' McGonagall said at length. Her eyes had not left his face for a moment. 'I am trusting you, Lupin,' she told him. 'You _must_ keep this matter to yourself.'

'Yes, Professor. I will, Professor,' Remus pledged. There was a peculiar relief to speaking the words aloud, as if the promise were more binding now that it had been witnessed.

'Thank you. Now,' the teacher said with curious determination; 'you must have questions for me. Go on: I shall try to answer them if it is in my power to do so.'

It was an extraordinary opportunity, and Remus was tempted to pour out every question that had tormented him over the last several days. Then he realized that to do so would be selfish and childish; entirely unsuited to the position of trust in which he now found himself. He had a duty to carry these secrets for Meyrigg and McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore. He would do so without adding to their burdens. Besides, there was only one question that was truly important.

'Professor Meyrigg won't be going after him again, will she?' he asked. 'Now that it's getting more dangerous?'

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows lifted a couple of degrees, betraying surprise that she did not show otherwise. 'No,' she said at last. 'Professor Meyrigg will be staying at school for the rest of the term. She has decided that with the climate shifting and her husband's involvement deepening it would be better for him and for the baby if she did not keep up with her weekly journeys.'

'Then Sirius won't have anywhere to follow her to,' Remus said, relieved.

McGonagall almost smiled. 'I suppose he will not,' she agreed.

Remus swallowed the last mouthful of sandwich and tucked the all-but-untouched Ginger Newt into his pocket. 'May I go now, Professor?' he asked, bracing himself against the arm of the chair as he rose. 'I mustn't be late for Herbology.'

'Yes, of course,' she said. She waited until he was on the threshold before she added; 'If you need to talk to someone, you are always welcome here.'

'Thank you, Professor,' Remus said quietly. He ventured a small smile, and was delighted when it was returned.

_discidium_

On Wednesday morning, Professor Meyrigg presided over the Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with grim determination. She looked worn and strained: there were dark circles under her eyes and her lips were very pale. There was no lively spark to her lesson, nor any enthusiasm in her voice as she rounded off the last lecture on vampires. It was a very good thing that both James and Sirius were abiding by Professor McGonagall's embargo on mischief, for the temptation to disrupt the class was surely enormous and Remus very much doubted that Meyrigg could cope with such a disruption. The entire class seemed aware of her poor condition now. It was very difficult to miss.

The week crawled on. Remus's strength was returning at last and he was surprised to find that he was chafing against his friends' meticulous good behaviour. On Thursday evening Sirius and James sat quietly in the dormitory, playing chess in the corner instead of mounting an expedition for the kitchens. In Astronomy that night they didn't even raise a ruckus when Professor Arachne had to leave the class atop the tower to fetch a star-chart she had forgotten below. Remus discovered that he was craving a bit of mischief to liven up his week and distract him from his worries. He reflected wryly that he was turning into a proper Marauder after all.

On Friday Professor Meyrigg did not seem able to teach. She did not even try, but instructed the class to revise quietly and sat down at her desk, pale and unsettled. At last Remus understood her weekly cycle: worn down by a week of worry on Fridays she had been able to depart by night, collecting her husband and whisking him off to their home in Wales for two days' rest. She had then returned every Monday, much the better for knowing that he was safe. Surely she slept better at home, where she would not have to lie awake wondering where he was or what he was doing. Now she could not do any of those things. Remus could not help but wonder how she would manage.

He thought it was unjust to put Professor Meyrigg through this kind of anxiety. Surely it would have been better to send someone else to do this dangerous work. Owyn Meyrigg couldn't be the only wizard willing to put himself in harm's way to help the Headmaster. Remus was certain that he himself would do anything that Dumbledore asked, in gratitude for being allowed to come to school in spite of everything. Of course, a thirteen-year-old wizard was no use to anyone, but there had to be other people who were loyal to Professor Dumbledore, people without wives who loved them and missed them and worried over them. Or if Owyn had wanted to do this kind of dangerous work he never should have got married in the first place.

Still, Remus could not pretend that he was not a little relieved that Professor Meyrigg was not teaching that day. Vampires were behind them now, and the class was meant to be talking about werewolves. Although it was inevitable that it would happen, and soon, Remus was grateful for the reprieve. It gave him a chance to focus on keeping his spirits up for James on the eve of his big day.

It was obvious that James Potter's entire year had been building up to this: the moment when he would lead Gryffindor to victory against Slytherin for the House Cup. All of his effort, all of his practice, the strain of trials, every dangerous dive he had performed to score just one more goal: it had all been aimed at this. And although in the Great Hall and the common room and the corridors James was the picture of easy confidence, in the dormitory that night it was quite another story.

'They're predicting rain,' he said for what had to be the fifteenth time that day. He was brandishing the remains of that morning's _Daily Prophet_, in which he had circled the weather forecast in angry red ink. 'The Astronomers' Guild, the Weather Scryer and those Divination nutters are all in agreement: rain!'

'That's good,' Sirius assured him, peeling the foil from a Chocolate Frog and catching it mid-hop between finger and thumb. 'You've been out in all sorts of weather, lobbing the Quaffle whatever the heavens dish out. The Slytherins only practice once a week.'

'No, they don't!' wailed James. 'They meet Sunday afternoons as well: haven't you been paying attention?'

'I spend most of my Sundays down by the Willow keeping you on your game,' Sirius reminded him. 'I don't have time to go scouting the Slytherins.'

'Why didn't _I_ think of that?' James moaned, flinging the paper into the corner and himself onto his bed. He drew his forearm dramatically across his forehead. 'We should've had scouts on them for weeks already! You can bet they've been spying on _us_! They'll know all my best plays!'

'Everyone knows your best plays: practically the whole school's been making a study of you,' Sirius reasoned. 'If only they could see you now.'

'Don't you dare tell anybody!' James snarled, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up with one hand while waggling the opposite index finger at his best friend. 'Don't you _dare_ tell anybody that I'm… I'm…'

'Nervous?' Sirius supplied. 'Pent-up, melodramatic, downright gloomy? Scared?'

'I am not scared,' James said with studied dignity. 'I'm trying to be practical.'

'Practical,' said Sirius. 'Right. Because working yourself up into a lather when you ought to be relaxing is _practical_.'

'There isn't any use in fretting,' Remus agreed. 'You've worked very hard and you're in top form. Whether Gryffindor wins or not, you still made it to the Cup final. That's a lot to be proud of.'

'Second place only means you didn't lose as badly as third and fourth!' cried James. 'I don't want to be third worst: I want to be the best!'

'So do we all, mate; so do we all,' said Sirius, nodding wisely. 'It's a pity we can't have everything we wish for.'

'You're such a comfort to me, Black.'

'I think you're all being perfectly ridiculous,' Peter said, raising his head to indicate that he had finally won the battle with his badly snarled shoestrings. 'James is the very best Chaser in the school, and Gryffindor is the very best House, and our team has spent more time practicing than all the other teams combined. We're certainly going to win the House Cup, and it's just silly to pretend otherwise.'

There was a startled silence. It was not often that Peter made such a lengthy speech, and certainly not with such matter-of-fact conviction. He sat with his hands in his lap, looking at James and Sirius with a satisfied expression on his face as if daring them to contradict him.

'Besides,' he said when no objections were forthcoming; 'my firsties have been working on some first-rate cheers to help you on.'

_discidium_

As the Astronomers' Guild, the Weather Scryer and the Divination nutters had all foretold, Saturday dawned grey and wet. James was awake early, all signs of the previous night's crisis gone as he descended to the Great Hall for a hearty breakfast well in advance of flying. His friends joined him, cheerful and supportive. Then they repaired once more to the dormitory so that James could put on his Quidditch robes and lavish a little last-minute care on his broomstick. At a quarter to ten it was time to head down to the pitch. The Marauders had to part ways.

'Good luck, mate,' Sirius said solemnly, holding out his hand with all the gravity of a man watching his best friend ride off to a war in which he could not participate.

'Thanks,' said James. He frowned. 'I really thought McGonagall would forget all about this, you know. In the spirit of Gryffindor's impending triumph.'

Sirius shrugged. 'She never forgets,' he said.

'Doesn't she want to watch the match?' asked Peter. 'I thought she was keen on Quidditch.'

'Oh, she is!' Sirius laughed. 'Else she never would have let me beg off detention to help the team practice. No, she's left me in the care of Professor Binns: I gather he's the only member of staff who's not interested in attending.'

'At least it'll be a doddle, then,' James said. 'Providing you can stay awake.'

'Don't worry about _me_!' Sirius exclaimed. 'If you don't go out there and slaughter Slytherin I'm going to disembowel you, so you'd best keep your mind on the game!'

After a little more good-natured ribbing, Sirius went shambling off towards the History of Magic office while James hefted his broomstick onto his shoulder and strode out into the rain. Remus and Peter lingered inside for a while longer, sparing themselves an hour's wait in the rain.

It was still falling, heavy and determined, when they made their way down to the pitch. The Gryffindor box was filling fast, but they had seats near the front where Peter's cheering section had gathered. Remus settled down on the bench, wrapping his cloak snugly 'round himself. He wished that he might have traded places with Sirius – not only so that his friend might be here to enjoy the match in his stead, but because it would be quite pleasant to sit indoors with Professor Binns, doing something quiet and studious and presumably dry.

The weather did not dampen the spirits of the crowd. There was jostling and laughter everywhere, and the whole box was a sea of red and gold. Even the bigger girls, who usually maintained a decorous distance from the sport, had charmed their umbrellas to shimmer in the House colours. Across the way, Slytherin was similarly arrayed in green and silver. Remus tried to squint through the raindrops to make out familiar faces among the rival spectators, but then decided there was not much point: surely everyone was there. He turned his attention instead to the other two House boxes: both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were out in force despite the disappointment of their own teams' elimination from the final. Many of them had chosen a side anyhow, and Remus felt a rather jingoistic satisfaction when he realized that the red pennants outnumbered the green by at least two to one.

The staff were all present, of course. Professor McGonagall sported an enormous Gryffindor rosette, while Slughorn wore a large stuffed serpent on his hat. Headmaster Dumbledore was resplendent in a bright blue cloak, his beard already well wetted from the rain. Professor Sprout was rosy-cheeked and eager, and Professor Flitwick was fairly bouncing with excitement. Even Mr Filch was there, a very bedraggled and obviously angry Mrs Dashwood on his lap. And there, between Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid, was Professor Meyrigg.

She did not seem especially excited, which was not what one would expect from a former Cup winner, but there was a determined set to her jaw that told Remus she intended to make good use of the distraction. She was wearing a green rain-hat over her coiled plaits, and her tweed robes peeked out from the break in her cloak. Madam Pomfrey leaned over to say something to her, and she nodded indifferently.

A roar shook the grounds as the two teams filed onto the pitch. Peter sprang to his feet and motioned to his firsties. They launched into a victory chant that was quickly taken up by corresponding groups in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw boxes. Remus noticed that little Davey Gudgeon, whose face had healed of its hurts long ago, was leading the Ravenclaw chapter.

The players mounted their brooms and launched into the air. Remus picked out James quickly enough, and squinted to be sure that he had cast a Repelling Charm on his glasses to keep the water away. Satisfied, he settled back on the bench for what was likely to be a long and vicious game.

As usual James made good use of the pent-up tension before the toss, staying well relaxed until the last possible second and then accelerating faster than any of his opponents were able to. The first ten points went to Gryffindor.

After that there was a great deal of whizzing up and down the pitch, neither team getting near enough to the other's hoops to even attempt to score. James finally managed to break away long enough to get the Quaffle to Blotts, who threw and missed. While the core players readjusted their positions in the wake of this disappointment, Remus took stock of the Seekers.

Lucius Malfoy, of course, was well above the rout, making laconic circles with his broom. Shacklebolt, for Gryffindor, was taking a somewhat riskier tack of weaving in and out around the other players. Of course, it was in the interests of Gryffindor to catch the Snitch early and end the match before Slytherin could make up some of their deficit in season points. Remus had heard at great length what James thought of this strategy: he could not see why they didn't want a long, drawn-out game, and after all wasn't the risk of a closer game worth the enduring glory of breaking the school record for most points accumulated in a year?

Sirius had made the compelling argument that as Gryffindor was more than five hundred points short of the present record, a game that brought them past that would last well into the evening hours. Remus hoped fervently that Shacklebolt had more skill and more sense than that.

Eldritch McKinnon had to sweep back through the centre ring to avoid being kneecapped by a Bludger. It was precisely the sort of incident that would have made Sirius howl aloud in frustration. The Beaters never should have let the ball get that close to their Keeper, of course, and Sirius would be convinced that he could have done better. But Sirius was inside, occupied with some task that no doubt seemed hideously dreary to him, while out here James was fighting for the honour of Gryffindor against the ancestral House of the Blacks. Despite the knowledge that the penalty for Sirius's recklessness with Professor Meyrigg was light, Remus could not help but feel that it was a bitter shame that he should miss this.

James had the Quaffle again, and was executing an excessively high climb. Puzzled, the crowd hushed their cheering a little. At the apex of his ascent, James turned sharply and hurled the Quaffle with all his might – right into the back of Lucius Malfoy's head.

Pandemonium broke out on the pitch. The Slytherin Seeker very nearly lost his seat on his broom, and it was only with much undignified scrambling that he managed to save himself from toppling to earth. Their Captain was hollering for a penalty while the Beaters began hurling abuse at the Gryffindor team. Eldritch McKinnon kept demanding, loudly, what the hell James had been thinking, while the rest of his teammates seemed torn between giving as good as they got from the Slytherins and bellowing at Master Avian that it was all just an accident, obviously! The spectators seemed about equally divided between cheering, jeering, and expressing their astonishment in no uncertain terms to everyone around them.

By the time it was all sorted out, Slytherin had their penalty shot and the Gryffindor players were obliged to hover on the sidelines. The lead Chaser bore down on Eldritch McKinnon, an impossibly small smudge of red before Gryffindor's three large rings. With the rest of the crowd Remus held his breath, and with the rest of his Housemates he groaned as the Quaffle sailed just out of McKinnon's reach, netting Slytherin ten easy points.

James swooped in almost before the whistle announced the return to play, snagging the ball. After that it was almost impossible to keep track of the action on the pitch. Both teams were playing with such ferocious determination that it seemed inevitable that someone was going to get hurt. Yet no one did, and the score continued to climb, Gryffindor and Slytherin neck-on-neck – though somehow Gryffindor always seemed to manage to pull ahead again.

The rain was unrelenting, and everyone was beginning to feel it. Even those who had tried to keep dry by the use of tools or charms were succumbing. Remus was soaked to the skin, his hair in wet straggles on his forehead. He supposed that he ought to be grateful that the temperature, at least, was mild, but he was shivering nonetheless. Peter seemed to be keeping himself warm by leaping and shouting and cheering for James.

Wistfully Remus sought out the Seekers; the only people with the power to end this game and let them all go back to the warmth of the castle. Shacklebolt was now flying below the action, while Malfoy hovered on the margins. This made for some interesting moments, because after having been hit he was skittish, and he veered out of the way if any of the Gryffindor Chasers came near him. Remus watched for a while, contented to see the Slytherin Prefect making a fool of himself. But of course this was something else that Sirius would have enjoyed more than he; it wasn't fair.

James executed a particularly neat dive to elude a Bludger, and a sudden motion in the staff box drew Remus's eye. Professor Meyrigg was on her feet, eyes glowing and face flushed with excitement, cheering wildly. A smile startled itself across Remus's face. She was enjoying herself after all, in spite of everything.

'What is it? What did I miss?' asked a voice at his elbow. Remus was almost startled off the bench when he realized that Sirius was crouching on the floor behind the bench, grey eyes glittering with rebellion.

'What are you doing here?' he cried, secure in the knowledge that his voice was lost in the general din. 'You're meant to be in detention.'

'Professor Binns fell asleep,' Sirius said, bobbing up on his heels in an attempt to see the action. 'I gave him a good seven minutes, and then decided that my presence was no longer required.'

'You _sneaked out of detention?'_ Remus hissed.

'Well, naturally,' said Sirius with a lazy shrug. 'I'd been in there almost three hours. Budge over, Jones, would you? My hamstrings are cramping.'

Darius shifted hastily out of the way, raising objections from the people seated to his right. Sirius slung one long leg over the bench, straddling it. He turned his head over his shoulder, taking in the scene on the pitch. 'So fill me in,' he said. 'What's going on?'

Remus was not quite sure that he could adequately recap the game. Fortunately he was spared the need to try. Peter let out a whoop of joy as he saw his friend.

'You made it!' he cried. 'Professor Binns let you go?'

'He didn't stop me,' Sirius said earnestly. '_What's going on_?'

Peter filled him in, with many gestures and accompanying cheers from the first years. Meanwhile James made another elegant pass, and Blotts was able to redeem his earlier failure by making an improbably goal for Gryffindor. The Quaffle was back in play and the Bludgers were flying manically, but Remus's eyes were caught by a blur of red as Kingsley Shacklebolt accelerated. He moved to the left at a steep angle, climbing in haste. Remus almost shouted for joy: he had seen the Snitch.

Gryffindor had a thirty-point lead. James might not think that adequate, but Remus desperately wanted the match to end. He was not disloyal enough to wish for it at all costs, but if Gryffindor could catch the Snitch and win the game then it didn't matter whether they broke the record. He held his breath as Shacklebolt drew higher.

Malfoy had seen him now, and he had the advantage of altitude. His sharp eyes followed the other Seeker's trajectory, and he and Remus caught sight of it at the same moment: the tiny golden shimmer between the silver raindrops. Swift as a hawk on the wing Malfoy launched forward. He was shoulder to shoulder with Shacklebolt now as they bore down on the Snitch. Kingsley reached out a gloved hand, but Malfoy's arm was longer. In another moment it would all be over…

Out of nowhere James launched up towards the Seekers. He had the Quaffle in his hand and at the critical moment he feinted to the left, brandishing the ball. Malfoy banked sharply, his outstretched hand thrown up to protect his head. Swooping to the right instead, James hurled the Quaffle over the head of Slytherin's unsuspecting Keeper – just as Shacklebolt's fingers closed on the Snitch.

_discidium_

It was late at night before the celebrations even began to die down to a manageable roar. Everyone seemed swept away with the glory of Gryffindor's victory: even Dorcas Meadowes decided to forgo her usual attempts to calm the crowd in the common room. James and Kingsley were the heroes of the day, of course; surrounded by hordes of congratulating admirers. Peter was right in the midst of it all, basking in radiated glory and helping himself liberally to the treats he and Sirius had acquired from the kitchens.

Remus was content to watch the chaos from the fifth step of the boys' staircase. He was dry and warm again, wearing fresh robes and his bedroom slippers. His Muggle things were hanging in the dormitory, and so he had to keep tugging his cuffs down over his wrists to hide the marks on his arms.

A plaintive purr at his ankle drew his attention downwards. It took him a moment to recognize the cat pressing itself against his leg. It was Speckles, now an awkward gangling little thing that was not quite a kitten anymore. Remus let his foot slip down one step and patted his lap. The cat sprang into it, curling up against his stomach. Evidently there was one resident of Gryffindor Tower less than enamoured with the Quidditch celebrations.

Remus stroked Speckles's back, relishing the soothing vibrations that ran through the cat's body. 'Don't worry,' he said reassuringly. 'They'll wear themselves out eventually. After all, we did win.'

Speckles snorted as if to intimate that he did not much care for a Gryffindor victory if it was this disruptive.

'We didn't break the record, though,' Remus mused aloud. He ruffled the fur between the cat's ears, fixing him with a quizzical eye. 'D'you think I can convince James to look on it as a challenge for next year?'

Speckles did not seem to think that probable.


	88. Lesson, Interrupted

**Chapter Eighty-Eight: Lesson, Interrupted**

The circumstances of Gryffindor's victory sparked a debate that raged through the school. Lucius Malfoy and his cronies were naturally of the opinion that James Potter had secured the win by virtue of a very dirty trick. Eldritch McKinnon and the rest of the Gryffindor team argued stoutly that there was nothing wrong with a Chaser feinting in one direction and throwing in another, which in the ordinary way of things was true. Heated arguments sprang up in the corridors, and the Great Hall was filled with dissenting voices at mealtimes. Sirius personally jinxed eight Slytherin first years caught intimating that Gryffindor had cheated.

The official verdict seemed to be that the only questionable play, if one did not count the Slytherin attempt to decapitate McKinnon with a Bludger, had been James's initial strike at the Slytherin Seeker. Rumour had it that the concerned Heads of House and the flying instructor had spent most of Saturday afternoon closeted together to render a judgement on that. In the end the original call was upheld: Gryffindor had been given a penalty for it, Slytherin had scored because of it, and the matter was closed.

'But did you mean to do it?' asked Remus on Monday morning. James had just finished recounting the decision with an air of smug vindication. Now, he grinned.

'Ah, but that's not the point,' he said. 'The point is that Quidditch is a dangerous game and once in a while a throw goes where it oughtn't and a Seeker gets hit. He wasn't hurt: it's nobody's fault but his own that he's too much of a coward to keep one little knock from throwing off his whole game.'

'Maybe,' said Sirius; 'but it really _wasn't _good form, old chap.' He turned up his nose in an imitation of Aeolus Andres. 'Wot?'

James chuckled, obviously losing the truth in the humour. He reached for a peach and began to peel off strips of the delicate skin. 'Look,' he said; 'you're losing sight of the big picture here. We won! _And_ Malfoy looks like an idiot.'

'I can see the big picture just fine,' Sirius said. 'We might have had that win overturned because of your roving toss, everyone is now wondering whether we ought to have won at all, and you have made a very, very dangerous enemy in Lucius Malfoy.'

'You're a fine one to talk!' James snorted. 'You never pass up a chance to put one over on him.'

'True,' said Sirius. 'But when he looks at me he sees the pesky little kid he used to shove around, whereas you are now a threat to his manhood.'

'What's he going to do to me?' James rolled his eyes. 'Dock a few House points? Make me write lines? He's only a stupid Prefect. Since when are we afraid of Prefects?'

Sirius bristled. 'I didn't say we were afraid! I only meant to point out that you have now got Malfoy riled up against you, and that need not have been. If you can't see the risks of that, I'm sure I can't enlighten you now.'

'Look, I would put myself on the bad side of a hundred Malfoys if it meant Gryffindor won the Cup,' James said. 'And we did, and that's down to me.'

For a moment Sirius stared at him, his face a study in epiphany. 'So that's why you did it,' he said quietly. 'You didn't think that Shacklebolt could catch the Snitch on his own.'

'That's ridiculous!' James said. 'I was trying to score without a Slytherin intersecting the throw. I'd done it a dozen times throughout the game. And I _did_ make the goal, I'll beg you to remember. Even though it would've been nice if the game had gone on another hour.'

'Another hour?' Peter croaked. His voice came out in a throaty whisper that barely carried across the table to Remus. He had shouted himself blissfully hoarse at the match. 'Everyone was sopping wet, and cold, and tired! James, I love to watch you fly, you know that I do, but that game had to end!'

'And it did,' said James brightly. 'And we won. Even though I didn't get my school record. What are you all complaining about?'

'We're complaining about the fact that you seem to lack a healthy respect for the fundamental structure of the game!' said Sirius, bringing his fist down on the table to punctuate his point. 'The Chasers build up the points, but it is the Seeker who wins the game. The Seeker, Potter, for the two hundredth time! If you can't get your head around that—'

'Of course it's the Seeker who catches the Snitch!' James said. 'I'm just tired of the idea that the fate of the team hangs on whether or not Shacklebolt can get a couple of inches on a sixth year!'

'Hah!' cried Sirius. 'So you _did_ know what you were doing! I knew it.' He shook his head. 'You're an idiot, James,' he said fondly. 'You need to put a little trust in your teammates. After all, I plan to be one next year. If you don't let me go about my business on the pitch I shall be most put out.'

'That's different,' said James. 'You play Beater.'

'It's not different in the least,' Sirius insisted. 'Everyone on the team has a job to do, and everyone is happier if you just let them do it.'

James stuck out his tongue. 'You're an affliction to me, Black. You know that, don't you?'

'Yes,' said Sirius solemnly. 'But I'm also right.'

James sucked the last bits of juice from his peach pit and dropped it, spinning, onto his plate. 'Well, that's quite enough ruminating on the game. Which we _won_. If we don't get moving we'll be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

He hoisted himself off of the bench, dragging his satchel with him, and clapped Peter on the shoulder as he started for the door. Sirius scrambled up, letting out a whoop in challenge. The two dark-haired boys broke into a run, racing one another to the far end of the Gryffindor table. Peter got up, snagging one last almond pastry as he went. Then Remus was left alone on the all-but-empty bench.

He sat there for a minute or two, trying to settle a stomach suddenly filled with writhing serpents. He did not think that he could bear a whole hour of listening to Professor Meyrigg telling the class how to recognize and destroy werewolves. He tried to tell himself that she had seemed perfectly fair-minded about hags and banshees and vampires – but it was not really the same thing. Even if she did take an objective view of the subject, it was always possible that she might finally put together the puzzle of the peaky pupil absent from lessons every month. As much as Remus wanted to be a true Gryffindor, his courage was failing him now.

'Gone and forgotten about you, have they?' an irate voice demanded. Remus looked up to find himself under the gaze of two improbably green eyes. Something of his fretting must have shown in his face, for they softened almost at once. 'Or have you had a falling-out?'

'It's nothing like that,' he said, hastily wiping his fingers on his napkin as Lily sat down on the bench beside him, with her back to the table and her feet in the aisle. She watched him, patiently waiting for him to say something more. Of course he could not admit the truth, so when the silence grew too much to bear he said again; 'It's nothing like that.'

Lily sighed. 'I don't understand why you let them treat you this way,' she said. 'Remus? You seem like a good person. Why do you put up with it?'

He was very nearly bewildered right out of his worries. 'What do you mean?' he asked earnestly.

'You're so patient with them, no matter how stupid they are,' she said. 'Everyone knows they got you into trouble sneaking into Professor Meyrigg's office this winter. You take notes for them in History of Magic, you double-check their class work for them, you're always the one to scrub out the cauldron when you're paired with Potter in Potions, and then you let them just charge off and abandon you on your own when you're obviously not feeling well. It's horrid. Why do you let them do it?'

Remus's first instinct was to protest that he wasn't ill just at present, but he wisely held his tongue. The perception that he was generally sickly, rather than off-colour only at certain times of the month, worked to his advantage. Instead he said; 'I scrub out the cauldron because I'm always the one who lets the potion burn. They're my friends.'

'Some friends!' Lily said. 'Dragging you along into trouble, winding you up to do things you'd never do otherwise, filling your head with awful ideas. I think you ought to find someone different to spend time with. I know it's not easy when they're sharing your dormitory, but you might at least try to meet people – in other Houses, maybe. Some of the Ravenclaw boys are very nice, and I think you'd get on well with them. And if you didn't spend so much time with Black and Potter maybe you and Severus might, too.'

Remus wondered abruptly how much of her little tirade was meant for him, and how much of it was made up of sentiments she wanted to share with her friend. Severus Snape was perhaps not friendly with Rosier and Mulciber and Rabastan Lestrange, but he was certainly dragged along with them into a great many unpleasant situations. He could certainly understand Lily's concern, and her desire to see Snape in the company of someone safer.

Safer? The thought very nearly made him laugh. He doubted very much that he would be considered a _safe_ acquaintance if the truth were known. After all, werewolves were dangerous Dark creatures and most people feared them. Most people, but not James or Sirius. Even Peter had overcome his trepidation for the sake of their friendship. Whatever Lily thought she saw, she could not possibly understand how much he owed his friends for that.

'I don't think Severus would like very much to do with me,' he said. He flushed a little as he confessed; 'I tried to hex him a few weeks back.'

'I know all about that,' said Lily. 'He says you could have really hurt him with that curse, but you didn't. He thinks it's because you didn't mean it.'

He blinked dumbfoundedly. 'He said that?'

Pink blotches appeared on Lily's cheeks. 'I don't think he meant it favourably,' she admitted. 'But I'm sure I could convince him to accept an apology, and the three of us could revise for exams together. He could help you with Potions, and you could help him in Charms.'

'I'm sure you can help him in Charms if he needs it,' Remus demurred. 'You're top of the class; I'm not.'

'Well, History of Magic, then,' said Lily brightly. 'At least tell me you'll think about it?'

It was a very tempting offer, but Remus knew that neither Sirius nor James would approve and he did not have Lily's confidence that Snape would consent, either. 'I don't think it would work,' he said regretfully.

Lily gave him a long, searching look that made her eyes glitter like beryls. Finally she shook her head. 'I don't understand why you're so loyal to them,' she said helplessly.

'Hurry up, you two!' Betta MacFusty called. She was leaning around the door to the Hall, gesturing urgently. 'You're going to be late!'

Remus was so occupied in gathering his belongings and hastening up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom that he almost forgot his reason for hesitating in the first place. It struck him again as he crossed the threshold, but by then it was too late. He stumbled reflexively to his seat, dragging out quill and parchment and trying to quiet the panicked voice within him that insisted, against all reason, that Professor Meyrigg liked to offer the class specimens to inspect, and here he was…

Sirius laughed uproariously, and Remus heard James say, 'You mean you're not angry? You don't think I won unfairly?'

'Unfairly?' Remus was surprised to realize that the woman's voice was not Welsh. Then he realized it belonged to Dorcas Meadowes. 'All you did was fly left before throwing right: that's not unfair, it's sensible. Of course,' she added; 'I can't condone throwing Quaffles at Seekers, but these things do happen. Quidditch is a rough game, after all.'

'Precisely!' James said.

'All that anyone will remember is that Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup,' said Meadowes; 'and that's put us in the lead for the House Cup, too, so I'm scarcely going to complain, am I?'

'Admit it,' said Sirius. 'You liked seeing someone bring Lucius Malfoy down a peg or two.'

Remus finally dared to raise his eyes, just in time to see Dorcas smile wickedly. 'Perhaps a little,' she said conspiratorially. 'I don't like Prefects who put on airs with their peers.' She consulted the watch pinned opposite her silver Prefect's badge. 'Everyone take your seats, please!' she called out. 'Come on, quickly now. I don't mind dishing out detention to stragglers, you know!'

'Where's Professor Meyrigg?' asked Elsie Appleby anxiously. Several heads bobbed in accord with her.

'Sit down,' said Dorcas again. She moved to the front of the room and watched, arms across, while there was a scraping of chair-legs and a rustling of parchment. When order descended over the students she flicked the left corner of her spectacles and nodded in satisfaction. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Professor Meyrigg has been detained on business with the Headmaster. As it seem you're inclined to raise a proper hullabaloo when left to your own devices, and so I've been assigned the unenviable task of keeping an eye on you until she's able to join us.'

'So then she _is_ coming,' Remus said unhappily, quite without meaning to.

'When she can,' said Dorcas. 'In the meantime I expect you to keep yourselves quietly occupied: I don't care what you do, just do it peacefully. As I'm giving up my Monday lie-in to play nursemaid I won't put up with any antics.' Here her gaze rested sternly on Sirius Black. 'You can pull your tables together if you want to revise in groups, but no wands, please.'

There was some minor rearranging of the furniture as the usual students banded together. James and Sirius did not trouble with moving their desks, but merely turned around to sit backward in their chairs so that they could face Remus and Peter.

'Where did you get off to?' Sirius asked, rummaging in his satchel and producing a block of toffee stolen from James's latest care package. He slammed it against the leg of Remus's desk and then unwrapped the waxed paper to share it around. 'We came off the second-floor staircase and suddenly you weren't there!'

'You left me in the Great Hall,' Remus said with some amusement. 'Didn't you notice?'

Sirius and James exchanged a sheepish shrug. 'Sorry, Remus,' said James. 'I suppose we had our minds on the race.'

'Who won?' asked Remus.

'Sirius, of course,' Peter said hoarsely while the elder Marauder preened a little. 'He always has the advantage on the stairs.'

'Takes 'em three at a time!' James said disconsolately. 'It's not fair.'

'I can't be blamed for your less-than-impressive stature,' said Sirius. 'Didn't your mother ever warn you to eat your green vegetables?'

'I mean because your house is all stairs!' snapped James, but he sat up straighter in his chair as if to try to close the gap in their height. 'I'll bet you've been practicing that since you were six!'

'I never reveal the secrets of childhood,' Sirius said with a sly smile. Then he turned shrewd eyes on Remus. 'Why didn't you come after us right away?' he asked. 'Aren't you feeling well?'

'I'm fine,' Remus promised. 'I just… I wasn't especially anxious to get here.'

'Really?' said James. 'Did you know Meadowes was taking the lesson, then? You never said.'

Remus shook his head. He was trying to remember whether Professor Meyrigg had been at breakfast that morning, but he found that he could not. He had been too engrossed in the debate over the Quidditch game to notice. 'I hope everything is all right,' he said, half to himself.

'Oh, I'm sure it is,' said Sirius. 'Obviously whatever her husband's doing has let off a little, if she was free to stay at school for the match this weekend.'

Remus had wondered why his friends had not found Professor Meyrigg's presence over the week-end peculiar; now it made sense. They had assumed, quite logically, that she had stayed to take in the final game of the season. To two boys who ranked the sport so highly it would be a perfectly reasonable explanation. He nodded and reached for his books. 'What should we review?' he asked.

'Are you mad?' laughed James. 'We've had more revision time in this class over the last couple of months than we'd need for Transfiguration and Astronomy combined! I would suggest we make Black run through those charms he hasn't even troubled to try yet, but Meadowes sounded most insistent about the wands.'

'What about History of Magic?' Peter croaked. 'I just know I'm going to do poorly on that one.'

'Hard to believe there's only another week left until exams,' Sirius said almost mournfully. 'Summer will be here before we know it.'

'Hmm. Two whole months of freedom,' James sighed blissfully. 'I've been itching for a little free time, you know. What with all the Quidditch practice there's precious little time for other things.'

'I see,' said Sirius. 'And just how do you plan to spend the holidays?'

'Practicing Quidditch, mostly,' James admitted. 'Though I'm planning to teach Ronan how to steal a hat off of someone's head, and of course there's the horses. I expect we'll get another invite to the seaside this year, won't we, Remus?'

A surprised smile spread across Remus's face. He had not given the matter much thought, but neither had he expected James to be especially eager to return to Falmouth. 'Oh, I'm sure Mother would be happy to have you!' he said. 'It was such fun last year.'

'Do you think I might be able to come, too?' Peter asked, clearing his throat to make himself heard. 'If my mother doesn't mind, of course.'

'Why should she mind?' James asked. 'She's met Remus's mum. Didn't she like her?'

'Who wouldn't like her?' Sirius said. 'Remus's mum is brilliant. Oh!' He straightened abruptly, looking hopeful. 'D'you think she'd let us visit her at work? I've always wanted to have a proper look at a Muggle post office!'

'I'm not sure if it's allowed,' Remus said earnestly. He realized unhappily that his parents might not even want guests; although it had been a couple of weeks since his last letter from home, he did not think that his father had found work yet – and perhaps his mother would not feel up to having her home invaded by rambunctious boys while she was out all day.

'Oh, well, we can always ask,' said Sirius. He studied the back of his hand critically. 'All that's supposing I'm let out of London this year.'

'It's been ages since you've last had a Howler,' said Peter, trying and failing to offer words of comfort.

'Right, but as soon as Cissy gets home Aunt Druella will debrief her, and she'll find out at least half of what I've been up to, and if anyone likes to tell nasty tales about other people's children, it's Aunt Druella,' said Sirius. 'So there's that. And odds on I'll say something less than sensible within an hour of being home. Usually do.' He shrugged with studied nonchalance. 'All I'm saying is you shouldn't get your hopes up.'

'Don't worry,' argued James. 'My mum could always send a strongly-worded letter. I'm certain by now she's forgiven you for getting me drunk.'

'Is it my fault you're a toper?' Sirius asked, looking somewhat more cheerful.

'I don't suppose anyone would like to come to my house?' Peter asked timidly, the strain in his voice doing little to add confidence to his words. 'I haven't got Quidditch balls or horses or the seaside, but we could play in the cellar and climb trees in the garden and walk down to the village. There's a sweet shop there, and I could introduce you to the Muggles I went to school with.'

There was a vindictive glitter in his eyes with those words. Remus remembered him mentioning that the children he had been at primary school with were not especially nice. Of course Peter would want to show off his clever, funny, talented new friends: he could just imagine Sirius and James showing off for Peter's benefit. He wanted to say that of course they would come, but it was not really his place.

'Sounds nice,' James said frankly. 'We could have a lot of fun with that.'

'A Muggle village, eh?' said Sirius. 'Have they got a garage? What about a petrol station?'

'Are you planning to steal a motorcar to get there?' asked James.

'I don't think that Mum would care for that,' Peter said worriedly.

'I meant to _visit_,' said Sirius, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. 'Honestly: you two seem to think I'm some sort of renegade delinquent, sowing discord and chaos everywhere I go.'

'Chaos might be a bit too strong a word for it,' James deliberated. 'Disorder, certainly. General confusion.'

'Pandemonium,' Remus added. 'Occasionally mere disarray.'

'Trouble!' Peter summarized neatly.

'And every last one of you loves it!' Sirius said with a grin of satisfaction. 'Just think how dull your lives would be without me around.'

'I, for one, would serve fewer detentions,' said James.

'No you wouldn't!' Sirius laughed. 'You'd just serve them alone, and after fewer spectacular successes.'

This led to an animated debate on the question of who might take credit for each of the Marauders' recent spectacular successes. Both James and Sirius had arguments for themselves, of course, and Peter somehow managed to agree with every single point made, no matter which side spoke. Remus listened in contented amusement. It was perhaps not surprising that most of the incidents deemed 'successful' had in fact been fairly unfortunate. What did astonish him was how little that mattered: they had had fun at the time, and they were laughing about it now, and that it seemed was enough.

_discidium_

Professor Meyrigg was absent from lunch but appeared at the supper table, pale and strained and devoid of all appetite. On Tuesday the Marauders came down late to breakfast, having lingered in the dormitory so that Peter could open his birthday gifts. Remus stole a glance at the staff table as he sat down. Meyrrig she was bleary-eyed and sluggish: obviously she had not slept. Her place was vacant on Wednesday morning, and Remus was torn between worry for her and relief that the werewolf lesson would obviously have to be delayed another day. He ate quietly while the noises of breakfast roared on around him. Sirius and James did not notice anything out of the ordinary: they were too absorbed with the latest rumour that Abraxus Malfoy had lodged an official complaint with the Department of Magical Games and Sports regarding the Quidditch Cup final.

Expecting to see Dorcas Meadowes, Remus was startled when he rounded the corner into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Professor Meyrigg sat behind her desk. There was a steaming mug of untouched tea before her, almost hidden by the rolls of parchment that could only be their most recent essays. She was grey and haggard and her braids were loose, as if she had lacked the strength or will to pin them up. At first he thought she was asleep, for she was sitting with her eyes closed. Then the fingers of one hand fluttered against her growing front.

'Cor blimey, she looks awful,' said Sirius, coming up behind him. 'Better go and ask if she's all right.'

'Me? Why me?' Remus asked reflexively.

'Because she likes you,' said James.

'She likes everyone,' Sirius said, annoyed. He turned back to Remus. 'But for some reason she talks to you. Go on: maybe she needs help or something.'

Remus wanted to refuse, but of course he could not. Although he was almost certain that he knew the source of Professor Meyrigg's worry and exhaustion, he could not admit it. He had to pretend to be just as puzzled as his friends. There was also the chance that she might indeed need help. She certainly did not look well. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the classroom full of congregating pupils, he moved towards the front of the room.

'Professor Meyrigg?' he said softly. When she did not respond he drew nearer. 'Professor Meyrigg? Professor, are you all right? Do you need anything? Is there… is there anything I can do?'

She opened her eyes slowly and blinked at him as if bewildered. Her expression softened into fond weariness. 'Remus,' she said. 'Good morning.'

'You don't look well, Professor,' he said softly, daring to shuffle a little nearer. 'Can I be of any help?'

She smiled faintly. There were webs of tiny red vessels in her eyes, and shadows beneath them. 'You're a good boy,' she said; 'but no. There's nothing you can do to help me. Thank you all the same.'

'Are you going to teach today? P-pardon me for saying, but you don't look up to it, Professor,' said Remus.

'Perhaps not,' mused Meyrigg, straightening up in her chair and reaching for the mug of tea. 'But if everyone else can do their duty against all reason and despite all obstacles, then I can as well. Go and take your seat, Remus. I promise not to let you down.'

There was a curious curl to her lip with those words, but Remus did not pause to consider it. His offer had been rebuffed – albeit in the gentlest manner possible – and the courage to make another attempt abandoned him. He retreated carefully to his seat, shaking his head at his friends' whispered questions.

Professor Meyrigg took several long swallows of her tea as she waited for the class to settle into their places. When everyone was seated she rose, made somewhat awkward by the cumbersome mass of her unborn child which by now was quite impossible to miss. 'Good morning,' she said.

'Good morning, Professor!' several voices chorused, obviously glad to have her back. Meyrigg smiled and inclined her head a little to acknowledge the greeting.

'We've only two lessons after today,' she said; 'but there is one more topic to discuss. I'm afraid three hours isn't nearly enough time to spend on it, but we are just going to have to get through it as best we can. Do try to pay attention, and take careful notes. Every year for the last eleven the Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL has included a question on the subject, and I do not expect that to change.'

She flicked her wand at the chalkboard, and a sketch appeared upon it: a brawny wolf in profile, its snout unnaturally snubbed, its tail tufted instead of sleek. Remus flinched at the uncanny realism of the teeth and the jaw and the eye with its piercing pupil.

He felt something pressing against the side of his shoe. Looking down he saw that Sirius had stretched his leg surreptitiously across the aisle to push his toes against Remus's foot. Remus looked up at his friend, who grinned reassuringly. '_Don't worry_,' he mouthed with a saucy wink.

Remus exhaled, nodding gratefully. It had not occurred to him, while fretting ceaselessly about this lesson, that his friends would be with him the entire time. They knew the truth, and surely understood how difficult this would be for him – or at least comprehended that it might be difficult. As much as he wished he did not have to suffer through this, at least he was not alone.

A tickling sensation below his left ear made him turn around. James was reaching forward with his quill, using the tip of the feather to attract his friend's attention. When Remus pivoted James cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. Peter could not reach across the diagonal gulf between their two desks, but he smiled.

Professor Meyrigg was speaking again. 'This is a diagram of a transformed werewolf, as it – as _he or she_ might appear during the hours of the full moon. Are any of you aware of the anatomy of a true wolf?'

Remus could not quite resist gauging his classmates' reactions to that question. Several of the more studious ones, Lily Evans among them, looked affronted by the realization that they did not know. One or two did not seem to have understood the question. Most simply looked bored, while a couple of girls on the far side of the room were whispering and pointing at Professor Meyrigg's stomach. Of all the hands in the room, only one found its way into the air.

It belonged, of course, to Sirius. Remus felt his chest constrict. Sirius had spent hundreds of hours researching the subject: he knew all there was to know about werewolves. And Sirius, who usually could not be bothered to answer questions in class, had his hand in the air voluntarily. Remus closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, praying that Professor Meyrigg would not let Sirius talk. The last thing he wanted was for his closest friend to lead the lesson.

'Only one of you,' Professor Meyrigg said, nodding. Sirius put down his hand, looking rather disappointed. 'I cannot say I am surprised: ordinary zoology is not a common topic of interest in wizarding circles.' She flicked her wand again, and upon the other board appeared a diagram in the same scale of the first, this one obviously depicting a natural wolf. Professor Meyrigg moved between them.

'Now, as you can see there are several significant differences between a werewolf and a true wolf,' she said, sounding for all the world as if she were discussing varieties of apples or something equally natural. It was ordinarily at this point that she would call upon members of the class to point them out, and several sharp-eyed pupils stirred eagerly. Instead, Professor Meyrigg went on.

'The tufted tail is perhaps the most obvious,' she said; 'at least when comparing them from this angle. A true wolf has fur of a uniform length on the tail, giving it a more streamlined appearance. In practice, however, this distinction is difficult to make; in part because of the night conditions in which on would encounter a werewolf, but also because in the majority of werewolf sightings at the full moon the werewolf is not standing neatly in profile.'

'No, it's coming straight at you to bite!' Aeolus Andrews quipped. Most of the class laughed, some merrily but most nervously. Sirius tensed and James made a low growling noise deep in his throat.

'No interruptions, please,' said Meyrigg. 'Five points from Gryffindor.'

Remus did not turn to see the astonishment on Andrews's face, but he could imagine it. Professor Meyrigg had never docked House points before, and ordinarily she encouraged discussion and even dissent in her lessons. She cast a final disapproving look at the guilty party and then continued.

'Similarly, the truncated snout can be difficult to recognize at other angles, though it is readily apparent when the werewolf throws back it—his or her head to howl. 'The slitted pupils should be obvious in most cases, as is the fact that the iris does not fill the visible area of the eye. Werewolves, unlike true wolves, have a halo of white in their eyes where the cornea is not covered by the lids. It is in part this characteristic that leads people to suppose that the eyes of a werewolf _glow_.'

Remus shuddered, but he did not think the motion was visible. He could feel James's gaze on the back of his head, and Peter was breathing very quietly. Sirius stretched his arms across the top of his desk and arched his shoulder blades. He was bored.

'Now, the elongation of the rear paws is obvious in most cases,' said Professor Meyrigg; 'but bear in mind that terrain can easily mask it. I would never advise trying to identify a werewolf by his or her feet. Nor indeed by the teeth, which as you can see are longer than those of the true wolf. Some experts argue that the teeth of true wolves are also more likely to be worn down or discoloured, since modern advances in oral hygiene have dramatically reduced tooth and gum disease in humans. Can anyone see the flaw in this reasoning?'

No one moved to answer. Remus fixed his eyes on his parchment. He had not written down a word yet. He did not suppose that he would need to. He knew the answer to Professor Meyrigg's question, even if nobody else did. If a werewolf could not even afford to feed himself, he was not going to be spending money on toothpaste. He remembered the gaping rictus of the werewolf called Anslow, and he ran his tongue along his own teeth as if to reassure himself that they were clean and straight and whole.

'I would like you all to think about it,' said Professor Meyrigg. 'There will be a prize for anyone who can answer me on Friday.'

She moved to lean a hip against her desk, her left hand straying to the small of her back. Her lips were very white. 'Does anyone have any questions?'

Charlotte White raised her hand. 'I don't understand, Professor,' she said. 'Why are we bothering over how to tell a werewolf from a true wolf? If we run into one it's bound to be a werewolf, isn't it? Wolves have been extinct in Britain for hundreds of years.'

'That is a very good point, Charlotte,' said Professor Meyrigg. 'And the answer is simple. Although wolves are no longer found in the wild in Britain, they are endemic on the Continent – and many of you may have occasion to travel there some day. More importantly, though, you are bothering to learn it because it will be on my final exam.'

'She's right,' said Athena Andrews. 'You ought to be teaching us how to recognize them when they're in human form. That's what we really ought to know. They could be anywhere, you see, and my grandfather says you can _always_ tell.'

Professor Meyrigg levelled a very steady eye at her. 'Your grandfather is mistaken,' she said mildly. 'In truth there is absolutely no way in which you could distinguish a werewolf from anyone else.'

Remus looked up, startled. This was not true: there were ways to tell. There were the scars, the mysterious absences, the cravings for raw meat, the illness before and after the full moon. It was obvious, if one knew the signs.

'Furthermore,' said Meyrigg firmly; 'I am at a loss as to why you would want to.'

'Well, they're not the sort of creatures you want to get close to,' Aeolus Andrews said. 'After all, you wouldn't want one in your house.'

'My dad's cousin had a werewolf try to get a job from him once,' put in Darius Jones. 'Worked for months before he found out.'

Meyrigg blinked at him. 'And your point?' she asked.

'It isn't right, is it?' asked Jones. 'I mean, that a werewolf could just walk in and apply for a job like that. If we knew how to spot 'em then we could put a stop to it.'

Professor Meyrigg sighed enormously, stiffening a little as she did so and shifting her hand to support her belly. 'This is Defence Against the Dark Arts,' she said. 'We are not going to get drawn into a political debate on the legal status of werewolves. I am here to teach you how to recognize them when they are dangerous – which is during the hours that the full moon is in the sky – and how to protect yourself from injury.'

There was a flurry of motion to Remus's left. Sirius was straight as a poker in his chair now, his hand in the air.

'Excuse me, Professor, but what do you mean by "the legal status of werewolves"?' he asked. 'I'm not trying to draw you into a political debate,' he added hastily as she shot him a sharp look. 'I'm just curious. What do you mean?'

Meyrigg paused for a moment, studying his face carefully. Her grip on her wand was tightening: her knuckles were taking on a bluish tint. She seemed to struggle for a moment to compose herself before she spoke.

'We've discussed the Ministry of Magic criteria for identifying Beasts and Beings,' she said, her voice not quite free from strain. 'When it comes to werewolves, there is some debate over their status. Over the last three hundred years they have been alternately classified as Beasts or as Beings, since depending upon the lunar cycle they are either dangerous, senseless creatures with a hunger for human prey, or courteous, sensitive and intelligent people like you or I. Current Ministry policy has them classified as Beasts, but there are those who believe that this is a legislative oversight that serves only to strip the civil liberties from some of the most vulnerable individuals in our society. Whatever your position on the matter—'

The reasoned response was cut off sharply by a harsh, strangled cry, and Meyrigg lost her hold on her wand. It rolled off of the desk and settled at the feet of Tryphosa MacGreggor. Professor Meyrigg herself was in no condition to notice. She was gripping her middle with both hands now, biting down upon her lower lip as beads of sweat raised themselves on her forehead.

'Professor!' Betta MacFusty cried, springing up from her seat. 'Professor, are you all right?'

Professor Meyrigg nodded tersely, moving to grip the edge of the desk. One of her knees buckled and she swayed perilously.

Remus was on his feet in a moment, running to help her before she fell. Lily had the same thought: they reached Professor Meyrigg within seconds of one another. She gripped Remus's shoulder and Lily took hold of her elbow.

'Let's ease her down to the floor,' Lily said, almost managing to sound calm. 'Professor, I think you ought to sit down.'

'Yes,' gasped Meyrigg. 'Yes, I think that would be best.'

There were others nearby now, anxious voices clamouring with questions. Remus and Lily helped Meyrigg lower herself onto the dais. She sat with her cheek pressed against the side of the desk, breathing heavily.

'Is it the baby, Professor?' asked Lily. 'Is it coming?'

'It can't be coming; it's far too early,' Meyrigg said distantly. She stiffened beneath their fingers as if in pain. 'I need… go and fetch… need Poppy…'

'Poppies? Why do you need poppies?' Lily asked. Her composure was disappearing and she was beginning to look like what she was: a frightened girl in a situation quite outside her experience.

'No, Poppy,' said Remus. 'Someone needs to go and fetch Poppy – I mean Pomfrey – someone go and get Madam Pomfrey.'

'Right!' Sirius called from somewhere near the edge of the crowd. 'Back in a flash.' The classroom door whistled open and then slammed closed behind him.

Professor Meyrigg had drawn one leg up towards her abdomen, and she was rocking against it, bracing herself against whatever it was that was tearing through her. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes and she screwed her lids tightly closed. Remus curled his fingers around her hand and reached out to feel her forehead as his mother always did when he was ill. She was cold, her skin clammy and slick with perspiration.

'Don't be afraid, Professor,' he said quietly. 'Madam Pomfrey will be here soon. She'll know what to do.'

There was jostling around him and someone's knee barked against his back. He braced himself so as not to pass the impact on to his suffering teacher.

'That's enough, all of you!' Betta MacFusty said fiercely. 'Back away and leave the woman to breathe. Go on! Back to your seats!'

Remus instinctively moved to withdraw, but he felt a firm hand on his shoulders. 'Not you, Lupin: you stay right there,' Betta told him. 'Lily, put your knee behind her; help her sit up. There, now, Professor: is that any better?'

Meyrigg jerked her head tightly. Another spasm seemed to take her and her eyes flew open, locking with Remus's. Wide with panic, they made her look lost and frightened and far younger than she was.

'It can't come now, it can't,' she whispered. 'It's too early.'

'I know,' said Remus, managing somehow to keep his voice from quaking. 'I know, but Madam Pomfrey will be here in a minute. She'll take care of you; she's the very best there is.'

Professor Meyrigg nodded again as if steeling herself with his words. She squeezed his hand and drew in a thin breath through her nostrils. Remus glanced at the door, praying that Sirius would return swiftly with the matron. He could not do anything more than he had already done, and his own terror was rising. With it came indistinct memories of cries in the morning and chaos when he was still too weak from his transformation even to try to understand.

It was happening again.


	89. Borrowed Time

**Chapter Eighty-Nine: Borrowed Time**

It seemed an eternity before Madam Pomfrey arrived, though in reality it could not have been more than a few minutes. She entered the classroom at a run, Sirius hot on her heels. As Betta MacFusty had already successfully cleared the front of the room the matron had nothing to hinder her from flying around the desk and dropping swiftly to her knees beside Remus.

'What is it? What's happened?' the matron asked, feeling for Professor Meyrigg's pulse.

'Pain, cramping pain,' the younger woman gasped. Her fingers tightened their grip on Remus's hand. 'It's the baby, isn't it? I know it's the baby.'

'We shall have to see,' said Madam Pomfrey. She glanced over her shoulder at the sea of anxious faces. 'First things first; best get you to the hospital wing.' With practiced motions she Conjured a stretcher. 'Out of the way, dear,' she said to Lily. 'You've been a help, but I'll take it from here.'

Lily scuttled backward, clambering to her feet and retreating so that her hip pressed the ledge of the blackboard. 'Tilt to the right, Brynna, and I'll slide it under you,' Madam Pomfrey instructed. Professor Meyrigg obeyed, and a moment later she was sitting on the stretcher, still holding onto Remus with her right hand while her left fluttered over her abdomen.

'Lie back,' Madam Pomfrey said soothingly, using her arm to support Meyrigg's shoulders as she did so. She was nearly supine when another convulsion of pain tore through her. She bit down upon her lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Madam Pomfrey pressed her palm on Meyrigg's abdomen, palpating expertly. A furrow appeared between her eyebrows and she gripped the teacher's shoulder bracingly.

'No time to waste,' she said. 'Try to stay still.' She got to her feet and took hold of her wand. Smoothly but swiftly the stretcher lifted into the air. Remus had to scramble to get his feet underneath him before he could tug on Meyrigg's arm. 'Thank you, Remus,' said the matron. 'I'll take her from here.'

Remus tried to pull back his hand, but Professor Meyrigg's nails dug in against his palm. She shook her head, parting her lips to speak. Only a quick, low whimper came out, and she fixed frightened eyes on the matron, pleading wordlessly.

'All right,' said Madam Pomfrey softly. 'Just for now. You'll have to trot, dear: we need to get her to a bed quickly.'

'Yes, Madam,' Remus said. Professor Meyrigg's frantic grasp relaxed a little and he put his other hand over hers.

A moment later they were moving, Madam Pomfrey levitating the stretcher along while Remus hurried beside. Tackling the stairs was a bit of a trick, but the matron had plenty of experience with such things and Remus caught on quickly. As the doors to the hospital wing drew near he wondered how they would manage to get them open, if Professor Meyrigg would not let go of his hand. This, too, Madam Pomfrey managed without a moment's consideration: keeping her wand steadily on the stretcher, she skirted around to push open the door with her off hand. She guided the bier across the ward and lowered it onto the nearest bed. A flick of her wrist Vanished it, leaving Professor Meyrigg supine atop the bedclothes. She flexed her neck so that her head was pressed against the pillow, and closed her eyes tightly against the next wave of pain.

Madam Pomfrey had her wand over Professor Meyrigg's stomach. The tip glowed faintly blue as the matron moved it in slow circles. Suddenly the light flared up, and then began to pulse very quickly. She let out a breath that Remus hadn't noticed her holding.

'We've got a heartbeat,' she said. 'Good and strong.'

Professor Meyrigg managed a strained smile. 'Thank heavens,' she breathed. Then she tensed again, lifting her head off of the pillow. 'Is the baby coming? It's too early…'

'I won't know that until I examine you properly,' said Madam Pomfrey. She reached to prise Meyrigg's fingers off of the boy's hand.

'No…'

'Brynna, I need to examine you,' said Pomfrey firmly. She offered her patient a calming smile as she added, reasonably; 'You don't want Remus here for that.'

'Oh…' Professor Meyrigg turned to look at him as if she had only just remembered that he was there. 'Oh, no, of course not. No…'

She seemed to make an effort to release her hold, but her fingers did not obey. Gently the matron moved the digits so that Remus could slip free. 'There, dear, thank you,' she said, allowing Meyrigg's hand to twine around her own. 'You may go back to class if you wish.'

Remus did not know what to say. Perhaps his worries were unfounded: the baby had a heartbeat, and that seemed to be a very good sign. Still he could not quite let go of his fear. He was not sure quite how far along Professor Meyrigg was, but it had to be less than seven months. He did not know whether a baby born so early could survive. He looked at his stricken teacher and then cast plaintive eyes on the matron. 'Might I wait in the corridor, Madam?' he asked. 'Just… just until you're sure that everything is all right?'

Her expression was sympathetic but uncertain. 'Oh, Remus, I don't really think…'

'It's all right,' Meyrigg said hoarsely. 'It's all right: he ought to be allowed to stop worrying the moment there's no cause.'

'But not in the corridor, dear,' Madam Pomfrey relented. 'Go and sit in my office. I'll come to see you when there's news.'

'Yes, Madam, thank you,' Remus said. 'Please,' he added, very softly; 'please take care of her.'

'Of course I shall, dear,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Now go: I have it well in hand.'

Remus retreated and almost at once the matron was drawing screens around the bed, speaking to Professor Meyrigg in low, consoling tones.

Once inside Madam Pomfrey's office, it was all that Remus could do to stumble to the couch before his knees gave out entirely. He crumpled against the soft upholstery, trembling violently. He had managed to stay calm when Professor Meyrigg needed him, but now all hope of maintaining composure fled. He drew his feet up onto the cushion and buried his head against his knees while his heart hammered in his chest and cold perspiration trickled down the back of his neck.

Professor Meyrigg could not lose the baby. She could not, she must not. She had suffered through enough strain and worry already. Her husband was far away, working in secret for the Headmaster; he could not come to be with her. She had been through so much strain and worry already this year. She did not deserve to lose her baby.

He tried to find comfort in the fact that Madam Pomfrey had been able to get to her right away; that even now Professor Meyrigg was getting the attention she needed. Perhaps that would make a difference. The baby had a heartbeat, he reminded himself again. Perhaps the matron had reached Meyrigg quickly enough that she would be able to do something to keep the baby alive. He had a foggy memory of a young house doctor in a white coat and spectacles, telling a nurse that if only the patient had come in sooner they might have been able to _do_ something.

He was very cold now, his quaking subsiding into terse little shivers. Pressing his body into the softness of the couch he curled onto his side, letting his head rest against the arm. Beyond the door he could here the soft, reassuring timbre of the matron's voice, murmuring too quietly for the words to be heard. He closed his eyes, trying to believe that Professor Meyrigg would be all right.

_discidium_

A soft hand on his shoulder awakened him. Remus rolled onto his back, for a moment uncertain of where he was. Then he saw the heavy dark desk and the shelves of clean linen. Madam Pomfrey was looking down at him, her weary eyes gentle.

He sat up with a start, pulse quickening. 'Is she all right, Madam?' he exclaimed. 'Is the baby…'

'Professor Meyrigg is going to be fine,' the matron said. 'The baby is still safe inside where it belongs, and so long as she takes the proper care both mother and child should remain healthy. She would like to see you, if you're willing.'

'Yes. Yes, of course.' Remus reached to smooth his hair, which was plastered unbecomingly across his forehead. There was a faint, crusting trail on his right cheek and he scrubbed it hastily away. He did not remember crying, but it might have happened in his sleep. 'Right now, Madam?'

'Right now. Go on: you might cheer her up a little.' The matron shepherded him to the door.

The screens were still in place around the nearest bed. He approached cautiously, peering between the gap. Professor Meyrigg was lying in bed, curled on her left side with a pillow behind her knees. She was wearing a high-necked nightgown and her hair was loose. Seeing him she smiled, but did not move to sit up.

'Remus,' she said. 'I wanted to thank you for watching over me.'

'I had to, Professor!' he said. 'After everything my friends and I have done to harass you this year… I _had_ to help if I could. It wasn't much.'

'It meant a great deal to me,' said Meyrigg. 'Come a little nearer: I can't see you very well at this angle.'

He obeyed, approaching the bed with what he hoped was a comforting demeanour. 'Madam Pomfrey says you're going to be all right?'

It came out as a question rather than a statement and he cursed himself silently.

'So I'm told,' said Meyrigg. She shook her head ruefully. 'Though it's a high price to pay for health. How I am going to properly oversee my exams I don't know!'

'As I told you,' Madam Pomfrey said, coming around the screen with her arms crossed sternly; 'you _won't_ be overseeing exams! The Headmaster will simply have to make other arrangements. You are going to stay in that bed where I can keep an eye on you, and you are going to have a healthy baby! That's your priority, young lady: teaching will keep.'

'But Poppy, I have to supervise the practical portion for third and fourth year at least,' Professor Meyrigg reasoned. 'Of course the Ministry examiner will see to the OWLs and the NEWTs, but I've promised the seventh years another three sessions before the exam. They have all been working so hard, and they deserve the very best I can give them.'

'Nonsense,' clucked the matron. 'You've been giving them your best all year, and while I might _consider_ letting you walk as far as the toilet and back, I'll not have you duelling!'

'I could sit on a chaise and watch…'

'Absolutely not!' Madam Pomfrey wagged her finger fervently at her patient. 'If you want to keep that child, you need to lie still and rest!'

Remus took a circumspect step backward, feeling as if he were intruding in a very private debate. Professor Meyrigg tried to fix Madam Pomfrey with a defiant look, but it was undercut somewhat by the fact that her cheek was pressed against the pillowslip. The matron frowned.

'I warned you what would happen if you didn't take proper care of yourself,' she said. 'You've been fretting day and night, lying awake when you ought to be sleeping, pacing when you ought to be sitting with your feet up, picking at your meals and driving yourself mad with worry over things you can't control. Now, I can't stop you worrying, but I am determined to stop you from dropping that poor child before it's ready to survive!'

Professor Meyrigg sighed heavily. 'Poppy, you're talking about _weeks_ in bed…'

'Ten weeks at least!' Madam Pomfrey agreed. 'And either you can serve them out here, with me to look after you and friends to bring you news as it comes, or I can make arrangements to have you transferred to St. Mungo's.'

Professor Meyrigg blanched a little, and Remus wondered what she would find so upsetting about the prospect of being moved to the hospital.

'They don't take maternity patients at St. Mungo's,' said Meyrigg, rather tartly.

'No, but they _do _take patients who need to be magically restrained for their own good,' said the matron. 'I'll not be letting you go home to that draughty old house to try to manage on your own, so you can forget that notion.'

For a moment the two women were silent. Finally Professor Meyrigg grimaced. 'You do promise to let me have company, don't you?' she said almost meekly.

'In moderation,' said Pomfrey, but she was smiling gently now. 'I'm sure that we'll all try to keep you amused.'

'I don't need to be amused,' Meyrigg laughed.

'Distracted, then,' said the matron. 'But the first thing you need is sleep, so if you'll just finish your business with your young pupil here, I'll fix you something to help you along.'

She withdrew, leaving Remus and the teacher alone. Professor Meyrigg pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Ten weeks,' she said softly. 'I don't know how I'll manage it.'

'Surely it will be worth it, Professor,' Remus murmured. 'If the baby's going to be all right.'

She looked up at him, surprised into a sudden smile. 'I suppose that's just the way to look at it,' she said. She curled her lip to the left. 'Though it's going to be tiresome: I've never been a sedentary sort of person, and I'd been counting on exams to keep me occupied. I shall just have to learn how to be patient, and that's an end to it.'

'You're one of the most patient people I know,' said Remus. 'Anyone who can put up with the things we've done to you this year has got to have the patience of Job.'

It was one of his mother's expressions, and it slipped out without thought, but Professor Meyrigg's brows knit together. 'That's from the King James Bible, isn't it?' she asked, astonished. 'Are you Muggle-born? I never would have thought…'

'No, I'm a half-blood,' Remus said. 'My mother's a Muggle and my father's a wizard.'

'Ah,' said Meyrigg. Her eyes clouded for a moment. 'What does she make of it all?'

It was an ordinary enough question, but the sadness in the woman's eyes as she asked it gave Remus pause. Before he could assure her that his mother didn't mind at all that his father was a wizard, Professor Meyrigg let out a long, warm breath and blinked away the shadow.

'You never complain,' she said. 'You bear it all so patiently. You are going to be my example, Remus, do you know that? Could I ask you for something?'

'Yes, Professor, anything!' he pledged. He was perplexed by her words and he wondered what on earth she thought she was talking about, but he reasoned that she was exhausted and hurting and she had had a bad scare today. It was to be expected that she would ramble a little.

'Would you come to visit me now and then?' she asked. 'Just when you have a little spare time. I would be very grateful for the distraction.'

'Yes, of course,' stammered Remus. 'Of course, if you'd like me to.'

'I would,' Professor Meyrigg said earnestly. 'I would like it very much. Remus—'

She was cut off by the noise of the ward door opening and Professor McGonagall's brisk voice calling out, 'Brynna?'

'Here, Minerva,' said Professor Meyrigg. A moment later the Gryffindor Head of House came striding around the screen, her ordinarily unflappable countenance coloured with anxiety. Professor Meyrigg stiffened and seemed hard-pressed to overcome the urge to sit sharply upright. 'What is it?' she breathed hoarsely, all colour draining from her cheeks. 'Is there word? Has anyone made contact.'

Professor McGonagall looked suddenly penitent. 'No, nothing,' she said.

Meyrigg's lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly and she closed her eyes for a moment before trusting herself to speak. 'Then you came because you heard about me,' she said.

McGonagall nodded. 'It seems you are still expecting,' she said quietly.

Meyrigg nodded tightly. 'But I'm on bed rest,' she said with counterfeit cheer. 'I shan't be able to finish the term, and someone else will have to see to my examinations.'

'It will be taken care of,' McGonagall promised. She slipped past Remus and reached to grip her colleague's shoulder. 'Thank God you're all right, Brynna. Thank God.'

'I… I ought to go,' Remus said softly, edging towards the screen. 'I'll be late for History of Magic.'

'You've missed History of Magic, Lupin,' said McGonagall, not unkindly; 'but if you hurry you ought to have time for a bite to eat before Transfiguration.'

'Go on, Remus,' Professor Meyrigg agreed, smiling reassuringly. 'And thank you.'

He mumbled something unintelligible before beating his retreat. Madam Pomfrey was just coming out of her office with a steaming goblet. She said something to him and he ducked his head before hurrying out of the ward.

_discidium_

Remus had expected to be interrogated by his friends, but it seemed they already knew what was going on. Headmaster Dumbledore had made an announcement at lunch: Professor Meyrigg was ill and would be immured in the hospital wing for some time to come. Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons were to be cancelled for everyone but the fifth and seventh years, who would be supervised by other members of staff through their final preparations for their OWL and NEWT practicals. Exams for the other years would be held as scheduled, though material that had not yet been covered in lessons would not be counted.

'That's what comes of hiring pregnant women,' Sirius said that afternoon, nodding as though this particular gem of wisdom was his own personal credo in life.

'She wasn't pregnant when he hired her,' James pointed out. 'Otherwise she could've just dropped the baby this morning and been back at work this afternoon.'

Peter giggled. 'I don't think that's how it works, James,' he said.

Remus had nothing to add to the conversation. He was still trying to make himself believe that everything was all right; that Professor Meyrigg was fine, that the baby was alive, that there was nothing to worry about. He had to stop thinking about the fact that she might have died, or lost the child, or given birth to an infant too tiny to survive. Everything was all right, and although it would be difficult for an active lady like Professor Meyrigg to be immured in bed for weeks he could try to make it easier for her in whatever small ways he could.

Professor McGonagall was three minutes late for Transfiguration. This was an unheard-of occurrence and might have been seen as a portent of doom, save that she strode to the front of the classroom, set her wand crisply upon her desk and announced that she had just been to see Professor Meyrigg.

'She has asked me to thank all of you for being so calm and well-behaved this morning,' she said. 'I am happy to inform you that Professor Meyrigg is well and although she will be unable to teach any longer this term she is expected to carry her child to term. She wanted to remind you to study diligently for your Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Furthermore, I have been instructed to inform you that as only Hufflepuff has had the benefit of a complete lesson on werewolves, the topic will _not_ be included on your examination.'

For a moment Remus was startled by the cheery murmurs that ran through the room at that announcement. Then he realized that of course everyone would be relieved to have less material to revise, no matter what was excluded. He settled a little more comfortably into his seat. It seemed horrific to be benefiting from Professor Meyrigg's misfortune, no matter how small the benefit might be, but he could not help but feel just a little bit relieved.

The sound of his own name made him straighten again. McGonagall was speaking; '…as were Miss Evans and Miss MacFusty. Mr Black took it upon himself to fetch the matron, whose prompt intervention may well have prevented a tragedy. The four of you showed remarkable maturity and sound judgement in extraordinary circumstances, and you have given Gryffindor House cause to be proud. I think an award of ten House points would not be amiss.'

Lily smiled radiantly and Betta MacFusty nodded. Sirius snorted softly.

'Ten points wouldn't be amiss?' he whispered, elbowing Remus companionably in the ribs. 'Any other teacher would've made it twenty at least!'

'Give over!' hissed James. 'McGonagall hardly ever gives House points! She must be right impressed.'

After that the lesson began. Unlike most of the other teachers, Professor McGonagall had adhered to her syllabus with care: they moved at the usual pace through exercises of moderate complexity. That was just as well, for Remus's mind kept wandering no matter how hard he tried to focus.

_discidium_

As soon as the second years were dismissed for the day Remus took off at a run for the dormitory. It took him a few minutes to find everything he wanted, but soon enough he was hurrying back down the spiral staircase with his satchel slapping against his hip. Peter called out a question as he wove his way through the common room, but Remus did not quite make out what he was asking. He paused at the portrait hole only to take care not to slam the Fat Lady into the lintel, and then hastened for the familiar staircase around the corner.

He did not think he had ever made this journey in so short a time, but then it was the week of the waning crescent and he was as strong as he ordinarily got. Even so his side was aching a little when he finally emerged in the hospital wing corridor. He hesitated at the door, catching his breath before he slipped inside.

He had not taken two steps when Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office, a heavy tome balanced against her hip. 'Jinx, fall, or Potions mishap?' she asked briskly, still scanning the open page. 'I'm afraid I haven't time for spots or unexpected hair growth today.'

'It's me, Madam,' Remus said in quiet amusement. 'I've come to see Professor Meyrigg.'

'Remus! Dear, I didn't think to look at you!' The matron shook her head and offered him a harried smile. 'You're so sweet to visit, but I'm afraid Brynna is sleeping. Now, I've just got to run down to the dungeons and find out whether Professor Slughorn can brew up a batch of this Drowsing Elixir: it seems ordinary Sleeping Draughts aren't advisable in expectant mothers.'

'Let him in, Poppy,' a familiar Welsh voice sighed.

The matron turned towards the screens, eyes narrowing in annoyance. 'You're meant to be sleeping!' she scolded.

'Chamomile tea isn't much of a sedative,' Professor Meyrigg said wryly.

'And what about exhaustion?' countered Pomfrey. But she nodded to Remus. 'Go on: keep her occupied. If she would just stop being so _stubborn_ then perhaps I could do something to help her. Never seen the like in all my years: obdurate, contrary, difficult…'

She brushed past him and out of the hospital wing, still juggling the book and muttering to herself. Remus watched her go, unaware of the smile he was wearing, and then moved further into the ward.

'She is funny, isn't she, the way she fusses?' Professor Meyrigg said with a conspiratorial wink.

Remus stopped grinning, horrified to realize how disrespectful he was being. 'Oh, I didn't mean anything,' he said hastily. 'Only she… she _does_ love to fuss.'

'I know,' Meyrigg said with a long-suffering lolling of the eyes. 'It has only been a few hours and already I'm sure she'll drive me mad with it. But she's wonderful. She's spent the whole day reading up: I don't suppose she sees many pregnancies here.' She shifted a little on her shoulder, smoothing the blankets. She was still lying on her left side, well bolstered with cushions. 'Thank you for coming to see me,' she said.

'I brought some things to keep you occupied,' Remus said. He reached for the bed-tray and wheeled it nearer, hoisted his satchel onto it and began to unpack. 'I don't know if you like to read Muggle books, but these are really very good. In case you aren't interested I've brought _Hogwarts: A History_. The cover is a little worn but it isn't missing any pages. Do you like sweets?' He pulled out his precious stockpile of Chocolate Frogs and a box of Every Flavour Beans. 'There's a jigsaw, too, and this.'

Out came the case of convalescent amusements that Sirius had given him for Christmas. 'I'm afraid that nearly all the crosswords have been done,' he said; 'but you're welcome to finish the others. The ring-puzzle can keep you occupied for hours.'

Professor Meyrigg was very quiet. She was looking at the array of diversions with a curious expression on her face and a very closed look in her eyes.

'O-Or I could just fetch you something from the library,' Remus said. 'Or ask a house elf to go to your office and bring some of your own books. Or perhaps you don't want to read at all. I could… I could just go away.'

Meyrigg's gaze had shifted: she was looking at him now, instead of his belongings. A tiny smile touched her lips. 'You're a very generous young man, Remus,' she said. 'I'm sure I shall enjoy everything: thank you.'

Remus let out his pent-up discomfiture in one long breath. 'Oh, I'm glad!' he said. 'I also thought that some other day I could bring my chessmen down and we could have a game – if you play chess, that is.'

'I do,' said Meyrigg; 'and I would love to. For now what do you say you bring a chair over here and we can work on the jigsaw puzzle?'

_discidium_

Every afternoon that week Remus went to visit Professor Meyrigg in the hospital wing. She certainly did not seem to want for guests: on Thursday he found Professor McGonagall with her, reading aloud from the latest volume of _Matter Transmogrified: A Journal of Experimental Spellwork_. On Friday she was surrounded by half a dozen of her NEWTs students, all of whom seemed to have brought flowers and well-wishing cards. When he arrived in the hospital wing on Saturday, Headmaster Dumbledore himself was seated in the chair by the bed, nodding solemnly at something Professor Meyrigg had said.

'But you must be patient, Brynna,' he told her. 'Owyn was very clear that it might prove more difficult for him to slip away, now that he doesn't have the excuse of going home every week-end. I promise that his new handler is trustworthy, if occasionally less than forthright.'

'It's been nearly two weeks,' Professor Meyrigg said, her voice a whisper that was obviously holding back tears. 'Two weeks and we've heard nothing. How can you be sure he hasn't been hurt?'

'I cannot,' said Dumbledore sadly. 'But I can promise that his position has not been compromised, because if it had I do not doubt that Voldemort would make every effort to be sure I knew it. For the time being we have to assume that your husband is safe, and still working to assemble concrete evidence that would allow – Good afternoon!'

Remus swallowed painfully as the crystal-blue eyes pivoted towards him. The first schism of a frown appeared on Dumbledore's face, vanishing almost instantly into an expression of mild surprise. 'It seems you have a visitor, my dear,' he said to Professor Meyrigg. He reached out to pat her hand, which was resting on her enlarged flank. 'I shall leave you to it. Do try not to worry: you know what Madam Pomfrey said. If you fret too much then all the precautions in the world won't keep you from an early delivery.'

He got to his feet and sailed across the stone floor, pausing to grip Remus's shoulder. He smiled. 'Do try to cheer her up, my boy. She's in a rather melancholy mood today.' Then he was gone.

Professor Meyrigg sniffled softly, surreptitiously wiping her eyes with a corner of the bed sheet. She smiled unsteadily. 'Remus. How lovely to see you.'

Remus moved nearer, reaching into his bag to bring out his mother's chessmen. 'I thought perhaps we could play,' he explained, not knowing what else to say.

'Marvellous!' She looked almost genuinely happy at the prospect, and reached to pat the bed tray insistently. 'That's just what I need. I hope you're a good player, Remus: I'm up for a challenge!'

'They aren't wizarding pieces,' Remus said apologetically as he began to set up the board. 'They belonged to my mother, you see, and…'

'They're beautiful,' Meyrigg interrupted warmly. 'I prefer Muggle pieces. Arguing with one's bishops takes all the finesse out of what ought to be a tranquil game, don't you think?'

They started to play, Meyrigg asking gentle questions until all of a sudden Remus was telling her all about Mother and her exploits at Oxford. Somehow this turned into the story of how his parents met, and the tale of his paternal grandfather's death and the endowment from the estate that had allowed them to purchase the little house in Falmouth. Remus had just finished describing the garden when Professor Meyrigg's queen swooped in to snag one of his rooks.

'Do you have any brothers or sisters?' Meyrigg asked while Remus, suddenly silent, scrambled to work out his next move. 'I would love to think that I've got other young Lupins to look forward to teaching in years to come.'

Remus's stomach shrivelled within him. His mouth was very dry and he shook his head hypnotically three times before he could force out anything remotely resembling an English sentence. 'I was meant to have, Professor,' he whispered. Guilt and misery rose up to swallow him. 'My mother was going to have a baby girl… but she died.'

The moment the words were out he hated himself for speaking them. Here was Professor Meyrigg, imprisoned in a hospital bed in the hope of keeping her own child alive, and he was talking about dead children. A hot flush rose to his cheeks and his hands quivered in his lap. He could not look her in the eyes. Not until slender fingers curled around his palm did he glance in the general direction of her face.

'I'm sorry, Remus. I'm so sorry,' Professor Meyrigg murmured. 'I never would have asked if I had thought.'

'No,' he protested softly. 'No, it's… I didn't… I oughtn't… she…' He swallowed the mass of bitter regret rising in his throat and got to his feet, smoothing the front of his robes. 'I'm sorry, Professor,' he said with as much dignity as he could muster. 'I… I must go now.'

Without another word he turned heel and fled, leaving Professor Meyrigg helpless in bed behind him and his mother's Oxford chessmen abandoned mid-game on the tray by the bed.

_discidium_

Remus did not know where he was going. He tore blindly down a corridor and up a flight of stairs that shifted as he mounted them. He reached a landing that ended abruptly in mid-air, and caught himself only just before careening off the edge. He had to backtrack then, for it was useless to try to quarrel with Hogwarts Castle at the best of times and he was nowhere near his best. He found another passageway that ended in a narrow stone stairway, and then another and another. He did not realize that he was near the Owlery until his fingers closed on the familiar door-handle and he stumbled into the room with its carpet of straw and stray feathers.

He let the heavy door swing closed behind him, ignoring the indignant hooting above. He managed to stagger to an alcove beneath one of the torches before he fell to his knees, his eyes burning with tears that he refused to let fall.

He had no right to cry for the tiny baby, the little grey mummified thing that the nurses had whisked out past his waiting father, past him as he lay curled on an abandoned gurney, still bleeding quietly into Conjured bandages. He had no right to mourn for the sister he ought to have had. If it hadn't been for him, for his folly and his disobedience, the baby would still be alive.

She would be eight years old, he realized with a start. She would be at home with his parents at the house on Chancery Lane, playing in the garden or running up and down the stairs or perhaps even sitting quietly to study so that she, too, would be ready to go to Hogwarts when her time came. He wondered what she would have been like: sweet and cheerful like his mother, or sombre and sometimes cross like his father, or bold and domineering like the aunt he could hardly remember. Perhaps she would have grown up wild, like the Irish uncle his mother hardly ever mentioned. Remus didn't suppose she would have been anything like him; quiet and timid and so unsure. Almost certainly she would have been ashamed of him: her older brother the werewolf who brought nothing but heartache and misfortune on the family.

It was not something that his parents talked about. Perhaps they meant to spare him from grief that they thought he was too young to remember, or perhaps they were only trying to spare themselves. Whatever the reason, Remus did not remember ever having heard them speak about the baby or the circumstances surrounding his mother's miscarriage. They scarcely even made reference to the little gabled nursery next to his bedroom, its locked door opened only once a year so that his mother could dust and air it. Had it not been for that annual ritual he might have forgotten entirely; after all, it was only one more painful moment in what had been a long year of pain and terror. But he had not forgotten, not entirely, and these last few days with Professor Meyrigg had brought the memories to the surface.

He was not sure how long he sat there until the black mood passed. The light beyond the vaulting windows grew golden and the owls became livelier as night drew on. Finally Remus got to his feet, brushing the straw from his robes. He made his way back to the dormitory, stopping in the boys' bathroom on the sixth floor to wash his face.

'There you are!' James said, looking up from a game of Exploding Snap as Remus came in. 'That was a long visit.'

'I suppose so,' Remus said noncommittally. He shuffled to his bed and unlaced his shoes.

'How's Professor Meyrigg?' asked Peter, genuinely concerned.

'She's bearing up,' Remus said. 'I don't think she much likes to be stuck in bed.'

'Who would?' Sirius exclaimed. 'Trapped somewhere you don't want to be, with everyone telling you it's for the best, while somebody you care about is off doing dangerous and exciting things without you? Sounds like torture to me.'

'Are you all right?' Peter queried, little eyes narrowing as he studied his friend's face. 'You look pale.'

'I'm just tired,' Remus lied. 'I think I've been staying up too late.'

'No such thing!' laughed James. 'Marauders are creatures of the night! We thrive in the small hours! We are tireless! Enduring! Indefatigable!'

'Ooh, that's a big word,' Sirius cooed mockingly. 'Can you spell it well?'

James grinned and stuck out his tongue. He was about to make some sort of witty retort when there came a knock on the door.

'Give over, Andrews,' said Sirius irately. 'We're not being _that_ loud!'

The person on the other side of the door cleared his throat. 'It's Fabian Prewett,' he said. 'Is this Remus Lupin's dormitory?'

'Yes…' Remus said timidly. Peter got to his feet and went to open the door, looking up at the Prefect in muted awe. Remus tried to hide his stocking feet under the bed-skirt. 'I… have I done something wrong?'

Sirius muffled a loud chortle in a less-than-subtle snort. Prewett glanced briefly in his direction and stepped into the room. 'Dorcas Meadowes asked me to bring this up to you,' he said, holding out the flat wooden box that housed Remus's glass chessmen. 'Said you forgot it in the hospital wing?'

'Oh,' said Remus, trying not to look at his friends. He scurried forward and took hold of the box. 'Thank you. I'm sorry if I put you to any trouble.'

Prewett shrugged. 'All in a day's work.' He looked at James and Sirius again. 'Do try to keep it down, chaps,' he said. 'Everyone else in this tower is trying to prep for exams. You ought to try it yourselves.'

He turned around and was gone. Peter closed the door and returned to his place in the game.

Remus waited, breathless with the fear that the others would realize how unlike him it was to forget such a treasure anywhere. He was startled when James grinned.

'So you've been playing chess with Meyrigg,' he said. 'That's nice.'

'Did you beat her?' Sirius asked. He winked in an aside to his best friend. 'I'll just bet he beat her.'

'No,' Remus said, a small relieved smile touching his lips. His secrets, it seemed, were safe for the present. 'No, I didn't beat her.'

'Well, come and see if you can beat us, then,' James said, shuffling the cards and shifting nearer to Sirius to open up their circle. Peter shuffled the cards and began to deal them into four piles. 'And no memorizing the cards!' James warned.

Remus sat, his spirits lifting considerably. Whatever else he had to fret over, it seemed that he could always count upon his friends to furnish a welcome distraction.


	90. The Trials of June

**Chapter Ninety: The Trials of June**

Despite the communal decision to lie in on Monday, Remus awoke at the usual hour. His friends' bed hangings were still drawn, and he could hear faint snoring coming from behind them. Knowing that he would not be able to fall asleep again, Remus dressed quietly and slipped out of the dormitory. The common room was busy, for of course only the second years had their first lesson of the day cancelled. Remus moved unnoticed through the crowd and, as he had no intention of going down for breakfast with everyone else, soon found himself in a deserted stretch of corridor. He was feeling restless despite his fatigue – his night had been filled with uneasy dreams.

He had not been to visit Professor Meyrigg on Sunday, and he knew that he ought to feel guilty about that. He had promised to visit her, to help to keep her distracted from her confinement and her worries about her husband. He ought to have overcome his fear of facing her in the aftermath of his outburst on Saturday. Yet somehow he could not quite bring himself around to true penitence. He had accomplished a great deal the day before: revising for exams, organizing his notes for History of Magic, giving Peter some much-needed help in Charms. He had even started to clear out his cupboard so that it would not be such a daunting task after exams were through. He was not sorry for any of that.

All the same he owed Professor Meyrigg an apology for neglecting her, and an explanation for his frightful behaviour. He suspected if he left the matter until after lessons he would be swept away in the festive atmosphere that was sure to predominate this evening: it was their final day in class before examinations started. So he turned left instead of right and started down towards the hospital wing.

Professor Meyrigg was in bed, of course, lying obediently on her left side as she picked disconsolately at a bountiful assortment of food. Remus stood watching for nearly a minute before she noticed him. Her careworn face was brightened by a sudden smile.

'Good morning!' she said. 'How lovely to see you.'

She did not seem angry. Remus stepped forward into her little enclosure. 'Good morning, Professor. How are you feeling today?'

'Perfectly healthy and maddeningly bored,' she said with an irate frown. She scowled at the dishes beside her. 'I don't know how I can be expected to eat.'

'I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday,' Remus ventured.

'Think nothing of it!' she said, wafting a dismissive hand and laughing a little. 'I had my seventh years here for most of the afternoon; last minute advice for their NEWT, you know. I ought to be coaching them, but it's been forbidden.'

'I'm certain they will all do well, Professor,' Remus said. 'You're a very good teacher.'

He thought he saw a tiny flush appear across her cheekbones. 'Thank you, Remus,' she said. 'That's very nice to hear, particularly from one of my best students.'

She was only being kind, of course, and returning a compliment with a compliment. It was impossible that he could be one of her top students, with James and Sirius and Rowena Smythe and Lily Evans to compete with. It was impolite to contradict a teacher, however, and so Remus said nothing.

'Did your chess set get back to you?' asked Professor Meyrigg. 'I would have held onto it for you, but it seems rather too precious to be away from its owner for long.'

'Yes, Professor. Fabian Prewitt brought it up to the dormitory,' said Remus. 'I… I oughtn't to have run off on you like that. I'm sorry.'

'Please don't be sorry,' she said earnestly. She smoothed the coverlet over her hip and smiled. 'Now, have you had breakfast?' When Remus shook his head her eyes sparkled mischievously. 'What about helping me with this lot, then?' she asked. 'Madam Pomfrey will fret if there's too much left on the tray.'

Remus drew up the visitor's chair and sat, carefully watching Professor Meyrigg's face as she began to fill a plate for him.

_discidium_

They did not speak about the incident after that. Remus faithfully kept his promise, stopping by the hospital wing every day to visit his bedridden teacher. There seemed to exist a silent pact between them: she respected his silence on the matter of his outburst, and he did not let on anything that he knew or suspected about the situation with her husband. They made pleasant conversation, and played many games of chess, and generally enjoyed each other's company. On Thursday the second year Gryffindors sat their first exam – History of Magic – and afterwards all four of the Marauders trooped down to the hospital wing to see Professor Meyrigg. She seemed to enjoy the aimless banter of Sirius and James; certainly she laughed whenever they made a particularly witty comment. The visit did not last long, however, for Madam Pomfrey soon came to shoo them off, admonishing them sternly for raising such a ruckus.

Between trips to see Meyrigg, Remus was occupied not so much with preparing for exams as he was in helping Peter. Sirius and James took a very lax approach to studying, confident that they knew all there was to know. Remus preferred a quiet, methodical method. Peter, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves every minute of the day, hovering right on the cusp of panic at the mere mention of Transfiguration, or Charms, or Potions. Neither James nor Sirius had any use for him when he was in such a state, and there were frequent impatient outbursts in the dormitory – all rather unkind. Remus would have liked to tell the others to let Peter be, but he was not quite brave enough to do that. Instead he made a tremendous effort to be pleasant and patient and helpful, no matter how irrational Peter's fears or how long he struggled with what should have been a rudimentary concept. Though he was ashamed to admit it even to himself, it was a tremendous relief to leave his friends for a little while to visit Professor Meyrigg each day.

On Monday they had their Charms exam. As usual Professor Flitwick did his utmost to ensure that everyone had a cheerful experience, and even Peter did not seem especially worried when they came out of that one. Remus had obviously done well in coaching him, for he managed quite nicely in Herbology the following afternoon – though Sirius came out of the greenhouse muttering maledictions and trying to scrub his grubby hands on the front of his robes.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts exam on Wednesday was overseen by Professor Finley, the spirited young man who taught Arithmancy to the older students. He confessed at the outset that his knowledge of Professor Meyrigg's subject was limited.

'But after all, your practical portion's been cancelled,' he said brightly; 'so all I really need to do is sit here and be sure you don't cheat off of one another's papers. Everyone have a nice, freshly cut quill? Very well, then: let's begin!'

Remus was over halfway through the exam before he realized that he had not paused over a single question so far. His fingers flew and the ink scarcely had time to dry before he was finished the next question. He had not spent much time revising for this one, because Peter's anxieties lay elsewhere, and so he had expected at least to stop now and then to puzzle through. Instead he was fairly sailing: pixies, Grindylows, Kappas, banshees… he had them all perfectly straight in his head. He wondered briefly whether he was the only one finding it so easy, but his mind was already halfway through answering the next question and so he simply moved on.

'Blimey, she put us through our paces,' Sirius said as the four of them went down to lunch. 'I mean, exams aren't supposed to make you _think_! What with stinting us our last few lessons and all, Meyrigg might have gone a little lighter on it, mightn't she?'

'I didn't even finish,' Peter said woefully. 'What's the difference again between a hag and a Dark witch?'

Sirius rolled his eyes and James cuffed Peter amiably on the shoulder. Peter clutched at his arm, but his chest puffed out a little with the knowledge that he was worthy of such attention. 'Don't worry,' said James. 'I'm sure Meyrigg wouldn't keep you back.'

'Keep me back?' said Peter, his whole face furrowing with worry. 'I don't… I mean, I didn't know they could do that at Hogwarts. Would they really keep me back? With the _firsties?_'

'Well, they'll be second years in September,' said James. 'And anyway you spend enough time with them.'

'That's different!' squawked Peter. 'They look up to me now, because I'm older and I'm your friend. But if I was kept back I'd be the one who couldn't get promoted with his class, and I wouldn't have any friends, and I wouldn't even be able to stay in the same dormitory with you and Sirius…'

'Don't worry,' said Remus quietly. 'I'm sure that you did much better than you think, and anyhow I don't think that they do keep people back.'

'Oh, yes they do,' said Sirius with a knowing nod. 'Haven't any of you heard of Dickon the Disorganized? He repeated fourth year thirteen times.'

James fixed him with a perturbed eye. 'You just made that up,' he accused.

'Well, they didn't call it "fourth year" back then,' said Sirius, shrugging. 'But he was thirty-seven when he finally left school.' James added an admonishing frown to his increasingly unpleasant expression, and Sirius threw up his hands. 'Why does no one believe me?' he cried plaintively.

'You don't think I'd be kept back, do you?' Peter murmured anxiously, hanging back as James and Sirius shambled on so that only Remus could hear him. 'My mum would be so ashamed, and I'd have no friends left at all, and everyone would poke fun at me, and the Slytherins would find it ever so funny, and—'

Remus shook his head. 'You won't be kept back,' he said. 'And anyhow I'll always be your friend, no matter what happens.'

'I suppose that's true,' said Peter dolefully. 'D'you think that James might still be my friend even if I was held back?'

Remus could not offer much by way of reassurance to that statement, except to repeat yet again that he was sure that Peter would not be held back. He wished he could have done more: it must be a dismal prospect, to think that one might be left with no friends but a werewolf. He fervently resolved to help Peter prepare for their last three examinations, however much he desperately wanted to focus on Potions for himself.

_discidium_

On Thursday James and Sirius slept late, which both declared to be essential preparation for that evening's exam. Remus roused himself at the usual time and somehow managed to wake Peter. After a hurried breakfast in the Great Hall they removed to the library, each hauling their books and armloads of class notes. They arrived early enough to secure a quiet table hidden among the reference shelves, and they sat down for what promised to be a very long day of revising.

By noon, when the other two Marauders appeared with satchels full of food smuggled past Madam Pince, Remus had an aching knot of tension at the base of his neck. His patience with Peter was wearing thin, and he could not think why. James and Sirius were less than helpful: all that they brought were distractions, both gustatory and verbal, and after a while Sirius grew bored of listening to explanations of Transfiguration calculations and started tossing his wand into the air so that it discharged a shower of varicoloured sparks at the apex of its loop. Then James went off among the stacks and returned with a volume of seventeenth century riddles which the two of them took it in turns to solve. When at last it was time to break for supper, Remus's efforts to continue to be kind and encouraging were exacting vengeance on his entire body: his spine fairly creaked as he stood, and there was a deep and grinding pain in the joints of his hips.

It was when he tried to help himself to the steamed asparagus, only to discover that his favourite vegetable tasted like plaster, that he recognized the symptoms and realized with a jolt that he had only one more night before the full moon. In the flurry of exams, with the added distractions of coaching Peter and visiting Professor Meyrigg, he had forgotten about it.

It was a pleasant realization: that he could actually live his life for a little while without fretting over the next transformation. Then the horror of his situation settled like a stone in his stomach and all hopes of trying to eat abandoned him entirely. How could he go down to the hospital wing tomorrow to rest before it was time to go to the Willow? How could Madam Pomfrey bring him back when it was over? How would she smuggle him into the little room where he ordinarily convalesced if _there was another patient in the hospital wing_?

He dropped his fork with a careless clatter and tried to scramble up off the bench. His legs were sluggish and disobedient, and it took him two attempts to do so. Even then he faltered, and Sirius reached up to grip his forearm before he could overbalance.

'Easy there, mate,' he said. 'Where are you going in such a rush?'

'I have to… I ought to…' Remus scrabbled for some likely excuse. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to launch a crusade to oust Professor Meyrigg from the hospital wing, or something equally absurd. 'I haven't been to visit Professor Meyrigg yet today, and as I won't be able to stay very late I ought to go at once.'

Sirius nodded understandingly. 'Well, don't let us stop you,' he said. He turned solemnly to James. 'She might just perish without her daily visit from her favourite student.'

'I'm not her favourite student,' Remus protested, his worries briefly forgotten as he coloured with embarrassment. 'I just promised to visit her, that's all.'

'Indeed you did,' James said grandly. 'And a Marauder always keeps his word. Go forth and do battle, my friend!' He winked and added prosaically; 'Just don't be late for Astronomy.'

Remus mumbled something that was unintelligible even to himself, and hurried from the hall. He would have liked to speak to Madam Pomfrey well away from the hospital wing, but lately she had been taking her meals in her office so as to be near her patient at all times. Remus suspected that she was worried that without adequate supervision Professor Meyrigg might do something unthinkable – like actually get out of bed.

He opened the door to the hospital wing with care and slipped inside. At once he froze: the screens that ordinarily concealed Professor Meyrigg's bed had been drawn aside, as they often were when the seventh years came visiting. He held his breath, waiting for the bed's occupant to realize he was there. When she did not move he realized with a tremendous wave of relief that she was asleep.

As silently as he could he stole across to Madam Pomfrey's office. He was spared the question of whether to risk waking Meyrigg with a knock or to violate the rules of polite society by entering unbidden: the door was ajar and the matron was at her desk. She looked up from the dispensary order she had been working on and smiled at him.

'Remus, dear,' she said. 'Are you feeling poorly already?'

He scuttled into the room and closed the door swiftly, hurrying forward before Madam Pomfrey could say anything further. 'Please be quiet,' he whispered anxiously. 'You might wake Professor Meyrigg.'

'It's sweet of you to worry, but I think she'll sleep for hours yet,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'She hasn't slept now three nights in a row, and even if her mind doesn't want to her body and her baby both need their rest – and babies have a way of getting what they need.' She smiled and turned her chair so that she was facing him properly. 'Now, tell me what you need, there's a good boy. Have you a fever? Or is it the aches again? I can't think why you'd be feeling it so soon: we're nowhere near perigee this month…'

'I'm all right,' Remus hissed. 'Don't speak so loudly, Madam, _please_!'

'I told you, we'll not disturb her,' the matron repeated. 'If you're not feeling ill then what is it? I'll let Professor Meyrigg know you were by to visit if that's what you'd like. Unless…' Realization dawned upon her and her face became suddenly compassionate instead of puzzled. 'Unless you'd like some advice about something else?'

Relief trickled down behind Remus's ribs. She understood, and perhaps she even had a plan. 'I need to know what to do,' he said earnestly.

Madam Pomfrey smiled understandingly. 'There's nothing much to do about it, dear,' she said. 'Boys your age start to experience changes that sometimes seem embarrassing or alarming, but I promise that they happen to everyone and if your friends aren't going through the same thing they will be soon. Now, the house elves are very good about changing bed linens if necessary, and I promise they won't think the worse of you.'

Remus shook his head, uncomprehending. 'Bed linens… Madam, what are we going to do tomorrow?'

Madam Pomfrey seemed taken aback. 'Tomorrow?' she echoed.

'Ab-about the full moon,' Remus whispered, gesturing helplessly towards the door.

'Oh!' Madam Pomfrey's hands fell helplessly into her lap. Had Remus not known better he would have sworn the faintest of abashed flushes appeared briefly in her cheeks. 'I think our usual routine works beautifully, don't you?' she asked. 'Unless you'd rather come here straight after your Astronomy exam.'

'Would that be better?' he asked hastily. 'Would she be asleep then? But how will you get me out again? She'll see me, or at least she'll hear. She's very clever, Madam: I don't think it would take much more for her to work it out.'

There was a moment's long silence. 'Who are you talking about, Remus?' asked Madam Pomfrey at last.

'Professor Meyrigg, of course,' he said, his voice quivering ever so slightly. 'I couldn't bear it, Madam. You see, she likes me. She thinks I'm a good student.'

'You are a good student, Remus. I don't see what you're worried about.' Madam Pomfrey gave him one of her most reassuring smiles. 'Why don't you come down as usual when you start to feel that it's all a bit much, and we'll worry about the rest of it later.'

'Then you _do_ have a plan, Madam?' Remus said. 'About how to get me away tomorrow, and how to get me back in the morning, without anyone noticing?'

'Yes, of course,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'We shall go down to the Willow when everyone is at supper, as usual, and the sun rises so early on Saturday that I doubt even Hagrid will be abroad at that hour. You needn't worry, Remus: I am to be trusted, you know.'

'Yes, yes of course I know that,' Remus mumbled, feeling suddenly terribly ungrateful. He had no right to question the matron: she had always taken care of him before, and she would do so again. He knew that he ought not to need further reassurance, but all the same he could not help adding, 'And Professor Meyrigg? She won't…'

'She'll stay in bed where she belongs,' the matron said firmly. 'I am determined that she shall have a healthy baby, and there's no more to be said on the matter. No more to be said at all.' She reached out to pat his arm fondly. 'Now, haven't you time for a little lie-down before your exam tonight? Why don't you go and get some rest? Be sure to dress warmly, too. It may be June but there's a cold wind coming in from the mountains and I don't want you to take a chill the night before the full moon.'

'Yes, Madam,' Remus said obediently. He hesitated a moment before adding, 'Thank you, Madam.'

He slipped away past Professor Meyrigg, who was still slumbering silently in her corner of the ward. His burden of anxieties had lightened a little, but he still felt an uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach when he thought about the days to come.

_discidium_

The Astronomy exam was a simple matter for Remus, whose very life revolved around the object of their studies that year. The most difficult part was tuning out Professor Arachne's irate grumblings about the date of the test.

'I would have preferred to have you all up here tomorrow, when the whole moon could be seen,' she muttered, pacing up and down the battlements as the class adjusted their tinted lenses and went about the business of taking readings of craters and other landmarks; 'But it seems that the fourth year Ravenclaws had their Transfiguration exam moved to later this morning and Professor McGonagall positively _refused_ to reschedule it again. Then she has the cheek to insist they need their sleep the night before! Balderdash. In my day we slept around the exams; we didn't schedule exams around sleep! You'll just have to fill in the missing sliver as best you can. The leftmost crater, and so forth…'

'Grimaldi,' Sirius murmured to himself, chuckling inexplicably as he marked it on his parchment.

'Don't think for a minute that I'm making allowances just because those features can't be seen!' Arachne snapped. 'Have the Gryffindors among you take it up with their Head of House if you like. Why she thinks she can put on airs just because she's got the Headmaster's ear…'

'It's not so much that she has his ear,' James whispered, carefully intent on his telescope. 'It's more that she's the bloody Deputy Head…'

Remus had his own ideas as to why Professor McGonagall had insisted upon the change, but he hoped that he was wrong. He would have hated to think that he might be the cause of strife among the staff, or that the Headmaster might have to be troubled with arranging examination schedules around the full moon just because of him. Though when he considered that his own class wasn't sitting their next exam until the coming Wednesday, he had to wonder.

The trek down the endless stairs of the Astronomy Tower and the long pilgrimage to the other side of the seventh floor sapped almost all of Remus's strength. He had to fight very hard to resist the urge to simply tumble into bed fully clothed. Stripping out of his robes within the safety of his curtains was an exhausting ordeal, but at last he was able to wriggle into his nightshirt and curl up under the blankets. Beyond the hangings his friends were laughing and talking quietly, largely unconcerned with getting to bed in a timely fashion, as they had nothing much to do that day. Remus thought it was about half past two when he finally slipped into a leaden slumber.

_disdicium_

It took some work to convince the others to stay well away from the hospital wing this month, but in the end Remus won them around. Sirius remained skeptical that Professor Meyrigg would know or care what was going on, but he did at last agree not to draw undue attention to Remus's presence in the hospital wing by charging in for a visit first thing on Saturday. At four o'clock Remus left the others in the dormitory, passing through the common room without drawing anyone's attention. He did not bring his satchel with him: all of his usual entertainment was with Professor Meyrigg, and he had no homework to worry about. He carried his Potions book, tucked under his arm beneath the cloak that covered his ragged blue robes. He had all but grown out of them: the shoulder seams had groaned ominously when he put them on. Still he did not want to take chances with his school things, short though they might be. There was no telling whether his parents would be able to buy any others for next year, and he was determined not to let the wolf damage what clothing he had.

It took a good five minutes of pacing the corridor outside the hospital wing for Remus to work up the courage to open the door. He did not even try to slip around it until he had reassured himself that the screens were drawn around Professor Meyrigg's bed. Behind them he could hear her speaking quietly to the matron, who replied in a fond scolding voice. Remus did not pause to listen to what they were saying: he hurried over to his little door and slipped into the isolation room where he sat down on the edge of the bed to wait for his knees to stop shaking. When at last they did he took off his cloak and his shoes, setting his book on the table by the bed. He curled up on top of the covers, trying every trick he could think of to keep from fretting. Somehow, doubtless still weary from the late night, he dozed off.

_discidium_

When Madam Pomfrey woke him at suppertime Remus followed her customary prompts without question. He had all but forgotten about the gauntlet he had to run until the matron opened the door onto the main ward and he could hear voices.

'…owl to Dedalus and ask him to make some discrete inquiries?' asked Professor Meyrigg.

'Albus has said he'll consider it if there is still no news by Monday,' Professor McGonagall said softly. 'His contact in Croydon is going to make one more attempt, but it's important that you remember that this is a good sign.'

'A good sign.' The words came out in a bitter laugh. 'We haven't had a word of him in weeks, and it's a _good_ sign.'

'It means he's working,' said McGonagall. 'It means that they are putting him to work and that he'll have the opportunity to gather more information.'

Madam Pomfrey beckoned to Remus and he moved out into the room. The screens were drawn closely around the bed, and the conversation continued seamlessly.

'That's the other thing that worries me, Minerva: working on what? What are they going to make him do, and how will he draw the line when he has to? Owyn has never been especially good at knowing when to stop, and if he's determined to be useful—'

'Best not think about it,' said McGonagall. 'He has a good head on his shoulders; more sense than you're giving him credit for. You never would have married a fool, Brynna, even if you didn't precisely consider practical matters in the match.'

There was a low, wistful chuckle.

'What is it?' asked Professor McGonagall. Madam Pomfrey had the large door open now, and Remus moved as quickly as his sore joints would allow in order to pass through it. As he went Professor Meyrigg's voice followed him, fading with distance.

'It's funny to think that if only _Nobody Loves an Augurey_ had made it past the first week's run I might not even be in this situation. Strange how something so…'

The walk to the tree was almost pleasant: the evening was mild and the sunlight still golden on the grounds. Remus was beginning to believe that it was going to be fine after all: Professor Meyrigg would not even know that he had been in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey would get him safely inside, and everything would be all right. Then he realized that no matter how quiet he remained the matron's comings and goings from the little isolation room were bound to be noticed – and Meyrigg would surely remember that there had been someone in that room the previous month as well.

He stopped without meaning to, causing the matron to double back, offering him her arm. 'Nearly there, dear,' she said soothingly.

'I think I ought to stay in the house,' Remus said, his mind groping for the only solution that came anywhere near. 'Tomorrow when you come… couldn't you just patch me up and put me into the bed in the house? I could stay there until I'm strong enough to go back to the dormitory.'

'In the bed in the house?' said Madam Pomfrey. 'Remus, don't be foolish. You'll need looking after for at least two days and nights, and I've no potions or salves or bandages in the house. I can't Apparate in: the Headmaster's seen to that for everyone's safety, and I can't be running to and fro down that tunnel every twenty minutes. Why, it might not even be safe to leave you, if you hurt yourself badly. What's the matter with you? Why don't you want to come back to the hospital wing?'

'Professor Meyrigg!' Remus cried. 'She'll work it out. She'll know… sh-she'll want to use me as a practical lesson!'

'A practical lesson in what? Nonsense?' the matron demanded. 'Remus, I don't know why you're in such a state over this. Professor Meyrigg has other things on her mind: she isn't going to be fretting over you.'

She took his hand and started back towards the Willow, drawing him inexorably after her. Remus's thoughts were muddled by the fever and the persistent ache at the base of his neck, but he was lucid enough to know that she did not comprehend the danger. 'She'll work out that I'm a werewolf!' he cried. 'And she'll hate me, she'll want nothing to do with me, and what will I do next year? I'm doing so well in Defence now, Madam; I'm really starting to enjoy it. If Professor Meyrigg won't teach me—'

The matron had frozen the tree now and she stopped with one leg partway down the hole between the roots. She put her hands on her hips. 'And why should Brynna Meyrigg be any less open-minded than Professor McGonagall?' she asked. When Remus could think of no reply she nodded her head curtly. 'There you have it,' she said. 'Now come along, before the sixth years start sneaking away from the table for romantic assignations!'

She disappeared and Remus had to scramble after her, stumbling along by the light of her wand until they reached the trap door that led up into the house. He struggled to lift himself up onto the floorboards and sat there breathless, legs curled beneath him. Madam Pomfrey tucked her wand into the band of her apron and knelt down on the dusty floor.

'Now, Remus,' she said. 'We've talked about this before. The world is not going to end because someone might suspect the truth. Your friends found out, and didn't that work out for the best? Didn't it?'

'I s'pose so,' he mumbled, staring down at a dark brown stain on the hearthrug. 'But…'

'No buts,' said the matron. 'If she starts asking questions I'll take care of it. I do not think that she will, though. She really does have more than enough to worry about on her own.'

Remus's heart hammered insistently in his chest. 'She mustn't worry,' he said reflexively. 'She mustn't: worry can bring on the baby, and it's still too early for that.'

Madam Pomfrey nodded grimly. 'That's precisely what we all keep telling her,' she said, half to herself. 'Now, Remus, do you want me to stay here for a while? I don't want to leave you to work yourself up into a state over nothing.'

It was not nothing: it was a perfectly rational concern, at least as far as he could see. But Remus shook his head. 'I'm all right, Madam,' he said. 'I expect I'll sleep.'

He did not. The matron offered him her customary embrace, quick and gentle and reassuring. Then she lowered herself into the tunnel and disappeared. Remus sat where he was for a while, fidgeting with a stray string on one of his sleeves. Then he hauled himself up by the arm of the chair and moved to the sideboard. He undressed carefully, tucking his shoes and his robes away where the wolf could not hurt them. After that he paced, padding back and forth across with his bare feet digging into the pile of the hearthrug and then feeling every knot and crack on the worn wooden floor. He tried to ease the strain in his shoulders by swinging his arms to and fro, and when that didn't work he sat cross-legged on the battered chaise in the corner, kneading his neck with his knuckles.

He got up again and shuffled into the kitchen, where somehow his nakedness felt stranger than it had in the sitting room. The sink was plumbed in and he turned it on, leaning down to drink straight from the stream falling from the faucet. He was already intolerably thirsty, and he knew that he would wake up in a torment even if he did not lose much blood. He drank until his stomach was bloated and gurgling. Then he went to the cupboard beneath the stairs, the one without a door. He crept inside of it and huddled with his back in a corner, drawing his legs up so that his chin could rest on his knee. The sun was setting, its last orange glow filtering in slits between the boards on the hall windows. The feeling of futility settled over him. Whatever he did, wherever he went, the moon would find him.

He closed his eyes against the first stirrings of the change. He did not want to cry out. He promised himself that he would not scream. Those were the promises that could never be kept: when his jaw began to shift and lengthen and the arcs of electric anguish sped up his spine he could no longer keep silent.

After that, at least, understanding did not linger for long.


	91. Creeping Realizations

**Chapter 91: Creeping Realizations**

In the first moment of terror he was not even aware of the pain. He was bewildered, disoriented, frightened. He was frightened and he wanted his mother. His mother would comfort him. She would protect him. Why hadn't she been there to protect him?

The pale light of dawn blinded him as someone threw open the door. Heavy footsteps hammered down the stairs and he was dimly aware of a great dark shape that eclipsed the hostile glow, squelching through the blood on the floor to kneel at his side. He whimpered once, plaintively, and then shuddered and tried to shy away as he realized that it was his father: his father, who had finally dragged him away from his mother and brought him down here and locked him away so that terrible things could happen to him.

Last time he had not understood what was happening. He had nuzzled against his father's shoulder as the man lifted him off the sofa, welcoming the comfort of the strong and reassuring arms. He had hardly noticed that instead of carrying him up to his bed Da had taken him down into the cellar. All week his parents had been working, bringing up the jars of preserves and the sacks of apples and potatoes and flour, dismantling the shelves and shifting them up to the attic, and carrying down heaps of old blankets. Over and over again, as children do, he had asked what they were about, and he had not yet had a satisfactory answer. So when he realized he was down in the cellar, and the blankets were spread right over the floor, he had been intrigued. He had even laughed as his father set him down in the corner and started to unbutton his nightshirt. After sweating with fever the cold air had felt wonderful on his bare skin, and he had danced a little with delight to be free of the clammy garment.

Even when his father told him to stay where he was and began to mount the stairs he had not been afraid. When the light at the top of the stairs winked out he had thought that naturally it was a game – a new and exciting game. He had tugged a corner of one blanket up over his head, crouching underneath it to hide so that when his father came back he could jump out and surprise him.

But his father had not returned, and the red glow outside the tiny window had faded, and then terrible things had happened. He did not understand it, could not articulate what had happened to him, but he knew that it had hurt. It had hurt him so badly that he could not even remember what had happened after the shaking began. Yet this time, when after a day of languishing with his head in his mother's lap his father had come home and tried to pick him up he had _known_. He had known that it was going to happen again, and all that he could think to do was fight with all the strength in his little body to keep from being carried down into the cellar and shut away.

So he had clung to his mother, trembling and weeping and begging her to let him stay with her. She had tried to calm him while he writhed in panic on what remained of her lap. She had tried to explain that it would all be over soon and she would be by the door all night, waiting. She had said something about the moon and finally she had wrapped her arms tightly around him, so tightly that he could hardly move, until his fit of hysteria ebbed and he curled against her with his fingers tangled in the front of her dress.

'There love,' she whispered. 'You can sit here just a little longer.' And with a child's obdurate reasoning he had taken this as a promise that nothing bad would happen to him.

But then he had felt the firm, gentle hands of his father, snaking under his arms and closing on his ribs. He had shrieked, knowing what was coming. He had scrabbled for his mother, gripping so frantically at her clothing that the buttons popped loose of their threads and the bodice of her slip shone white between the gaping blue sides. He had howled in terror, babbling so desperately that the words lost all meaning and blurred together into a single long syllable of fear and desperation and betrayal. And his small bare feet had kicked, striking his mother once before his father finally managed to haul him away from her.

He remembered it now, with stark and startling clarity. He had kicked his mother. He had kicked her as he tried to fight off his father. He had kicked her.

'I'b thorry,' he moaned, trying to make himself understood through a bubbling film of blood and the swelling of a broken cheekbone. 'Thorry… I'b thorry… I'b thorry…'

'Hush, dear; don't try to talk,' a calm voice instructed. There was a fine tinkling noise, like the rattle of a crystal chandelier, and his face went numb. His next attempt to form a word faded off into an unintelligible moan and it was only after several drooping attempts to blink that he was able to open one eye. It did not focus immediately, but the shape of the neatly pressed cap was unmistakeably: Madam Pomfrey.

'There, now, just lie still,' she said. 'I've got to splint that leg before I move you, and I've got to move you quickly before that wound in your side starts up again. Hold tight, dear. It'll be over soon. _Ferula_.'

Remus distantly recognized the post-transformation routine as he was bundled in a blanket and levitated onto a stretcher. There was a far away squealing of old hardware as the matron retrieved his clothes, and then the close and airless feeling of the tunnel which gave way at last to cool and dewy air that should have been fragrant with June roses – save that he was almost certain that his nose was broken, too, and if it was not then the swelling from his cheek was filling his sinuses. He knew it was not even five in the morning and he did not have to worry about being seen, but all the way back to the castle he was wracked with anxiety and torment.

He had always known, as if instinctively, that he was responsible for the baby's death. Over time he had come to understand that the strain of his transformation – his second transformation, which had been so much more violent than the first – had surely brought on his mother's premature delivery. But he had never remembered until that moment the feeling of firm, round flesh against his heel as he struggled against his father's grip. He had kicked her, and all night she had waited as she promised, near the door of the cellar, so as to be on hand the moment he was human once more. Then for hours, while his father muddled through healing spells and struggled with bandages and finally gave up and called for a Healer who needed to be begged and threatened and finally bribed to treat a werewolf, she had remained by his bedside. Only that evening, when his hurts were set right or at least properly dressed, had she finally confessed that she had been having pains since just before dawn.

So when Madam Pomfrey whisked him into the ward and through to his little room, when she deposited him on the bed and peeled off the blanket that stuck to deep scratches on his arms and his shoulders and his back he fought. He fought against the unconsciousness that beckoned to him, promising release from the pain. He fought against the charm she cast to speed him along to oblivion. He would have fought against the potion tipped against his lips, if his insensate tongue had not been too large and heavy in his battered face to move. He could not fight the matron's fingers, stroking gently down his throat so that in spite of everything he could not help but swallow. And once again he tried in vain to fight as the concoction took hold of him. At last he had to give up the battle and let go of the torment that was not penance enough for what he had done.

_discidium_

There was something cool and heavy pressing gently upon his face. It was a gentle mass across his forehead, tickling his temples and spreading down over his eyes so that he could not open them. He could feel a chilly ridge across his nose where it ended like a domino mask. He twitched his hand, intending to raise it to explore the strange weight, but he could not quite bring himself to do it. He was warm and he was in remarkably little pain, and he wanted to stay that way. Something told him that he was not meant to want that, but he ignored it and lay still, trying to remember what had happened.

It came back in fragments: the sensation of time-weathered wood beneath his feet, the tinny taste of water drunk from disused pipes, the evening chill that seeped in through the boarded windows, the damp earth against his fingertips as he followed Madam Pomfrey through the tunnel.

He remembered creeping past Professor Meyrigg while Professor McGonagall kept her occupied. But how had the matron managed to get him back to his room without drawing the other patient's attention?

He tried again to bestir himself, managing this time a slight rocking of the shoulders. Almost instantly he felt a hand on his ribs, practiced and gentle and reassuring.

'There you are, dear; it's all right,' Madam Pomfrey said soothingly. 'Would you like some water?'

Before Remus could even try to fathom how he could answer her with his lips cracked and crusted and his mouth as dry as if he had been eating sawdust, a little cup was tipped against his lips. He sucked greedily at the deliciously cool fluid. All too soon it was gone, but almost at once the matron refilled it and offered it again. They repeated this process several times, until Remus had had his fill without ever once having to lift his head from the pillow.

'That's better, isn't it?' said Madam Pomfrey. She measured out and administered each of his usual potions, and then a sharp-tasting one that he did not recognized. After this she gave him more water, and then he felt a dry flannel dabbing about his lips and he realized what was sitting across his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey peeled back the damp cloth with care, making small satisfied noises as she did so. Remus tried to open his eyes, but the right one would not obey him. Through the left he could see the matron's wand above him, glowing with a greenish hue that meant she was checking on a fracture.

'All set and knitted, Remus,' she said. 'Though it may take a week or more for the bruising to fade. We'll see about the swelling on that eye just as soon as you're a little stronger.'

'Wh—what did I do?' Remus croaked. His throat was raw.

Madam Pomfrey smiled sadly. 'Oh, Remus, if I had any idea how you managed to wind up in such a state then perhaps I could do something to stop it.'

'It's my fault,' he rasped. 'I was fretting. I knew that I oughtn't but I couldn't help it.'

It was an exhausting speech. He swallowed awkwardly and ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. He could still taste blood upon it.

'Hmm.' Madam Pomfrey withdrew from his line of sight, and he could hear her doing something with the bottles on the table. 'Perhaps we shall have to do something about that, then,' she said thoughtfully.

Against all reason, Remus managed to muster the strength to speak again. 'Professor Meyrigg…' he puffed. How had he never before noticed what a difficult name that was to say?

'She's still doing well,' the matron said reassuringly. 'Though I daresay she's been in a bit of a foul temper these last few days. Still, that's to be expected, an active girl like her stuck in bed as she is. Perhaps you'll be able to cheer her up when you're out of bed again.'

A flood of protestations and desperate clarifications rattled against Remus's teeth, but his body was too tired to spare the air to give voice to them. Instead he let out a helpless puff that must have sounded terribly like a complaint, for the matron laid her palm against his unharmed cheek.

'I know, dear,' she said gently. Her other hand was curling around his, depositing something cold and cool in his fingers. 'I'm afraid I've got to go and see to a pair of little fools who got themselves rather… _entangled_ in something, but just you ring if you need me and I'll be back in a flash.'

Remus's grip tightened on what he now recognized as the bedside bell. He tried to nod, but the motion made him feel horrendously nauseous. 'Yes, Madam,' he whispered instead.

It was only after she had gone that he managed, hoarsely, 'But did she see me?'

_discidium_

Remus slept through the afternoon and most of the evening. When he awoke at last only the faintest light was filtering under the door: the outer ward had been dimmed for the night. His left leg was immobilized beneath the blankets, but he was able to bend his right, bringing up his heel towards his hip so that his knee bent. A clatter of metal reminded him that he had been left with the bell on the bed. Hastily he fumbled for the clapper, gripping it between finger and thumb before he lifted the instrument up and rested it on his chest. He exhaled heavily, satisfied that his body had obeyed him.

He realized that he was able to open his right eye, though not completely. He supposed that Madam Pomfrey had been able to do something for the swelling after all. Warily he lifted his hand to his face and brushed his fingertips over the hard, swollen flesh beneath his eye socket. Before he could supress the urge to wonder what had happened he was assailed with a sudden image of the wolf repeatedly slamming the side of its head against a doorpost in a fit of apoplectic fury.

In his haste to distract himself he did not even realize that he was sitting up until he had done it. His ribs ached with the exertion and his head swam as the room began to spin, but he forced a series of deep, cool breaths and the sensations passed. The bell had rolled off of him and was now lying next to his hip on the coverlet. Carefully he picked it up and twisted at the waist to set it on the table.

His left arm and shoulder were bandaged, and a brief exploration of his lower limbs told him that his left leg was similarly swathed and there were angry red marks on his right thigh where deep gouges had been healed. He sighed wearily. It had certainly been a difficult moon.

Remus wondered how bad the bruising on his face was. He had broken his cheekbone once before, when he was eight years old. He hadn't had any cause to fret over visible marks then: there was no one but his parents to see or care. A year ago this would have been a disaster, for of course Sirius would have seen it as cause for a crusade on his behalf. Now he didn't need to worry about his friends' curiosity, but there were other people at Hogwarts – people, like Professor Meyrigg, who might ask questions.

He wanted to fluff up his pillows, but the maneuver was too much for a spine still tender from being stretched and strained and twisted. He shifted his bottom a couple of inches higher in the bed, using his right leg for leverage. Carefully he eased himself back. Although he intended to tug the blankets up to his shoulders he was asleep almost before he settled into the indentation on the cushion.

_discidium_

He passed most of Sunday in sleep, waking only occasionally to swallow his doses, or a long draught of water, or a little beef tea. Remus was grateful for the exhaustion of his healing body: it helped the time pass more quickly. He was aware of a contrary sort of petulance brewing in his ribs. He knew that he had told, indeed begged his friends not to draw attention to his presence in the hospital wing by visiting him this month. Yet somehow he was annoyed that they had not ignored him. It was ridiculous, he told himself, but at the same time he could not help wishing that at the very least they might have sneaked in under the Cloak the previous night.

Madam Pomfrey was her usual darling self, checking in on him nearly every hour so that he never had occasion to ring for anything. After he took some broth and a bit of dry toast that evening, she even helped him into his nightshirt although his leg was still bandaged and he could not quite keep his feet under him.

'You'll have to manage on your own for a couple of hours, I'm afraid,' she said as she settled him back amid fresh sheets and poured a generous helping of the potion for his pain. 'It seems I'm wanted in the Headmaster's office. Something to do with Ministry standards or other such nonsense, I shouldn't wonder. The Board of Governors has no understanding of how much work it is to keep a hospital wing running properly!'

'I'll be all right, Madam,' Remus said. His voice was still hoarse and there was a low ache deep in his throat whenever he spoke. 'Good luck.'

She smiled radiantly and tapped his chin with her fingertip. 'I don't know what those friends of yours have you thinking,' she said with an amused twinkle in her eyes; 'but not all of us are called to see the Headmaster because we've been up to some sort of mischief. Now, why don't you try to rest while I'm gone? I'll check in just as soon as I return.'

She left him, but Remus did not feel like resting. He had spent nearly the entire day slipping in and out of heavy slumber, and he was not certain that he could have slept now if he'd been sedated. His Potions text was still on the table where he had left it on Friday. He hauled it onto his lap and steeled his courage for revising his least favourite subject.

It was easy to study in the hospital wing. All the distractions of the dormitory were absent. There was no James, harping happily on about nothing in particular. There was no Sirius to vie constantly for the attention of everyone in the room. There was no Peter, piping up with earnest and often very simple questions. There were no owls coming and going as they pleased, no thunder of footsteps on the tower stairs, no interruptions from others coming to speak to James or Sirius. It was so perfectly quiet, with nothing to detract from his focus.

He was well into the chapter about emulsifying agents when he heard the doorknob turn. He kept reading, certain that it was only Madam Pomfrey coming to check on him. The expected inquiry about his pain did not come and he smiled slowly, still keeping his eyes focused on the book. His friends had come to see him after all.

'How are you feeling?'

The question was low and gentle, but Remus was so startled that he dropped his text, his back straightening abruptly and his head snapping up.

'You're meant to be in bed!' he cried. 'You mustn't get up: it might bring on the baby!'

In his consternation to see Professor Meyrigg abroad Remus did not even pause to consider the implications of her presence in his room. He twisted onto his right hip and tried to reach for the visitor's chair, very nearly tumbling out of bed.

Professor Meyrigg stepped forward at once, steadying him before he could fall. Remus hastily drew back onto the mattress. 'Please, please sit down,' he begged. 'You're meant to be resting.'

'So are you, I'll warrant,' she said, smiling as she smoothed her nightdress and sat down awkwardly. She rested her hand atop her unwieldy stomach. 'And yet here you are, working away. Have you many exams left?'

'Transfiguration and Potions,' Remus said. Then at last it came to him and his mouth went dry. 'Professor…' he croaked. 'P-Professor, it's not what it seems…'

'Is it not?' she asked. She was still smiling and her voice was pleasant. 'It _seems_ as though you spend a great deal of time in the hospital wing, and it _seems_ that it happens quite regularly, and it _seems_ that despite that you've managed to keep up with your studies, and it _seems _that this is how you manage it. You say it isn't so?'

'Yes… no… I mean to say that… that yes, _that's _as it seems…' he stammered. 'But don't you want to know why I spend so much time in the hospital wing?'

Professor Meyrigg chuckled. 'Is this a test to see whether I can practice as I preach?' she asked. 'Are you wondering whether I can respect your privacy as I would have mine respected? No, Remus, I do not want to know why you spend so much time in the hospital wing, but I confess that I think I have guessed it.'

'H-have you?' he whispered.

She nodded. She was still looking him in the eye, and her expression held neither fear nor rancour nor loathing. Then, unexpectedly, she leaned forward and patted his forearm. 'That is not why I came to see you, however,' she said. She lifted her right hand and snapped her fingers. A roll of parchment appeared in her palm. 'I've been looking forward all year to returning the final exams to my students,' she said; 'and now I'm not allowed to. At the very least I can give you yours.'

It took all of Remus's self-control to keep from snatching it from her fingers. The moment she released her hold he unrolled it, scanning from the bottom up past rows of cheerful red ticks. When he reached the top of the page he could not quite supress a squeal of delight. He looked up wonderingly at Professor Meyrigg, who was watching him with shining eyes.

'Truly?' he asked. 'Not a single mistake?'

'Not a single one!' she said happily. 'And you ought to know that I am _very_ objective in my grading.'

Remus looked reverently at his exam paper, his fingertips hovering over his grade. He had felt certain that he'd done well, but this was beyond anything he had dared to imagine. He smiled a little unsteadily, still hampered by the inflammation on the right side of his face. 'Thank you, Professor,' he said. 'I had hoped I'd make a good showing.'

'It doesn't get much better than this,' she agreed. 'I'm very proud of you, and I'm certain that your parents will be too.'

'It's a little ironic, though, isn't it, Professor?' Remus asked wryly. The words were out even before he realized he was thinking them, and the breath left his body as he realized what he had said. Meyrigg had always had such a way of putting him at ease, but he was horrified by his carelessness. If she hadn't guessed already she surely would now.

Extraordinarily, she laughed. 'You mean that a werewolf excels at the theories of Dark creature control?' she asked. 'Perhaps a little. On the other hand, for a young man who works hard at his lessons to excel in the course strikes me as a perfect example of diligence and its rewards.' She squeezed his arm again and winked, then hoisted herself carefully out of the chair. 'I ought to be going,' she said in a most conspiratorial way. 'Poppy might return at any time, and if she were to find me out of bed I would never hear the end of it.'

'You've got to be careful, Professor,' Remus said fervently. 'You _must_.'

'Hmm,' Meyrigg grunted noncommittally. Then she shrugged her shoulders. 'If I'm permitted to totter to the toilet and back, at the very least I can pay the odd visit down the ward,' she said reasonably. She looked down at him again, fleetingly pensive. 'Good night, Remus,' she said. 'And well done.'

A moment later she was gone and Remus was left alone, still clutching his exam paper in a hand that began to tremble. He could not quite believe what had happened, and had it not been for the tangible evidence he was holding he might have thought the entire encounter nothing more than a feverish dream. Professor Meyrigg knew the truth – knew that he was a werewolf – and she had nothing whatsoever to say about it. She had no questions, she made no awkward overtures towards him, and she showed no sign of disgust or indignation or even surprise. It was a reaction quite outside his experience, and he could not help but wonder if she had taken leave of her senses.

He puzzled over it for a long while, long after Madam Pomfrey returned to give him his night-time doses and to settle him in for the night. He did not even try to listen to the murmuring on the other side of the wall as the matron sat up for at least another hour talking in hushed tones to Professor Meyrigg. He fell asleep at last with his confusion still unresolved and his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam still clutched in his hand.

_discidium_

The following afternoon he was well enough to be allowed out of bed for a while, and he went out onto the ward to visit Professor Meyrigg. She was back in bed again, obedient but impatient. Remus had not thought to bring his chessboard from the dormitory, since he had assumed that he would have to hide, and so they played cards instead. Meyrigg had a deck of the Muggle sort, and she taught him a game that she called German Whist. She did not seem inclined to discuss what had passed between them the previous evening, and Remus certainly did not want to bring it up. There was always the remote possibility that it had been nothing more than a dream, and he did not want to risk disrupting their quiet game with any unpleasantness.

It was nearly time for supper when Professor Meyrigg laid down her last trick and sighed. 'I'm afraid that's all I have in me tonight, Remus,' she said. 'This business of lying abed all day is remarkably exhausting.'

Remus watched her for a moment, with her ruffled hair and her deeply shadowed eyes. 'Professor, I don't understand,' he said. 'Haven't you any questions at all? About… about me, I mean, and my… and… and the wolf?'

'Haven't you any questions about me and my husband?' Meyrigg countered. At his astonished expression she offered a wryly tilted brow. 'You must have heard a great deal last month, and you've said nothing about it. You've allowed me my own private trials: how can I do less for you?'

Remus could not think what to say. His hands fell into his lap and he stared down at a wrinkle in the bed sheet, unable to trust himself to meet her eyes.

'You are worthy of consideration, Remus Lupin,' Professor Meyrigg said quietly. 'I wonder if you understand that?'

'I… I ought to go,' said Remus, getting stiffly to his feet. His left leg twinged but held him up. He scrubbed a palm against the front of his nightshirt. 'I'll come to visit when I can, Professor. I've only the two exams left…'

'Go on,' she said, understanding in her voice. 'Madam Pomfrey will be along with our trays at any moment. Good luck with your last exams.'

Remus retreated hastily to the safety of his little room. He dug out a quill and ink from the night table drawer and set about composing his belated post-transformation letter home. Somehow that task, which had seemed so impossible in light of his recent recollections, was simpler than trying to understand Professor Meyrigg.

_discidium_

'Bloody hell!' Sirius exclaimed on Tuesday afternoon when Remus slipped into the dormitory and closed the door tightly behind him. 'Now _that_ is what I call a battle wound!'

'Does it hurt?' Peter asked, hurrying to relieve Remus of his satchel. 'It's _awfully_ bruised.'

'Was sharing the matron a problem?' asked James, who was lying on his stomach with his feet in the air, reading _Quidditch Through the Ages _for what had to be the seven hundredth time. 'Did Meyrigg cotton on to the fact that she wasn't alone?'

'I like it,' said Sirius, cocking his head critically and taking hold of Remus's chin so as to study the bruising from a more favourable angle. 'It makes you look a proper ruffian. Everyone's going to want to know what you've been about!'

'Oh, don't say that, please!' Remus said hurriedly, ducking out of Sirius's grasp and shuffling towards his bed.

Sirius chuckled. 'Don't worry,' he said sagely. 'I'm sure we can convince them it was incurred in the line of duty.'

'What duty?' asked James, flopping onto his back and flinging out his arms to either side.

'We'll think of something,' said Sirius. 'Perhaps he's been wrestling chimeras; did you ever think of that?'

'Or hunting trolls,' added Peter.

Sirius nodded affirmatively. 'Or falling down stairs. He's a great wizard, after all.'

James snorted. 'Great wizards don't fall down stairs,' he argued.

'Don't they?' asked Sirius. 'I suppose they're not killed by pianos, either? And they don't ever, ever come down with a bit of a head cold when it's not quite convenient? And they don't call junior Prefects by the wrong name in front of half the school?'

'You know, if you keep teasing Meadowes about that she's going to dangle you out a window,' said James. 'And I wouldn't be too sure of her grip, either.'

Remus was not quite certain what they were talking about, but it was best to leave them to it. His head was beginning to ache and he could not help but think a little wistfully about the quiet of the hospital wing.

'Will you help me?' Peter asked, his voice suddenly piercing through the others' banter. 'I've been trying to make sense of these spells all weekend, and every time I try to ask somebody else they just laugh at me…'

Remus turned towards his friend and somehow managed to muster a patient smile despite his longing for a little bit of hush. 'Of course I will, Peter,' he said kindly. 'We'll work through them together.'

On the other side of the room James and Sirius were still talking, building off of one another's nonsensical statements like a pair of bricklayers racing to complete a wall. As Peter deposited an armload of parchment on his coverlet Remus had to admit that despite the chaos it was good to be back where he belonged.

_discidium_

In Professor McGonagall's examination no one had the time to look around at their classmates, and in any case the other Gryffindors did not usually take much of an interest in the quiet boy who was always seen with James Potter and Sirius Black. By keeping his head down at meals and spending as little time as possible in the Gryffindor common room, Remus managed to avoid awkward questions about his battered face. The edges of the bruises were just starting to turn green, and his blackened eye socket was shrunk to its usual size – though not restored to its usual colour – on Friday morning when he filed into the dungeons with the rest of his class. He hauled his cauldron onto the overcrowded counter that he was assigned to share with one of the McGreggor sisters and set about taring his scales when a boisterous belly laugh shook the stone rafters.

'My, my, you _have_ been in the wars, haven't you?' Professor Slughorn chortled, waddling up to Remus's table and prodding at his face. 'What did you do, my boy? Lose an argument with a goblin?'

Remus felt his skin flame red. Everyone was staring at him, and there was nothing he could do to hide his hurts. He heard a startled whisper somewhere off to his left, and a snigger on the other side of the classroom. There was a squeak of grinding teeth that told him Sirius was spoiling for an enraged outburst.

'Actually, it was me,' said James nonchalantly, sauntering away from his workstation to stand beside his friend. He took a sharp step forward, forcing Slughorn to back up a little. Then James flung an amicable arm around Remus's shoulder. 'I've been teaching him how to catch a Quaffle, and I suppose I must've thrown a bit too hard,' he said. 'Don't worry: I'll have him in proper shape well ahead of trials this September!'

There was some bemused chuckling, and Slughorn, apparently satisfied, moved on to pester someone else. Remus turned to thank James, but the bespectacled boy just grinned. 'Don't mention it,' he whispered with a conspiratorial wink. 'Best of British luck, eh?'

'Thanks,' Remus whispered feebly. James swept away as quickly as he had come, and Remus was left alone at a table with a strange girl who kept stealing sidelong looks at his bruises. Part of the challenge of the final exam was that they each had to brew their own potion, working independently. It was with great trepidation that Remus faced the ordeal ahead. His head was muddled with fumes and his back was aching already and he hadn't had enough time to study by half, but there was nothing else for it. He reached for the little jar of henbane and began.

_discidium_

While the others tucked into their noon meal with gusto, Remus huddled on the Gryffindor bench miserably trying to dispel the soreness in his lungs. The Potions examination had been scheduled to last three hours, with their written portion to be completed while the practical one was still simmering. Almost a third of the class had needed the extra half-hour that Slughorn allowed them, and many still had not managed to finish in time. Though Remus had contrived to write _something_ in each space, he had no idea what half of it was, and he could not even remember most of the questions. His Draught of Forgetfulness had come out grainy, even though he had filtered it through the wire strainer and the cheesecloth and finally, in desperation, through his pocket handkerchief. And he was almost certain that he had misspelled _belladonna_ in his list of ingredients. The entire thing, he decided, had been a disaster.

To make matters worse he was quite certain that everyone at the Gryffindor table was staring at him. Every time he dared to look up he caught someone else fixing curious eyes on his purpled face. He raised his hand to his temple, trying to shelter the bruises with his palm, but he knew it was useless. Gossip travelled so swiftly at Hogwarts, and he didn't doubt there were all manner of outlandish stories circulating now. James's explanation about Quaffles would not fool anyone for long: everyone could see that Remus was not the sort to be taking up the sport. At least three times over the course of the meal Remus caught Lily Evans staring intently at him, questions searing in her brilliant eyes.

'Put your hand down and they'll stop staring,' a familiar Scots voice lilted _sotto voce_. Remus twisted to his left to see Betta MacFusty standing behind him. 'Go on; put it down,' she said. 'It's remarkable how easy it is to convince people there's nothing to see, if you can just pretend it's so. And you!' she added, needling Sirius in the ribs with three stiffened fingers. 'What did you do to the laddie? And what's he ever done to you?'

'What makes you think it was me?' Sirius asked, forcing the words around a mouthful of grapes. 'Potter already confessed.'

'Potter has boundaries,' said Betta blithely. 'Well, _some_ boundaries,' she amended. 'Now then, Black, what are you planning for the end of exams?'

'Exams aren't over yet,' said Sirius innocently.

'_Ours_ are,' said Betta. 'And if you're planning to sneak comestibles into the Tower tonight then I want a share.'

'Seems reasonable enough,' said Sirius. 'You'd be amazed at how much food a couple of enterprising youths can carry.'

'I'm sure,' she said solemnly. Then she tossed her head cheekily. 'I'll just spread the word then, shall I? You'd best bring plenty to spare: I'm sure the rest of the House will want their revising snacks.'

'Yes, Miss MacFusty,' Sirius said, bobbing his head obediently.

Betta strolled off and James chuckled. 'What have you got us into this time?' he asked.

Sirius shrugged. 'You heard the lady: it's expected. Naturally we need to do something to mark the end of exams, and we're going to have to do it again when everyone else is done theirs. After all, what's the sense in being champion trouble-makers if we don't have the love of the populace? And just think of those poor, lonesome NEWTs students, stooped over their books without a midnight lunch! It's horrifying, Potter: frankly horrifying.'

Remus murmured his excuses and got up from the table. He didn't feel up to hosting a celebration in the common room, but as he knew he was going to be drawn along in the excitement he reasoned that he ought to have a bit of a lie-down while he could. It might help his headache, and it would certainly clear the sting of wolfsbane from his nose.

He was nearly at the door when a bundle of black robes came careening from the direction of the Ravenclaw table, very nearly colliding with him. 'I beg your pardon,' Remus mumbled, sidestepping reflexively. He was startled when the firstie grabbed his sleeve.

'Did you do it?' It was Davey Gudgeon, eyes sparkling eagerly. 'Did you touch it?'

'Did I touch what?' Remus asked, perplexed.

'The trunk!' cried Davey. 'Everyone's saying that's what happened to your face, and James Potter's covering for you with a ridiculous story about Quidditch because the Headmaster said we mustn't go near the Whomping Willow after what happened to me and he'd be angry if he knew. But that's what happened, isn't it? Did you touch the trunk? Did you? Did you?'

'No,' Remus said, managing to sound sincere despite the very real urge to laugh. In his agonizing over the speed of Hogwarts rumours he had forgotten that they were more often than not wildly inaccurate. 'No, I didn't touch the trunk. I don't think anyone's got nearly as close as you did.'

Davey's whole body seemed to inflate with pride. 'Well, well, well!' he said in a credible imitation of Sirius Black. 'Well, well, well.'


	92. When the Bough Breaks

_Note: Historical accuracy alert. It isn't pretty, but it's true._

**Chapter Ninety-Two: When the Bough Breaks**

The best place to watch the crush in the Gryffindor common room was five steps below the first balcony on the boys' side of the tower. Remus sat there with his knees drawn up and his cheek pressed against the railing while below the revelry carried on, oblivious to the irritated pleas for a bit of hush uttered by those not fortunate enough to be through with their exams.

As he had suspected, James and Sirius were the life of the party. Not merely the founders of the feast, they were also engaged in what Remus could only describe as a sort of impromptu music hall performance. James would start off on a tangent about something or other, and Sirius would cut him off with a cheerfully inane question, to which James would respond in a sombre deadpan that never failed to bring a roar of laughter from the surrounding students. Whenever this began to grow tiresome Sirius would launch into some ridiculous ditty or other, or else hand the floor with a flourish to Betta MacFusty, who was an untiring source of dragon-related anecdotes. The first and second years were generally awed, and the older students were almost as engaged. One or two of the seventh years who felt able to spare the time from preparing for their NEWTs were watching with expressions of hilarious astonishment, as if they could not quite believe how genuinely amusing their juniors were.

The stair beneath Remus's heels vibrated as someone else stepped onto it. Summer wool robes brushed against his cotton ones as the newcomer sat down next to him. It was Peter, with a large piece of treacle tart in one hand and a generous hunk of cold ham in the other.

'Why're you up here all alone?' he asked. 'You ought to go down and help yourself to the food, at least: you did help haul it all up here.'

'I'm not hungry,' Remus said softly. He twisted at the waist to look at his friend. 'Don't let me keep you from the festivities.'

'I like it when you do that,' said Peter.

'Do what?' Remus asked, turning back to rest his head against the bannister spindle again.

'Use big words when you talk to me, just like it's an ordinary thing to do. Everyone else, they either use them like they think they're so much smarter than I am, or they _don't_ use them because they don't think I understand. I understand just fine.'

'I know you do,' said Remus. He tried to determine whether Peter was suffering a crisis of confidence, or merely making an observation as he was wont to do at times. Unable to reach a conclusion without seeing the other boy's face, he mustered himself to turn again.

Peter was grinning at him expectantly. Evidently he had been trying to make a joke of it. When he realized that Remus was not reciprocating, his face crumpled into an expression of knowing concern.

'Is it Potions?' he asked sympathetically, his voice dropping to a whisper that would have been inaudible in the din save that his chin was almost on Remus's shoulder. He balanced the treacle tart on his lap and then reached out to pat his friend's knee consolingly. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'If it comes to it we could stay back together. It wouldn't be so bad with two, and anyhow Sirius would still want to be _your_ friend.'

Remus swallowed painfully. He could hardly explain to Peter that his dismal performance in Potions was the very least of his worries at the moment. It wasn't fair to unload his burdens on Peter – not even the few he had not promised to carry alone. Yet he had to ask _someone_, and he could scarcely go to Sirius or James.

'Do you think that if a boy kicked a woman in the stomach, that he could kill her baby?' he whispered.

Peter's little eyes grew round as saucers. 'Did someone _kick_ Professor Meyrigg?' he gasped. 'Was it Mulciber? Was it Snape?'

'No! No, no,' Remus said hastily. 'No, no one kicked Professor Meyrigg! It was… it was a little boy, and he kicked his mother when she was five, maybe six months along. He didn't mean to. He didn't know it was going to happen. But he was frightened and he was trying to get away and he kicked her a-and the baby died.'

'That's awful,' said Peter, his tone hushed and horrified. Remus screwed his eyes tightly closed, foundering in self-condemnation. Peter sighed piteously. 'The poor little boy. How old was he?'

'Four years,' Remus said, unsettled by the unexpected reaction. 'Well, four and a half.'

Peter looked pensively off into nothingness for such a long time that Remus wondered whether he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Finally he spoke, slowly and ponderously. 'When I was four and a half,' he said; 'I wanted a red waggon.'

He stopped but Remus said nothing. He had heard enough of Peter's stories to know that sometimes he needed a little time to compose his thoughts in order to get them out properly.

'There was one in the window of the village shop,' Peter went on presently. His eyes took on a dreamy look as he spoke. 'It was all made of metal, bright shiny red with black rubber wheels. All the Muggle children had them and I wanted one so badly. Every time we went to the shop I begged and I begged for that waggon. I wanted to take it to the top of the hill and to ride it all the way down, as fast as I could.'

He paused, this time looking to see whether he was being understood. Remus nodded reflexively. 'That sounds like the sort of think a child would think fun,' he said.

'I know!' said Peter. 'I was certain it was going to be fun. And that year, for Christmas, I _got the red waggon_.'

It was a pleasant little story, but Remus could not see its relevance. He was struggling to muster up a pleasant smile from a mire of befuddled misery when Peter resumed his tale with a start.

'I took it out on Christmas Day,' he said; 'right to the top of the hill. But it had snowed in the night, and the wheels got all clogged up and they wouldn't turn properly and when I sat down in it I couldn't make it move, not one inch. I remember I was so _angry_, and I got out and I started kicking it.'

Remus felt his jaw go slack, but he managed to keep his lips neatly together. This was the connection? Carefully reserving further judgement he remained silent.

'I kicked it and I kicked it and I kicked it, right on the wheel, until my toes were numb,' said Peter. 'I kicked it as hard as I could, over and over again. Mary saw me and she came running, yelling that I was going to ruin my new waggon, but do you know what?'

He stopped, clearly expecting something. Remus shook his head, still not quite able to speak.

'I didn't,' said Peter. 'It was just a silly little rubber wheel, and it was all stiff and brittle in the cold. It wouldn't have taken much to crack it, but no matter how hard I kicked I didn't hurt it at all. So you see?'

Remus did not see. He shook his head again. 'I'm not… I'm not sure…' he mumbled.

'The moral of the story,' said Peter with firm finality; 'is that four-and-a-half-year-olds don't kick very hard.'

Remus clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a noise that was more a sob than a laugh. Peter took it for the latter and smiled proudly. 'Pregnant ladies have all kinds of fat and muscles and water and things to keep their babies safe,' he said with a tremendous air of authority. 'If a little boy could make a baby die just by kicking his mother, how does anybody ever have more than one baby?'

Remus had not thought of that. Surely he was not the only child who had ever been a bit rough around a woman expecting a child. He wanted so badly to believe everything that Peter was saying, and he could not deny that it made a great deal of sense. But there was still the tiny, hateful voice deep inside that told him that he hadn't been an ordinary little boy; that he was a werewolf, and for all he knew werewolves kicked harder than normal children…

That wasn't true, the logical part of his mind protested indignantly. If that were true then he would be stronger than his classmates – which was demonstrably not the case. Yet still…

'So,' said Peter, tearing off a piece of ham and chewing contentedly; 'who's this little boy? Does Professor Meyrigg have a kid? A born one, I mean.'

'I don't think so,' said Remus.

'Was it a cousin?' Peter went on. 'Did it happen to your aunt?'

'No,' said Remus.

'Was it in the _Prophet_, then? Because you shouldn't believe everything you read in the _Prophet_.'

'No, Peter, it's…' Remus sighed. There was no way that he could possibly explain, not without upsetting and perhaps even frightening his friend. 'It's nothing,' he said. 'Thank you: I think you've answered my question.'

'Well, I'm glad,' said Peter with a contented grin. 'High time I answered one of your questions, instead of it always being the other way around.'

Remus nodded earnestly. 'Thank you,' he said again.

'Mmhmm,' Peter intoned, having just bit down on his tart. 'Aren'f you cofmifg?'

'I don't think so,' said Remus, just as a mighty crash sounded from below, followed by several startled shrieks and a whoop of familiar laughter. Sirius had just tumbled over the back of one of the armchairs, having failed to execute a handstand upon it. 'I'll stay up here where it's safe.'

Peter shrugged expansively, as if to say that it was his own business if he did not want to participate. 'I'm going for some more pumpkin juice,' he announced.

Remus watched him go, following him with his head until he reached the foot of the staircase. He was curled against the bannister again, and he let its reassuring pressure settle against the untouched left side of his face.

He did not doubt that Peter's story was true, and he could not deny that the younger boy's reasoning was sound. Still he could not help but wonder. It could not have been a coincidence, could it, that he had kicked his mother and the very next day she had lost the baby? He did not want to believe that it was his fault; it was a terrible thing to take upon himself. But even if he hadn't done any harm in kicking her, she had waited to go to the hospital until she was sure he was all right after the full moon. She had spent the night fretting instead of sleeping. It still would not have happened if her son was not a werewolf.

But maybe, if perhaps Remus knew that he hadn't brought the baby by kicking her, that might make it all a little easier to bear. He ought to have asked Madam Pomfrey, he realized. He _would_ ask Madam Pomfrey. He would ask her tomorrow when he went to see Professor Meyrigg. Madam Pomfrey would be able to tell him, one way or another. Surely knowing would be better than wondering.

Cheers and jeers erupted in the common room, drawing Remus's eye to the crowd as it parted before the portrait hole. Sirius stepped forward into the void, bowing with a flourish.

'Good evening, Miss Meadowes!' he said, very grandly. 'Welcome to the official celebration of the End of Second Year Exams. Oh, and the firsties are done, too.'

'Before you point out that everyone else still has at least two to sit,' James said hurriedly; 'remember that sometimes an ounce of distraction is worth a pound of hard graft, and everyone will be better able to focus tomorrow if they unwind a little today.'

Sirius whirled around, looking askance at his friend. 'Is that _true_?' he said, eyes widening dramatically. 'A whole pound of hard graft, worth just an ickle ounce of distraction? Who would have guessed?'

Even from his vantage point Remus could see that Dorcas Meadowes was not smiling. She was not even wearing the look of good-natured suffering that she usually reserved for these occasions. Her face was very pale and the corners of her mouth were tight. When she spoke she did so very deliberately, her voice carrying throughout the entire room.

'Everyone up to bed,' she said. 'At once. No arguing, no talking, no speculating. To bed. Prewitt, Fairbanks—where's Fairbanks?'

'Upstairs,' said one of the fifth year girls. 'Studying for her Divination OWL.'

'How does one study for a Divination OWL?' asked Sirius cheerfully. 'Practice being _extra_ clairvoyant?'

'Perhaps one tries to see the exam paper in a crystal ball,' suggested James.

Meadowes did not even seem to hear them. 'Go and get Fairbanks. Prewitt, I want the two of you sitting guard in the common room, wands at the ready. Alice? You'll stay with them?'

'Well, of course,' said Alice; 'but—'

'Just stay with them,' said Meadowes tersely. 'Keep watch. No one goes out, and if anyone comes in it had better be Professor McGonagall or one of the senior Prefects. Aloysius, Miranda, you're with me.'

'Where's Sophocles?' asked the seventh year Prefect, looking around for her classmate and apparently not seeing him.

'He was up in the Owlery. I expect he'll be in the staff room by now,' said Meadowes. 'That's where we're meant to meet. Everyone else _into bed now_!'

There was a general scrambling for the staircases and Remus had to hoist himself to his feet to avoid being trampled. There were questions on every face, but no one dared to defy Dorcas when she was wearing that expression. Remus clung to the railing, letting himself be jostled by the crowd until Sirius snagged him by the elbow and hauled him up to the dormitory.

'Quickly, quickly!' he hissed as James and Peter piled through the door after them. He held out his hand to James, snapping his fingers urgently. 'Hurry up: if we're not down there by the time Meadowes and the others clear off we won't be able to get out.'

'Get out?' exclaimed Peter as James produced the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket and shook it out eagerly. 'Are you barmy? You saw the look on her face: she'll have you expelled!'

James laughed. 'Prefects can't expel anyone!' he said. 'If they could, I wouldn't still be here; not after that run-in with Malfoy!'

'Run-in? You attacked him with a Quaffle,' Sirius reminded his friend. 'Get a shift on!'

'It might be something dangerous,' Remus said uneasily. The look in Dorcas's eyes was still fresh in his mind. He glanced at the window, glossy with darkness. It was a quarter to midnight, and they had been breaking curfew: she had not even mentioned that fact. And why did she want the fifth year Prefects on guard in the common room? And why did they need a sixth year with them?

'Prefects in the staff room? Odds on it's something dangerous!' Sirius said gleefully as he whirled under the Cloak, dragging James after him. 'We'll report back as soon as we can!'

'No, wait—' Remus cried, but it was too late. The door flung itself open and there was a shuffle of retreating feet hastening down the stairs again. James and Sirius were gone.

'Y-you don't _really_ think it's something dangerous, do you?' Peter asked timidly, casting a wary eye on the open door.

'I don't know,' Remus confessed as he moved to close it. He supposed that he ought to go after his friends, to help them even if he could not stop them, but it simply did not seem wise. Three errant second years would be more distracting than two, whatever was going on, and despite their devil-may-care attitude James and Sirius had enough sense to keep out of sight. He could not imagine what might be going on beyond the haven of Gryffindor Tower, but whatever it was could it truly be a threat to his friends' safety?

And all of that was further assuming they wouldn't be stopped by Alice Bolton and the fifth year Prefects.

'I'm sure it's all right,' he said with more resolve. He managed a smile for Peter. 'Either they'll get caught and put in detention, or they won't. It's just a night-time caper like any other.'

'But what's happening?' asked Peter.

'I'm afraid I don't know that either,' Remus said. He felt strangely calm now, with a clear task before him. He had to quiet Peter's fears and encourage him to get off to bed, just as Dorcas Meadowes had instructed. Whatever was going on elsewhere was beyond his control, as were James and Sirius. 'We ought to do as we've been told.'

'What if it's dragons?' Peter protested anxiously. 'What if one of them lands on the tower and tries to get in at the window? What if—'

'You've been listening to too many of Betta MacFusty's stories,' said Remus soothingly. 'And anyhow, if it were dragons we could just have her take care of it, couldn't we?'

Peter giggled nervously, watching as Remus went towards his cupboard to unearth a clean nightshirt. 'I suppose it's not likely to be dragons,' he allowed. 'It might be a troll.'

'A troll at Hogwarts?' asked Remus, smiling over his shoulder.

'Or a giant…' Peter tried. Remus raised an eyebrow and Peter frowned. 'Well, we've got a werewolf,' he said petulantly.

For a moment Remus was frozen, unable to think past the hated word. Then he realized how naturally it had tripped over Peter's tongue. It was meant as a joke. He let out a hoarse little laugh and Peter grinned.

Suddenly the atmosphere of the half empty dormitory was tangibly less oppressive. Peter fetched his pyjamas and padded into the water closet to go about his nightly routine. Remus took the opportunity to strip as quickly as he could. He had just pulled his nightshirt over his head when Peter came back into the room, yawning expansively. Remus bent to retrieve his scattered clothing, using the opportunity to be sure that his hem was pulled as low on his scarred legs as it would reach.

'Will you take care of the lights?' Peter asked as he climbed into bed. 'I'm exhausted: Potions always does take it out of me, and three hours of it is almost more than I can bear.'

'Yes, of course,' Remus said, bobbing his head as the other boy pulled closed his bed hangings.

'Next time we have an end-of-exams celebration,' Peter said from within the depths of the bed; 'we ought to warn the house elves ahead of time, don't you think? So they can have extra cream cakes ready.'

Remus knew his friend did not really want any reply, and he set about dimming the lamps. He had not quite mastered Sirius's knack of executing the entire task while lying atop his bedclothes, but he did not need to take more than four steps to get into his range. For the first time that day he felt a little burst of pride. His spellwork was definitely improving. He went to the window to be sure that it was unlatched in case Hermes or Ronan wanted to come in. He hesitated: below on the grounds he could see a flickering light bobbing slowly forwards. Curious he opened the window and leaned forward over the sill, squinting into the darkness.

Whatever it was he could not quite make it out. It did not seem like wand-light: he thought it was a lantern. Reason assured him that it was only Hagrid, doing his evening rounds or perhaps even taking Poppet for a ramble. His imagination had other explanations to offer.

Quickly he closed the window, hesitating for a moment before fastening it securely. The owls would just have to make do with being shut out for a night, even if it meant they were all going to be roused when the post came in the morning. He needed to feel that he was secure. In the same vein he went to check that the door was closed. It could not be locked, of course, but in any case he would not have been able to lock it. Shutting out the owls was one thing: shutting out Sirius and James was quite another matter.

Remus turned the knob and tugged the door ever so slightly ajar. It was only a symbolic gesture, but it made him feel better. He could cope with having the door open. After all, there were two Prefects and a sixth year in the common room sitting guard.

Sitting guard against _what?_

Without turning his back to the door he moved to his bed. His hand was still curled around his wand, and he adjusted his hold as he shifted up towards the pillows. He would wait, he decided, until James and Sirius returned. Perhaps they would have some answers. Even if they did not, he was certain that he would sleep more soundly knowing they were all safe in the dormitory together. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled in to wait.

_discidium_

At first Remus did not understand what had awakened him. The room was dark, save for a faint silvery starlight filtering through the window panes. He was not cold; he was not in pain. His wand had fallen from his fingers, but he could feel it resting just below his ribs. He blinked into the gloom.

Then he heard the breathing: two sets of lungs working much harder than any had to in sleep. He blinked and found that he could just make out a pair of shadowy shapes folding something between them. Sirius and James were back.

'What is it?' he whispered.

One of them gave a strangled yelp while the other clutched dramatically at his chest. 'Sod it, Remus: give a bloke a coronary, would you?' Sirius hissed.

'Have you been waiting up all this time?' asked James.

Time. 'What time is it?' Remus murmured. He was sitting up now, and he tucked his feet beneath him. The others came closer, feeling their way around the foot of Sirius's bed.

'A little after four,' whispered Sirius. 'It'll be light soon.'

'Did you get caught?' asked Remus.

'I never get caught!' James said loftily, flinging himself onto the bed beside Remus.

'Except when you do,' Sirius amended, settling with one leg up on the mattress. 'No, we didn't get caught. And we waited for our opportunity to get past Prewitt and his lady friends without being noticed.'

'Came in with the house elf come to do the grates,' James hissed conspiratorially. Sirius sniggered, and James chuckled: they were obviously sharing some kind of private joke.

'Did you find out what's happening?' Remus asked, careful to keep his voice low so as not to disturb Peter.

'Sort of,' said James, just as Sirius said; 'Not exactly.'

They turned to look at each other, though there was nothing to see but black masses in the dark. They sighed in unison.

'As far as we can work out there's nothing actually happening in the school,' said James. 'The Prefects are patrolling the corridors, and so are some of the teachers.'

'Some of the teachers?' Remus echoed.

Sirius nodded. 'We couldn't find McGonagall or Flitwick. Slughorn's down in the dungeons brewing up a massive batch of something that smells like rancid toad entrails. And of course Meyrigg's in the hospital wing under the watchful eyes of our dear Matey.'

'We didn't see Binns either,' said James; 'but I imagine he's sleeping.'

'What about the Headmaster?' asked Remus.

'Didn't catch a whisker,' said Sirius. 'That's why we don't think the school's in danger. He'd never leave Hogwarts undefended if there were a threat, now would he?'

'Neither would McGonagall, come to that,' said James. 'Something is definitely afoot, though.'

'There's something in the sky over London,' Sirius breathed. The words were innocent enough, but they were laced with an undercurrent of dread.

'What do you mean?' Remus murmured.

'We don't know,' said James. 'It's something the Head Girl said. In the sky over London.'

'And that's all?' Remus hoped that he did not sound as sceptical as he felt. It was not like his friends to keep secrets, but they might be trying to protect him.

'I know, mate,' Sirius said grimly. 'Four sodding hours and we've nothing to show for it but Prefects' gossip and a census of the staff.'

'Pity you didn't come,' said James. 'You've a knack for this sort of thing.'

Remus bit his lip. He was not sure whether he was more uncomfortable with the note of disapproval in his friend's voice, or the knowledge that he was getting a reputation for having _a knack for this sort of thing_.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud yawn from Sirius Black. 'Let's just get some sleep,' he grumbled, hefting himself off of Remus's bed and flopping forward onto his own. 'Futile errands are extraordinarily depressing.'

Remus caught a glint of a lens and knew that James was looking at him, but he could not read the other boy's expression. 'Sleep it is then,' he said before getting to his feet.

Neither of them troubled to undress, contenting themselves with kicking off their shoes and unbuckling their belts. Soon enough they were sleeping, but Remus lay awake for a long time, wondering what, precisely, might have appeared in the sky over London to cause such a commotion five hundred miles away.

_discidium_

The answer was on the cover of _The Daily Prophet_ the following morning. A hush fell over the Great Hall, fanning out with the owls that brought the newspaper to subscribing students. Copies were spread across plates, passed from person to person, scrutinized with dawning horror. The lead headline read _London Murder Conclusively Tied to Pure-Blood Advocate_, but Remus scarcely saw it. He, like everyone else, had eyes only for the photograph. It was a snapshot of the London skyline, the Big Ben clock tower prominent to the left. Curling above it was a hideous apparition, glittering sickeningly even in the black-and-white image: a skull, larger than the clock face itself, with a serpent emerging from between its teeth.

Hushed and horrified whispers were starting up throughout the room, but the stretch of the Gryffindor table where the Marauders customarily sat was still silent. The four boys stared at James's copy of the paper, repelled but entranced.

Remus was the first to tear his eyes away from the seething head of death to glance below the headline. In slightly smaller print, though still bold amid the fine type of the article itself, were the words: _Minister for Magic Swears Out Warrant Against 'Lord Voldemort'._

'W-What _is _that thing?' Peter stammered, scarcely able to make his voice heard even in the unearthly hush.

'It's a body,' Sirius said hoarsely.

'_What_?' Peter yelped, yanking his hands away from the table as though they had been scalded. 'It looks like a snake!'

'Not that,' breathed Sirius, wafting a dismissive finger at the shape in the sky before planting it firmly on the face of the clock. '_That_.'

Remus felt his stomach lurch into a slow, nauseating somersault. The hands of the clock showed five after eleven. Suspended between them, spread-eagled with what had to be Conjured chains, was the silhouette of what was indeed a human body. The details were obscured, both by the glow of the clock face and by the camera which had obviously been focused on the skull in the sky, but there was no mistaking the shape – nor indeed the painful contortion of the stretched limbs, nor the telltale lolling of a lifeless head.

'Merlin's beard…' whispered James.

Sirius's finger was trembling now, and he drew it back as quickly as he could. He was not quite able, however, to keep it from hovering over the letters that had been magically emblazoned between the eight and the four on Big Ben's face. Remus took them in without truly understanding. Then he looked again. They read:

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

A shiver ran up his spine. James and Peter were still staring at the photograph. Sirius had retracted into his seat like a tortoise withdrawing into its shell. He was now sitting with his head bowed, hands balled into white-knuckled fists in his lap. Remus could scarcely breathe, but he had to understand the terrifying image before him, and the only way to do that was to read the article. Forcing his eyes to focus, he began:

_Aurors are searching for the self-styled 'Lord Voldemort' in connection with the brutal murder of an unidentified wizard whose body was gruesomely displayed upon one of London's most visible landmarks last night. The remains were displayed on the eastern face of the Muggle clock tower housing Big Ben, along with a conjured inscription linking the latest victim of the infamous Death Eater organization with the work of a political activist working out of South London. There has been no prior evidence that the doings of this vigilante organization and the philosophy of 'Voldemort' have been directly related, but that ambiguity is at an end._

'_There seems little doubt that this man is directly involved with this killing,' said Orpheus Andrews, Minister for Magic. 'He has left his mark; his signature, if you will. And if he is responsible for this murder, then he is responsible for others.'_

_To date, thirteen separate attacks and over three dozen deaths have been positively attributed to the gang calling themselves the Death Eaters. Operating under a policy of fanatical blood-purity, these masked killers tend to target Muggles and Muggle-borns, as well as businesses and organizations known to support them. This latest death differs from the usual pattern: although displayed prominently on a major Muggle landmark, the dead man was a half-blood. Sources state that death appeared to have been caused by extensive spastic trauma such as might be seen after prolonged and repeated application of one or more of the Unforgivable Curses, although the cause of death has not been officially released. The motive for his murder remains unclear, but authorities agree that there is a clear message in its aftermath._

'_He's letting us know he's out there,' warned Alastor Moody, Auror and one of the first on scene. 'He's tired of letting other people take the credit. He wants you to know who you're meant to be fearing, and he wants you to know that it's not going to stop.'_

_Head the Department of Magical Law Enforcement confirmed the high risk that 'Voldemort' and his followers will strike again. 'It is imperative that the public be alert and prepared,' he announced in the early hours of the morning. 'The Ministry has dedicated tremendous resources to tracking down this madman, but even the most exhaustive search effort takes time. Rest assured that he will be stopped, and he will be taken into our custody: alive if possible, dead if necessary.'_

_The extraordinarily public nature of the crime scene, along with the tremendous visibility of what Ministry sources are calling the 'Dark Mark' – a distinctive brand frequently displayed where Death Eaters strike – has necessitated the involvement of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. While Obliviators have been working nonstop among the Muggle population, the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee has already released information to the Muggle press regarding a probable suicide on the Big Ben clock tower._

_A raid by Aurors and Hit Wizards from Magical Law Enforcement revealed that the so-called 'political headquarters' of the pure-blood advocate now believed to be the leader of the Death Eaters has been recently abandoned. Anyone with information about 'Lord Voldemort' or his associates in Croydon should contact the Ministry of Magic at once._

_For a history of the blood-purist movement in Croydon, see page 2. For a review of recent deaths and disappearances attributed to the Death Eaters, see page 5._

Remus sank back onto the bench, trying to keep his body from trembling. Although he did not want to look at it, the photograph still held his eye. There was something so mournful, so pitiable, about the shape of the dead man against the bright face of the clock. He could not look away.

'Strange,' said James after a long silence. 'They say he's unidentified.'

'Nothing strange about that,' mumbled Sirius. 'People tend to be difficult to identify after they've been slaughtered.'

'Yes,' said James; 'but then how do they know he's a half-blood?'

A band of horror closed around Remus's heart. The man wasn't unidentified: someone had asked that the paper keep from releasing his name. It had to be someone very influential, for _The Daily Prophet _did not withhold sensational information on a whim. The Auror and the man from Magical Law Enforcement both seemed to think that the killer was trying to send a message, and abruptly he remembered something that Headmaster Dumbledore had said to Professor Meyrigg:_I can promise that his position has not been compromised, because if it had I do not doubt that Voldemort would make every effort to be sure I knew it._

'I have to go,' he managed to choke out, clambering over the bench. James and Peter both looked up, bewildered, but Sirius was still curled in upon himself. 'I'm sorry… I have to go…'

He took the stairs at such a run that by the time he reached his destination his side was cramping and his lungs burning with exertion. Not waiting to catch his breath he reached up to hammer on the hospital wing door.

It opened so quickly that Remus almost tumbled over the threshold. Madam Pomfrey cried out and thrust her hands forward to catch him before he could do so. 'Madam!' he panted. 'M-Madam, the paper! You mustn't let Professor Meyrigg see the paper…'

The matron stared at him in silence for a moment, but the anguish in her eyes told the truth before she could speak it. 'She already knows, Remus,' she said gently. 'They brought in his body just before dawn.'

Only then did Remus see the bed that had been drawn away from the others. On it lay the body of a man: lean and tall and hardy, with an honest jaw and a shaggy head of hair. His lower lip trembled and he stilled it resolutely. He would be of no use to anyone if he was going to behave like a child. 'Where is she?' he asked with remarkable calm. 'May I see her?'

Madam Pomfrey's expression grew, if possible, still more pained. 'Remus…' she began.

From behind the screen where Professor Meyrigg had lain for the last few weeks came a harsh, trilling cry of pain. Something about its pitch resonated deep in Remus's memory. 'Oh, no…' he breathed.

There was a clatter of feet in the corridor behind him and all of a sudden a large, broad-shouldered witch in almost indecently orange robes pushed past him. The girl who had been leading her skidded to a stop, looking helplessly at the matron from behind horned spectacles.

'I ran,' Dorcas puffed. Her face was grey and both her exhaustion and her desperation were evident with every word. 'We both ran. She doesn't like to run.'

'How far along?' the woman barked, opening a dark carpet bag and bringing out an enormous apron. 'How much time between contractions?'

Madam Pomfrey shook her head helplessly. 'Remus, you've got to go,' she said. 'Dorcas, please: please, get him away from here.'

Professor McGonagall's voice came from behind the screen. 'About four minutes,' she said. 'Is there anything you can do to stop it?'

The matron was running towards the bed now. Her hip barked against the bed that held Owyn Meyrigg's dead body. Remus took a halting step forward and Meadowes caught him by the arm.

'Come on,' she said. 'You shouldn't be here for this.'

'His face,' Remus said unsteadily, still staring at the dead man. There was blood, dried and black, at his nostrils and in his ear – though someone had tried to wash him. 'S-Somebody ought to cover his face.'

'Later,' the Prefect whispered, tightening her grip upon him. 'We have to…' She glanced at the screens, from behind which came another tormented cry. 'We have to go.'

She guided him out into the corridor, drawing the heavy door shut behind them. She leaned against it, her hand still on the knob that pressed into the small of her back. She closed her eyes, taking several deep and steadying breaths.

'She's going to lose the baby,' Remus whispered, staring at the door.

'She's going to _have_ the baby,' Dorcas said through gritted teeth. 'It's nearly seven months. It might survive.'

Suddenly her knees gave out beneath her and she sank down onto the ground, her fingers slipping from their hold on Remus. She drew her knees up to her breasts and buried her head in her hands. Her whole body was quivering. Frightened but mesmerized, Remus watched as her shoulders shuddered with a single long sob. After that she was very still.

Timidly he put out his hand and pressed his palm to her shoulder blade. He let his fingers curl over so that their tips brushed her collarbone, and he squeezed gently and reassuringly. 'You've had a terrible night,' he said softly. It was something he remembered his mother saying to him on more than one occasion. 'You've been very brave. You're… you're a true Gryffindor.'

She shuddered beneath his hand and then her muscles tightened, growing firm with resolve. She raised her head, brushing away two lonely tears with the back of her thumb. She straightened her spectacles and shook out her hair. Then she reached up to grip his wrist. 'Thank you,' she said softly. She climbed to her feet, smoothing her robes. She looked older now than she had before. Remus never would have guessed to look at her that she was only seventeen. She straightened her silver badge and nodded resolutely.

'I'd best report to Frank,' she said. 'Are you coming?'

Remus thought of his friends, of the security he would feel just being near them. Then he thought of Professor Meyrigg on the other side of the door, lying in the same room as her murdered husband while her baby came two months too early. He shook his head. 'No, thank you,' he said, very calmly. 'I think I shall stay here a little longer.'

Dorcas gave him a steady look. 'Don't open that door,' she said, though from her tone he knew that she trusted the caveat was unnecessary.

_discidium_

Remus paced the corridor outside the hospital wing for what seemed like hours, marching like a sentry to expend the anxious energy that filled him. Now and again a sharp cry could be heard even through the great door and the thick stone walls. More than once he heard a sob that wrenched his heart. Madam Pomfrey had said that Professor Meyrigg had to stay abed; that exertion or worry might bring on the baby. He supposed there had been a good deal of both when they brought in her husband's body.

He would have questioned the wisdom of doing so, except that he was almost certain it had been at Professor Meyrigg's insistence. She had a streak of obstinacy that he had seen on more than one occasion, and when she knew what she wanted she was impossible to dissuade. That same drive had made her such an excellent teacher: she had made up her mind that all of her students were going to learn, and what's more that they were going to like it. And they had.

Remus scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand. She didn't deserve this. She was such a good person; so patient, so caring, understanding, open-minded. She didn't deserve to lose her husband. She didn't deserve to lose her baby. But he was too accustomed to the cruelty of fate to think that people always received their desserts. Certainly his own mother had not deserved to be saddled with a werewolf, to lose her own baby, to struggle along in a strange world with only her husband to help her. His father did not deserve the shame and unhappiness that had been heaped upon him. No one ever really got what they deserved.

There were some things, though, that were too fundamental to deny to anyone. Remus stopped mid-stride, stricken by the image of Owyn Meyrigg's body lying on the hospital bed just as it must have been lying when his wife started going into labour. With all of the commotion and the worry over Professor Meyrigg, no one had thought to draw up the sheet to cover his face. That wasn't right. He deserved that much dignity at least, even in death.

Remus glanced over his shoulder to be sure that he was alone. He did not really expect to see anyone, but the knowledge that he was about to disobey a Prefect's express command made him wary. There was nothing to it, he assured himself. He would be in and out before anyone even knew the door was open. They would all be busy with Professor Meyrigg: no one would pay any mind to him. All that he had to do was hurry in, cover Mr Meyrigg's face, and slip out again.

Resolved, he twisted the handle and opened the door. As he had suspected, all the commotion was isolated behind the screens. He could hear Madam Pomfrey and the midwife conferring in hushed tones, but their words were masked by the hollow sobs that punctuated the air. Under them, low and soothing, he could hear Professor McGonagall murmuring what comforts she could.

Trying to close his ears to the sound of misery Remus hurried across the stone floor. The body was lying as he had last seen it. The eyes had been closed, and some attempt had been made to smooth the lines of suffering on the craggy young face – but there was little that could be done to disguise the fact that this man had died in agony. Remus recognized the contortions of torment: his own face forced itself into similar shapes every month. He drew near to the bed, fumbling for the corner of the sheet flung over the man's hips.

He could not help but reach out to brush his fingertips along the motionless jaw. The skin was cool and very smooth to the touch: not at all what he had expected. He drew back his hand. He had no right to touch the man like this. Owyn had been loved, indeed cherished. It belonged to those who had known him in life to touch him in death. Carefully Remus tugged up the sheet, spreading it with both hands and lowering it smoothly. The soft cotton settled, rendering in muted contours the shape of his nose and his brow, the hollows of his eyes, the tip of his chin.

Remus exhaled a long, hot column of air. There. That was better, he decided. He was just about to turn to make his retreat when in the corner of his eye he saw something else.

About ten feet from the right-hand screen there was a hospital trolley, the sort that the matron used to carry potions and bandages and other tools of healing. On its top someone had flung a towel, stained with blood and something faintly yellow in colour. And on the towel rested a tiny baby, grey and naked and motionless.

The breath caught in Remus's throat. Behind the curtain he could hear Madam Pomfrey, trying to explain to her patient that if they did not stop the bleeding it would be too late to do anything at all. Somewhere beyond the bright windows full of sunshine there was a happy shriek of laughter as some first year went charging after one of his classmates, blissfully unaware of what had happened within the castle walls. Remus scarcely heard either of them. He was transfixed by the baby. Before he realized what he was doing, he stepped forward as if drawn by an unseen force.

It was a little boy, he realized, impossibly tiny and impossibly perfect. Wee little toes curled in towards feet that could have fit quite comfortably on a Galleon. Long, delicate fingers were splayed stiffly across delicate ribs. Had it not been for the unearthly hue of his skin, Remus would have believed the baby was only sleeping.

He wanted to weep, but there were no tears to be shed. He glanced towards the enclosure that hid the bereaved mother's bed. Someone was protesting now, moaning between shuddering breaths that she did not care, that she wanted her baby.

'There can't be any harm, surely…' Madam Pomfrey said.

'Nonsense.' The brusque voice had to belong to the midwife. 'Least said, soonest mended. She'll forget: she's young. She can have plenty of other babies.'

There was a stunned silence broken only by Professor Meyrigg's laboured breathing. It was shattered by Professor McGonagall, sounding as angry as Remus had ever heard her. 'Her husband is _dead_, you blithering fool! Do you really think she is going to have other babies?'

'Well!' the midwife huffed. 'I may not be a high-and-mighty _professor_, but I do know what's done in these situations…'

So did Remus. He had been in the corridor of the Muggle hospital, too weak and weary after the ravages of the transformation to move, when they had brought his baby sister out of the room where his mother had lost her. They had swept passed him so quickly that he had only caught a glimpse of her, and the hospital had taken her away to be buried with other stillborn children in some unknown place. His mother had never even had the chance to hold her, to look at her, to say goodbye.

There was a clean towel flung upon the foot of the nearest bed. He snatched it up. As gently as he could he lifted the tiny little body and swaddled it, folding the towel clumsily around the dainty legs and the round little shoulders. The head was heavy and he supported it with one palm while the other hand cradled the body.

'Brynna,' Madam Pomfrey was saying in her most comforting and reasonable tone. 'Brynna, you need to let me examine you. We have to stop the bleeding.'

'No…' sobbed Meyrigg. She sounded delirious with pain and grief. 'No, my baby…'

Remus knew he could not wait any longer. Clutching the small bundle to his chest he hastened around the screen and into the sheltered area around Professor Meyrigg's bed. He did not pause to take in the soiled sheets, the twisted blankets, the pillows that had been used to prop the woman in the desired position. He did not look at Madam Pomfrey, or the astonished midwife, or the quiet wonder on Professor McGonagall's face. He skirted past all of them and bent over the head of the bed, gently lowering his burden into his teacher's arms.

'Here. Here he is,' he said softly, surprised by the calm in his own voice. 'Here he is: you can say goodbye.'

Professor Meyrigg's arm curled instinctively around the baby's body. Her other hand moved, fingers fluttering against the tiny cheek just as Remus's had done to her husband. Her breathing hitched and her eyes grew wide. She cuddled the child close to her, her mouth working soundlessly. She shifted her legs and Professor McGonagall reached to straighten the bedclothes. Instantly Madam Pomfrey was at work again, but the woman in the bed did not even seem to notice. She was watching her baby with awe and wonder and intractable sorrow.

Finally she raised her head. Eyes glittering with tears fixed on Remus's face. 'Thank you,' she whispered.


	93. Preparing to Depart

_Note: I am absolutely overawed by the response to the last chapter. Thank you, everyone! And to show my gratitude, here's the next chapter early. Also, the Missing Moments poll will be live soon, so if you have any last-minute plot bunnies to request, let me know!_

**C****hapter Ninety-Three: Preparing to Depart**

Remus stood on the tips of his toes to grab the last four books from the very top shelf. A puff of dust swooped down into his eyes and he hurried to cover his mouth against the inevitable sneeze, muffling it as much as possible with the cuff of the shirt that he wore under his robes. He glanced furtively towards the armchair, fearful that he had disturbed Professor Meyrigg, but she was still staring vacantly into the fire. He brushed the tops of the books carefully and set about fitting them into the case with the rest of his teacher's collection. The last one lingered in his hand: it was the volume of poetry that Sirius had grabbed during their illicit search of her office in January, the one inscribed for her by the then-mysterious Owyn.

With the bookshelf empty the office was nearly bare. The desk had been cleared of its tools and the accumulated detritus of ten months' teaching. The china figurines had been taken down from the mantelpiece: Remus had wrapped each one carefully in brown paper and cast his very best Cushioning Charm on every little parcel before packing them carefully in a sturdy wooden crate. The elegant lamp and its attendant duelling trophy had received similar treatment. The painting of the manor house with its guardian phoenix was swathed in a rug for travel, tied carefully with string to protect it. Most of the other pictures had already been taken away by the house elf who was helping to ferry the teacher's belongings to the carriage that was waiting for her.

Only one painting remained: the seascape with the gathering gloom upon the horizon. Professor Meyrigg had asked him to leave it alone, and Remus had obeyed her unquestioningly. Now he hesitated. As far as he could see, it was the only thing left to be packed.

He stood quietly, watching the bowed figure before the fire. In the days since that disastrous morning Professor Meyrigg had said remarkably little. She meekly deferred to Madam Pomfrey's efforts to bring her back to health, taking her potions and eating her meals with mechanical determination. But she gave no response to the matron's attempts to talk about her bereavement, she had little to say to Professor McGonagall – who spent as much time as she was able with her grieving colleague – and as far as Remus knew she had not even spoken to the Headmaster since her husband's body had been brought to the school. Remus did not know what he could possibly say to comfort her, but his quiet presence seemed to be enough. He had spent every minute he could in her company: sitting by her bedside, accompanying her on her brief forays to sit in the sunshine, and now packing her belongings for her. He looked again at the last vestige of her personal touch on the office.

'He painted it in that miserable little flatshare in Croydon.' The murmured words startled Remus as much as a shout would have done. He whirled to find Professor Meyrigg watching him with eyes that now held not even the memory of a sparkle. 'He said it helped to keep him sane those first few months. I asked him once why he hadn't started another. He said he didn't feel he had to anymore.'

'I didn't know that Mr Meyrigg was a painter,' Remus said quietly, glancing again at the image on the wall. The gathering storm billowed and swelled, and the plume of wicked black smoke curled upwards. A shiver ran through him.

'He should have done it professionally,' said Professor Meyrigg. 'But he had his heart set on being a great actor. I'm afraid he didn't get very far with it. When I met him he was in rehearsals for a dreadful American farce called _Nobody Loves an Augurey_. It closed after a week, and after that he never had much work apart from the odd advertisement on the wireless.' She sighed unsteadily. 'If only the show hadn't been such an abominable flop… after all, a star of the stage makes a much less convincing turncoat than a disillusioned artist.'

She closed her eyes briefly, the corners of her mouth crimping in silent agony. Composed again, she fixed her gaze on the picture. 'Would you bring it to me, Remus? Please?'

Carefully he lifted the frame from its nail, running his thumb along the top to flick away the dust. He held it out reverently, and Professor Meyrigg's fingers closed on the corners. 'Thank you,' she breathed.

There was a thump in the bedroom and the door swung open. Dorcas Meadowes came into the room, Levitating the tall steamer trunk full of Meyrigg's clothing. She set it down beside the door and tucked her wand into her belt. 'That's the last of it, Professor,' she said quietly. 'If you don't mind I'll help Rinter take the rest down.'

'Would you take the crate, Dorcas?' Meyrigg asked, nodding at the box full of china ladies. 'It will have to be carried, I'm afraid.'

'Of course I will,' the Prefect said. She lifted the case in question with care and Remus ran to hold the door. 'Thanks,' she murmured, and then was gone.

Remus wondered, not for the first time, whether she knew that he had disobeyed her order not to open the door to the hospital wing. He had not spoken to anyone about what had happened, for he did not want to trouble them, and neither Madam Pomfrey nor Professor McGonagall had mentioned it. Both had been too concerned for Professor Meyrigg to be much upset by his audacity, he supposed.

He closed the office door and then looked back to Professor Meyrigg, who was studying the painting in her shrunken lap. Remus waited quietly, waiting for further instruction. Apparently sensing his gaze, she looked up.

'I think that's everything,' she said. Her voice was low and husky, as if every word came at a cost. 'Thank you, Remus.'

'I'm happy to be able to help, Professor,' he said earnestly.

She choked back a tiny sigh. 'You've done a great deal more than help,' she said. 'Without your… if you hadn't… I'm not sure what I would have done without you.'

Remus had to wait a moment before he trusted himself to speak. 'I only did what anyone else would have done,' he demurred.

Meyrigg blinked very slowly. 'No one else did it,' she said.

There was an indeterminate silence followed by a tiny rapping at the door. A moment later the house elf came in, bowing eagerly before reaching out a hand to Levitate the steamer trunk into the air. They were left alone soon enough, but the moment of peril had passed. Professor Meyrigg's expression was once more impassive, and she was fingering one corner of the picture frame thoughtfully.

'Remus, would you go into the other room and fetch something for me?' she asked.

He glanced towards the bedroom door, which was standing ajar. 'Dorcas already packed everything…' he began.

Meyrigg shook her head. 'There's a box under the bed. I very nearly forgot it. It might be quite a ways back.'

'I'll find it, Professor,' Remus promised. He skirted around her and slipped into the other room without having to open the door any farther.

He had never seen the room as it had stood when occupied, but it did not seem nearly as vacant as the front office. A large four-poster bed hung with Ravenclaw colours occupied one side of the room. There was a cosy fireplace which shared a chimney with the one in the other room, a dresser and a wardrobe and a couple of little tables. The window was tall and hung with velvet drapes. It seemed a very nice place to live.

Getting down on his hands and knees Remus peered under the bed. He could not see any box, and so he took out his wand and lighted it. The container in question was visible just at the edge of the resulting glow. It was indeed quite a ways back, and sitting at a peculiar angle, almost as if it had been kicked. Briefly he considered trying to use magic to draw it towards him, but of course there was really no way of knowing whether its contents might be easily harmed. So he set his wand down, still shimmering gently, and lowered himself onto his stomach, using his toes and his forearms to propel himself under the bed.

When he heard the sound of flesh on wood he thought at first that he had bumped his head on the slats supporting the mattresses. Then he heard Professor Meyrigg's voice in the other room. 'Come in, Dorcas.'

'Not Dorcas, I'm afraid,' a pleasant and gentle voice announced. Remus's breath caught in his throat. It was Headmaster Dumbledore. There were three footfalls and the wizard asked kindly; 'Are you feeling any stronger today?'

'I shall be fighting fit in a week or two, if that is what you're asking,' Professor Meyrigg said. Although she had not sounded remotely content in weeks Remus was surprised by the cold edge to her voice.

'It wasn't,' said Dumbledore quietly. There was a pause, during which he could have only been taking in the denuded room. 'Everything is packed away, I see. You might have left anything you didn't need immediately over the summer.'

'I've told you that I'm not coming back.' Now Professor Meyrigg sounded almost angry. 'I've furnished you with my letter of resignation and I've sent a copy to the Board of Governors as well. I hope you haven't come here to try to talk me out of it.'

'I would never dream of such a thing,' Dumbledore said sadly. 'Though I confess I had hoped that you might change your mind, given time.'

'I never should have agreed to this post in the first place.' The words came out in a heavy sigh. 'I ought to have been there with him. Then perhaps…'

'Then perhaps you would both be dead, and our cause would be no further along, and all of the pupils you've helped over the course of the year would be struggling along under a less adept candidate,' said Dumbledore. 'You've done very important work this year, Brynna. I hope you realize that.'

'Oh, yes, very important work,' she said bitterly. 'Teaching children how to fight so that when the time comes they too can—'

She stopped abruptly, but of course Remus could not see why. After a long, terse beat of silence she said, 'I'm going. I will not be back. You know where to find me if there is something more you want, but I will not be teaching any longer.'

Dumbledore exhaled heavily. Remus could imagine him stroking his beard as he fixed her with pensive blue eyes. 'I know it is little comfort,' he said softly; 'but Owyn did manage to accomplish what he set out to achieve.'

'Oh, yes,' said Meyrigg. 'Yes, he did indeed. You wanted evidence that would force the Ministry to take the man's threat seriously; something to tie him conclusively to his little band of murderers. You certainly have that now, and he even spared you the trouble of having to present the case yourself.'

'He died for a cause, Brynna,' the Headmaster said. 'A great cause. Perhaps the greatest that will come in any of our lifetimes.'

'Certainly in his,' said Professor Meyrigg caustically.

'You should be proud of him,' said Dumbledore. 'The courage he showed, the perseverance, the loyalty…'

Again there was a protracted hush. Finally Meyrigg spoke, her voice low and steady but very, very cold. 'Please go,' she said. 'Just go.'

There was a tapping of retreating footsteps and the door creaked a little. 'I am sorry, Brynna,' Dumbledore said at last, the grief in his voice tangible even in the next room. 'Whatever else you believe, know that. I never would have wished this to happen.'

No reply came from the woman. Presently the door closed and Remus exhaled enormously, letting his head drop down onto the backs of his hands. He remained in that position for a moment before deciding that the best thing that he could do for Professor Meyrigg was to complete his errand as though he had been too distracted by it to hear anything that had been said.

A couple more slithers brought him to the box and he took hold of it. Oddly enough, propelling backward was easier than moving forward, and he snagged his wand as he slid out from under the bed. He got to his feet, brushing dust from the front of his robes. Oddly enough the box itself was very nearly clean. Evidently it had not been under the bed for long. He frowned in puzzlement as he noticed that the hinged cardboard lid was fastened on all four sides with an unbroken Ministry seal.

'I found it, Professor,' he said as nonchalantly as he could, coming back into the room and holding out the package. Meyrigg looked up at him, raising her eyes from the painting that was now face-down across her knees.

'Thank you, Remus,' she said, a little hoarsely. With a flick of a nail she broke the seals and lifted the lid of the box.

There was a strange assortment of objects inside: a belt and a ceramic mug, a glass-topped case of oil paints, their tubes curled and deformed from much use. There was a toothbrush, a set of robes tightly rolled so as to fit and what appeared to be a week's supply of vests, underpants and socks. There was a straight razor, the Muggle kind, and a little cake of shaving soap. A little canvas sack with colourful stains all over it presumably held a set of paintbrushes. He realized with a sinking feeling that these had to be Mr Meyrigg's personal effects, no doubt collected by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement from wherever he had been staying in Croydon.

Meyrigg was rifling through the contents now, pushing the clothes aside. Her hand closed on something at the very bottom of the box, and there was a brief glint of triumph in her dull eyes. She drew out a book, a rather heavy looking hardback that seemed very new. 'Here,' she said. 'He didn't play, you see, and I told him that while he was underground he ought to try to learn. He said he couldn't get his head around the game, but he picked this up in a Muggle bookshop so that at least he'd understand what I was talking about. He… he said it made for quite an exciting read.'

She held the book out towards Remus and he took it awkwardly, looking down at the dust jacket with its striking photograph of a young man with intense eyes, his hair parted to the side and slicked down in a style that had not been fashionable for fifty years. The title drew his eye down to the author's name. 'Alexandre Alekhine…' he read aloud.

'One of the Muggle authorities on chess, as I understand,' said Meyrigg. 'Apparently he won in the longest World Championship tournament in history; no one has broken that record yet. I thought you might have heard of him, if your mother was a chess savant.'

Remus shook his head. 'She taught me how to play: we've never much discussed the history of the game. It seems like an interesting book, though. I'm sure I'll find it at the library this summer.'

Meyrigg shook her head. 'I'd like you to have it,' she said. 'A small token of thanks for many wonderful games. Perhaps there's a trick or two in there you haven't worked out for yourself yet.'

Remus let his smile flicker briefly over his face before schooling it out of respect for the sombre expression that his teacher was still wearing. In their many very complex and stimulating matches, she had only beaten him twice. 'Thank you,' he said, curling his arm around the book and holding it to his chest. 'I shall treasure it always.'

Meyrigg nodded. 'I'm certain you shall,' she said. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back to rest against the chair. 'If there is one thing I do regret about leaving, it's missing the opportunity to teach you next year. You've come so far in ten months: I'm certain we could have you ready to be an Auror at the age of six or seventeen.'

It was an unnecessarily extravagant compliment, but Remus felt himself flushing a little regardless. There was an opportunity to broach an uncomfortable subject, however, and he had to take it. 'Are you truly leaving then, Professor? Forever?'

'Yes.' There was such a note of finality to her voice that Remus was reminded of a magistrate passing sentence.

'W-Where will you go?' he breathed.

'I'll stay with my cousin and her family for a while,' Meyrigg said wearily. 'Madam Pomfrey refuses to allow me to go home on my own. It won't be so terrible. Laura's husband and I were old schoolmates – teammates, too, as a matter of fact. And I'll be able to spend time with my godson. After that… well, there's the family estate to manage. Perhaps I'll take up painting.'

She lifted the burden off of her lap, setting the frame on the little table beside her and the box on the seat of the opposite chair. Gripping both armrests firmly she hoisted herself to her feet, wavering a little as the colour faded from her face. Remus stepped forward, offering his shoulder so that she could steady herself.

'You ought to wait for someone to help you downstairs, Professor,' he said.

'I will,' said Meyrigg. 'There is just one more thing I would like to do before I depart.' Releasing her hold on him she shuffled to her desk, lowering herself gingerly into that chair. She opened a drawer that Remus could have sworn he had emptied, and pulled out a small piece of parchment, a quill and a well-used inkpot. With swift, sure strokes she wrote something, hesitated for a moment, and then added two more lines. She fanned the paper in the air until the ink was dry and held it out to him.

'I'll be at the first address until August at least,' she said. 'Quite probably longer. If there's anything you wish to write me privately, send it to the house at Llanmadoc. And do please write, Remus, even if it's just to tell me how you're getting on in your studies.'

Remus looked down at the paper, not certain what he ought to say. He was a little overawed to find himself worthy of this sort of attention, and he could not quite imagine why she would want to correspond with him, but of course he could not deny her such a simple request. 'I will,' he promised. 'Of course I will.'

Meyrigg's eyes softened for a moment. 'Thank you,' she said hoarsely.

There was a knock and the office door opened. Dorcas Meadowes came in. There was someone standing in the corridor behind her. 'Professor?' she said. 'Someone to see you.'

Meyrigg shook her head. 'I'm afraid I am not really up to receiving visito…'

Her voice trailed off as a delicate-looking witch with a very finely pointed chin came into the room. She was smiling gently, but her eyes were sad. 'I thought we'd come to collect you,' she said.

Professor Meyrigg let her breath out through her nose. 'You didn't have to do that, Laura.'

'I know,' said the other woman; 'but when he heard you were coming to stay he couldn't wait to see you.' She turned, expecting to see someone who was not there. With a look of amused exasperation she stepped back out into the corridor. 'Quirinius! Come here and say hello to your Auntie Brynna. I'm sorry,' she said, turning back into the room. 'You'd think he'd never seen a suit of armour before.'

'Not one that you can _touch_, Mum.' A thin little boy, perhaps six or seven years old, came into the room, still looking over his shoulder. Not watching where he was going, he very nearly strode straight into Remus. He looked up, eyes wide, and scurried back behind his mother.

Meyrigg was watching him with an expression Remus had not seen for what seemed like an eternity. She had an almost eager taint to her countenance, and her eyes were filled with adoration.

'Quirr?' she said, pushing back the chair and holding out her arms.

'Aunt Bryn!' he exclaimed happily, his temerity forgotten as he bounded towards her and climbed into her lap. Professor Meyrigg flinched involuntarily even as her arms closed tightly around him.

'Oh, Quirinius, you mustn't be so rough!' his mother cried, clearly horrified. 'Aunt Brynna hasn't been well, and—'

She stopped, realizing that the object of her concern did not care one whit for the moment's discomfort. Professor Meyrigg was embracing her godson, a look of desperate bliss upon her face. He curled one arm around her neck, content in the hold of someone he loved and obviously trusted. Then, for the first time since her husband's death Professor Meyrigg smiled.

_discidium_

Remus left the office soon after that, having said a last hushed goodbye to Professor Meyrigg. He felt better now, knowing that she had people to take care of her – people she obviously loved. He thought about the way she had hugged the little boy, as though he were a last touchstone of happiness, a last light of hope in her life.

Suddenly he remembered his father, lifting him up off of the hard wooden bench and carrying him into an antiseptic green room where his mother lay propped up in an ugly metal bed. He remembered the way that she had reached for him, like a starving woman offered her favourite dish, or a slave who had suffered in toil and pain finally offered rest and liberty. He recalled the way that he had curled up next to her, his bandaged legs tucked next to her hip because he had understood, even at the age of four, that she was hurting too and he must not lie on her stomach. She had drawn his head onto her breast and curled her left arm around him, stroking his deeply scratched cheek with the back of her right fingers. She had held him tightly and kissed the crown of his head, while his father watched silently from beside the hospital bed.

He had comforted _her_, he realized. She had lost her baby, had been denied even the chance to say goodbye, and all that she had wanted was _him_. Despite the fact that he had struck her with his foot, despite the fact that worry over him had kept her from seeking prompt help for herself, despite the fact that he was a werewolf and a Dark creature and nothing but a burden she had wanted him. He had been her consolation in pain, just as little Quirinius was for Professor Meyrigg. He had helped her.

Remus's chest was tight and he stood motionless for a while, trying to comprehend what all of this meant. His reverie was interrupted by an irritated voice.

'Out of my way, you scoundrel! Thou knave! Thou recreant! I've come all the way down from the seventh floor to catch a glimpse of that beautiful young filly, and you're obstructing my view!'

Remus looked up to see a brightly-armoured knight astride a fat pony that seemed rather too small to carry him, frowning down from the frame of a painting of assorted foodstuffs. He stepped aside immediately. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he said politely. It did not do to antagonize portraits.

The knight sighed contentedly. 'Much better. Ah, she's a fair one, isn't she? Just the sort you'd like to dig your spurs into.'

Remus's eyes widened a little and he followed the knight's gaze, horrified and yet curious as to what sort of painted lady might warrant such attention. He let out a sudden huff of laughter when he saw the picture opposite, which portrayed a beautiful dappled mare, gazing contentedly by a willow tree. 'She's lovely,' he agreed earnestly. 'I've always wanted to learn how to ride.'

'Then I shall take you as my squire!' the knight announced. 'We shall ride forth together, over hill, over dale, and do great deeds for honour and glory! We shall venture where few dare to tread, and win auspicious victories for ourselves and our ladies fair! What say you, boy? Will you swear your fealty and follow me?'

'It sounds most enjoyable,' Remus said solemnly; 'but I'm afraid I have to be getting back to the Tower.'

'Ah, Gryffindor!' trumpeted the knight. 'Where dwell the strong of heart. I shall ride beside you, sirrah, and guard you on your journey!'

Remus would have preferred to walk in silence, but he had to admit that the knights blusterous posturing was amusing. By the time they reached the sixth floor he was quite enjoying it, and as they approached the Fat Lady he asked his escort for the location of his portrait, making a note of it. He knew that Sirius would enjoy the chance to out-boast him, and he would have to introduce them someday.

Up in the third dormitory, his friends were also engaged in their end-of-term packing. Or rather, James was trying to close his trunk while Sirius kept tossing him items that had to be stowed inside of it.

'Don't forget these,' he said, bundling up his various books and magazines treating on the subject of motorbikes. 'I know exactly how many there are, so don't you try to snitch any of them. You've all summer to read 'em, and you'll just have to be satisfied with that!'

'Fear not,' James said solemnly. 'I shall guard them with my life.'

'What about the first week in August, James?' Peter asked. He was sitting on his bed with a calendar spread out before him. 'Do you think that would work for your mum and dad?'

'I told you; I can have friends over whenever I please,' said James. 'Melly just needs ninety minutes' warning so that she can fix a bit of something to serve in the garden. The welcoming cup – or more ordinarily the welcoming sandwiches and biscuits and things with your choice of pumpkin juice or lemon squash – is a longstanding Potter tradition. 'What about your Gryffindor pennants?' he asked Sirius.

'I'll take three,' Sirius said thoughtfully, looking at the pile on his pillow. 'I got away with one all right last summer. Three shouldn't be too much of a stretch. _Damn_ it!' He stomped his foot. 'I meant to manage the Permanent Sticking Charm, but I got all sidetracked with werewolf research and Quidditch practice and hexing Slytherins and hunting after Professor Meyrigg's secrets.'

The other three boys looked at him, their expressions pained. Sirius rattled his head from side to side. 'Sod it, I didn't mean it like that,' he said heavily. He dropped onto James's bed, running a hand through his hair.

No one said anything. They had all been watching Sirius for days, wondering when the strain of recent events and the obvious pleasure that some of the older Slytherins were taking in the uproar surrounding the Ministry's hunt for the man responsible would unleash itself in a violent and unexpected way. Every morning the newspaper was full of vague articles all with the same message: the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had their very best people on the hunt, and a result was expected soon, but in the meantime the public had to be very watchful. Strangely, _The Daily Prophet_ had stopped referring to Lord Voldemort by name, instead calling him '_the pure-blooded activist_' or '_the leader of the Death Eaters_' or even just '_the fugitive from Croydon_'. Considering the overt nature of what many students seemed to consider a genuine declaration of war, Remus found this puzzling.

'Are you sure you want me to hold onto your broom?' James asked, not before the lull had become awkward. 'I mean, you might get a chance to visit your uncle and use it.'

'And Mum might decide to confiscate it over some little tiff,' said Sirius; 'and she might not want to give it _back_ in September. I'm not taking the chance that I'll miss out on trials again! You take it, and I want you to take _care_ of it. Keep the handle polished and the twigs nice and neat, and make sure you take it for a quick spin every week so it stays limber.'

'I'll love it as though it were my own,' James assured him. He grinned. 'And it's one model up. I might be using it more than once a week.'

'Don't you dare,' Sirius said, grinning again. 'If it comes back knackered I'll have your guts for garters.'

'Ew,' Peter said, wrinkling his nose. 'Remus, I was hoping maybe everyone could come to visit me the second full weekend in July. Do you think that would work?'

Remus was just about to agree enthusiastically when his brain finished working through its reflexive calculations. His shoulders slumped noticeably as he shook his head. 'I'm afraid I can't, Peter,' he said regretfully.

'But you said you'd come!' Peter protested, clearly wounded. 'You went to see Sirius at his house last year, and you would've gone to see James if you hadn't hurt your leg, and you're planning to visit him _this_ year, and…'

'I mean I can't come on the second full weekend in July,' said Remus. He had to wet his lips before he could make himself add; 'The moon is full on the fifteenth.'

'Oh.' Peter's face fell into an expression of earnest pity. '_Oh_.'

'What about the following weekend?' Remus asked, trying to sound cheerful. 'I'm sure to be up and around again by then.'

'I'll have to check with Mum,' Peter said. He looked considerably more cheerful now. 'I'm glad you still _want_ to come, anyhow.'

'Remus, I'd like you to take these,' said Sirius, bringing his Muggle alarm clock out of his cupboard, along with his copy of _The Way Things Work_ and a Chocolate Frog box that was not quite closed. 'The clock'll be less out of place at your house, and _you_ ought to be able to resist the urge to hex it or something.'

'And you're paying him in chocolate?' James asked in mock affront. 'Why don't I get chocolate? You're taking me for granted, aren't you, Black?'

'It's not chocolate,' said Sirius. 'Not anymore, anyhow. It's my letters from Drommie, and the pictures of the baby.'

'Oh, I see,' James huffed dramatically. 'So it's just that you don't trust me with the family photos.'

'Not especially, no,' Sirius said happily. He handed the box to Remus, gripping it for a moment even after the other boy had hold of it. 'I mean it,' he said with unexpected sincerity. 'Take care of it, all right?'

'Of course I will,' Remus said. 'I promise.'

Sirius relaxed visibly. 'Thanks,' he said. He planted his hands on his hips and looked around at his scattered possessions. 'I think that's all the contraband,' he announced.

'What about those?' asked James, nodding to a heap of firecrackers, Dungbombs, Itching Powder and other tools of mischief.

'I need those!' said Sirius. 'Not only does one never know when the cousins are going to turn up unexpectedly, but if I haven't got _something_ to confiscate Mum will probably decide I can do without pants or something.'

His tone was light, but there was a shadow of dread in his eyes that made Remus's ribs ache. He knew that Sirius had little enough to look forward to at home, and more than enough to fear. The summer that seemed so short once the days before and after the full moon were pared away must look impossibly long to him.

'Do you think your parents would mind if we visited for two weeks, James?' Remus asked. He never would have presumed to fish for any sort of invitation for his own benefit, but for Sirius's sake he was willing to risk it. 'Your home sounds wonderful.'

'Mind? They'll be delighted!' James was still trying to cram the Gryffindor regalia into his trunk, and he seemed blissfully unaware of Sirius's discomfiture. 'And if they're not then they'll just have to pretend they're delighted. Oh, we'll have such a grand time! We can play two-on-two Quidditch, and toss things off the roof, and we can go down to the village and make nuisances of ourselves, and we'll go riding – you haven't seen my horses yet, Remus! – and Melly will make ice cream and maybe we can even find a match to go to! Oh! And I can show you my Sneakoscope!' He looked up at last, grinning wickedly. 'Mark it down for the end of August, Peter, and we can go apple-scrumping.'

'What's apple-scrumping?' Sirius asked, distracted by the moment's intrigue.

James made a conspiratorial gesture. 'You'll see,' he pledged.

'I'm sure that Mother and Father wouldn't mind having you to visit for at least a week as well,' said Remus. 'And Peter, perhaps we could stay with you for four days instead of two…' Peter nodded and reaffirmed that he would ask his mother, and Remus ran a quick tally. That filled up nearly a month: half the summer that Sirius could spend away from London.

'Of course, you've got to stay out of trouble,' James warned. 'Which means that if the cousins _do_ come calling you'll want to reserve the Dungbombs for a measure of last resort.'

Sirius snorted. 'I know how to keep my nose clean, Potter. I just ordinarily choose not to.'

Remus checked the clock. 'We ought to finish packing you up, Sirius,' he said. 'There's only another forty minutes 'til the feast.'

Sirius examined the chaos around his bed again, and this time he swore. It took the concerted efforts of all four Marauders, but the trunk was packed in time and they made their way down to the Great Hall walking shoulder to shoulder.

The night was more subdued than it might have been. The atmosphere at meals had been strained ever since the incident in London. Everyone seemed conscious of the change in the winds of fortune, of the unspoken threat hanging over Britain. Laughter was quiet, conversations were subdued. Even the first years seemed to understand that this was not a time for celebration.

At the conclusion of the meal, Headmaster Dumbledore arose. He surveyed the assembled students with his usual benevolent smile, but the twinkle in his eyes was dim. 'So ends another year at Hogwarts,' he said, his voice carrying easily to the very back of the room. 'You have all worked hard, at your studies and your friendships and your sporting activities and at… other pursuits.' He shot the briefest half-glance towards the Gryffindor table, and Remus felt his colour rising. That could only mean mischief, he knew. 'I know that I speak for all of your teachers when I say that we are very proud of you.

'With the summer upon us, and the inevitable parting of the ways before us, I ask you to remember one thing. We are a family, united together in our love of learning and our hope for the future. Do not let troubled times endanger that. Do not use these coming months to grow apart. Those of you in seventh year are going out into the world now to take your place as adult citizens. Always remember that integrity in your daily actions is the greatest gift that you can give to yourself and to everyone around you.'

He let this linger in the air for a moment before smoothing his beard with his palm. He cleared his throat. 'You are all precious: you are our future. Hufflepuff and Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, each of you brings something unique and valuable to your school and to your world. That being said,' he added with an almost impish smile; '_someone_ has to win the House Cup, and this year as you can see the honour goes to Gryffindor.' He gestured at the hangings of red and gold that bedecked the hall. 'Congratulations, and I hope that the rest of you will see this not as a setback, but as incentive to excel next year!'

There was applause throughout the hall and some happy cheering at the Gryffindor table. Many of the older Slytherins sat silent, looking archly at one another over the heads of their housemates. It was not really the celebration that Remus had anticipated during the long quest for House points. He looked at Dorcas Meadowes, who had championed Gryffindor's cause all year with every tool available to her: encouragement, example, hard work, dire warnings. She was not cheering. She was not even smiling. Her hands moved mechanically, clapping with the rest of the school, but her eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, weary and worried and clouded with thought. Looking around the room Remus saw others wearing the same expression: the Head Boy, several of the older Ravenclaws, at least a dozen of his own housemates. It was only to be expected, he supposed, trying to quell the irrational fluttering of his heart. Even Dumbledore's speech had been laced with a current of unease, as if the world would never again be quite the same.


	94. Home Again

_Note: As some of you have already surmised, the next Missing Moments poll is live! There were some really fantastic suggestions from everyone, so we have lots of interesting options! Stop by and vote. I'll be so sad if everyone doesn't vote._

_And also? I was going to post for the full moon, but I decided that Hallowe'en trumped that. Rest in Peace, James and Lily…_

**Chapter Ninety-Four: Home Again**

The combination of the afternoon sun and the rhythmic rattle of the train was surprisingly soporific. So much so, in fact, that the only reason that Remus did not drift off was James, who had decided that it would be an excellent use of his time to flick Every Flavour Beans at his friends. There was a sharp little sting as Remus was clipped on the side of the nose by one that either tasted of shoepolish or liquorice. His hand darted out to catch it before it could bounce onto the compartment floor.

'Nicely done,' James said, nodding his approval from the opposite seat. 'P'raps you ought to go out for Seeker in September. Sirius could nobble Shacklebolt for you.'

He turned towards his best friend, expecting confirmation of this unorthodox pledge, but Sirius was staring vacantly out the window as the woods of the Midlands rushed past. James frowned and pelted him with three beans in rapid succession. Sirius swatted the air as if he could stop them and turned with an irritated frown.

'_What_?' he snapped.

James looked taken aback. 'What's got you so prickly?' he asked.

For a moment Sirius looked like he would rather like to slap him, but he slumped back in the seat and crossed his arms, glowering grimly. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Only the school year goes by so quickly, you know, and there's so much we could be doing if we were back at Hogwarts. There are Slytherins to hex and secret passages to explore and teachers to pester and trophies to polish and dogs to wrestle and kitchens to raid.'

James quirked an eyebrow. '_Dogs _to wrestle?' he asked. 'When have you ever wrestled with a dog?'

'I might be doing it right now if I weren't stuck on this sodding train,' Sirius said acrimoniously. 'And don't pretend _you've_ done everything you wanted this year, either.'

'Well,' said James; 'I would have liked to beat that Quidditch record…'

'If you'd like to hex Slytherins,' Peter pointed out; 'there are plenty on the train.'

Sirius's expression brightened for a moment before sinking into a deeper scowl. 'Right,' he said. 'So that Prefect Malfoy can take me into custody and turn me over to my father with exaggerated tales of my gross misdeeds and a recommendation to show no clemency. No, thank you. I'd rather stay here and suffer Potter's little blitzkrieg.'

'I'll stop if you want me to,' James said innocently. 'All you had to do was ask.'

'Fine. Stop pinging me with sweets, or I'll peel your face off with a very, very slow Severing Charm.'

Peter shuddered at the unpleasant image and helped himself to another Chocolate Frog. James chuckled. 'A simple "_please_" was all that I was looking for, Black,' he said, but he set aside the box and clasped his hands contentedly behind his head.

Sirius shot him a look that would have cracked fresh paint and fished one of the beans from his hair, inspecting it thoughtfully. 'Spinach or watermelon?' he mused. 'With my luck, it'll be Bubotuber pus flavoured. What do you think, mate? Fair or foul?' He held it out towards Hermes, who studied it with patrician disdain before moving to the other side of his cage. 'That tears it,' said Sirius. He whipped out his wand and flicked it at the top pane of the window, which slid obligingly aside. Then, tossing the Every Flavour Bean into the air he cast a quick charm that bore it up, sending it rocketing like a bullet through the open window and into the train's slipstream. Long before it hit the ground the Hogwarts Express had left it far behind.

Sirius let out a joyful laugh that startled Remus. He reached across the compartment to snag the half-empty container from James's lap. He considered his move carefully before Levitating a whole handful up to be level with the open pane. As he sent one flying the others would begin to fall, and the challenge was obviously to restart the Levitation Charm in time to prevent them from scattering onto the floor.

'Brilliant!' James said, reaching to grab some for himself. He leaned out from the seat to get a better angle and sent his first bean out the window. 'Bet you I can do it faster than you can!' he challenged.

Sirius snorted, not taking his eyes away from his target. 'Ten Galleons says mine are gone first.'

The protestation that they were wasting food leapt to Remus's lips, but he held it back. Sirius's eyes were bright with delight now, and the fine worry line beside his left eyebrow was gone. He was his ordinary carefree self again, at least for a little while. If the price of that was half a carton of squandered sweets, they were lost in a noble cause.

Peter was on his feet now, his back to the door. He bounced excitedly, watching in gleeful admiration and gasping each time one of his friend's piles teetered precariously in the grip of a hastily cast spell. Faster and faster the beans flew, until they were moving almost too quickly to see. One of James's went wild, hitting the large lower pane of the window. He managed to recover it before it fell, but in the moment's delay Sirius sent his last two out into the world together, let out a whoop of triumph, and sprang up onto the seat, arms raised in a gesture of victory.

'I did it! I did it! Beat you, Potter!' he crowed, swatting the top of James's head and dancing along the length of the bench.

'You had a head start,' James said, grinning grudgingly.

'He also had more beans to start with,' Remus pointed out. He looked down at the black bean still lying in his palm. He wondered whether he dared, and even before he decided firmly that he _did_ his other hand was closing around his wand. With a twitch of his wrist the bean was bounding up into the air, and at the apex of its arc he sent it careening after all of the others. Sirius cheered and James chuckled. Remus felt a warm burst of pride that came from the knowledge that he was able to show that he belonged among them, even in such a small way.

'What else can we toss?' Sirius asked, reaching for the heap of discarded Chocolate Frog wrappers.

'Better not,' James said. 'What if a Muggle finds 'em?'

'What if a Muggle finds a sweet that looks like a legume and tastes like earwax?' Sirius countered.

James rolled his eyes. 'Who's going to eat something they find on the railway tracks?' he asked.

The taller boy shrugged. 'Peter might, mightn't you, Peter?' he asked.

Peter coloured a little, but looked nonetheless pleased to be included. 'I might,' he said thoughtfully; 'but then it would serve me right if it _did_ taste like earwax.'

Everyone laughed at this remark, and Remus did not have to look at Peter's eyes to know what he was feeling. It was a wondrous thing to have people to laugh with.

The four of them settled back into their seats after that, and Remus showed the others how to fold the bits of foil from the Chocolate Frogs into stars and goblets and birds. James made a couple of very neatly folded airplanes, and Sirius, after some experimentation, managed a shape that was evocative of a motorbike. They had consumed enough sweets between the four of them that they were occupied until the sun was low and the first lights of London began whizzing past their window.

The goodbyes this year were light and happy: James and Peter said their eager farewells and left the compartment, shouting back over their shoulders about their summer plans. Then Remus and Sirius were left alone in the compartment as they had been last year, looking at one another as if not quite sure how they could delay their parting just a little longer.

'Full moon on the fifteenth, eh?' Sirius said at last.

Remus nodded. 'Next-to-shortest of the year,' he said.

'That's good,' said Sirius. 'I mean, I assume that's good? Less time to… well, you know.'

'Yes,' Remus whispered. He swallowed the knot of unease rising in his throat and scrubbed a hand on his robes. 'I know that Mother will be happy to have you come to stay,' he said. 'I'll have her send a proper invitation.'

'Might not work,' said Sirius. 'Mum wasn't exactly impressed with you, and the only reason she allowed it last year was 'cause I out-dared her.'

'Well,' Remus said with a boldness he did not feel; 'if she won't allow it then I'll have James's mother write another one of her graciously-worded letters.' The idea of asking a strange lady to correspond for him filled him with terror, but he knew that he would do much more frightening things for his friend's sake. He tried to grin, managing a lopsided half-smile. 'We won't let you stay shut up in London all summer, Sirius,' he promised.

Sirius's attempt at a smirk was even more pitiful than his own had been. 'I'm going to hold you to that, mate,' he said. He hoisted his ornate cage down from the luggage rack and regarded the owl within. 'Listen… if things get rough, can I send Hermes to stay with you for a while? I can take being shut up, but I think it would just about kill him if he couldn't get out at night. Would you feed him and look after him and things?'

'Of course I would,' said Remus. 'Mother wouldn't mind, and Father quite likes owls.' He held his finger crooked against the bars, and Hermes nipped affectionately at his knuckle.

Sirius's shoulders slumped a little in relief. 'I hope it won't come to that,' he said. 'But it's good to know that I've got arrangements in place if they're needed.'

Remus did not want to ask why his friend might need to send his owl away. He knew that Sirius would not want to discuss it, and he was determined to respect his friend's secrets. He started to gather his own belongings, still hesitant to be the one to depart.

'And I've told Drommie that if she has to get in touch with me she should send the letter to your house or James's,' he said. 'I don't suppose she will need to, but again, it's good to know…'

His voice trailed off and he squared his shoulders determinedly, doing his best to make his spine straight. 'Well, there goes second year,' he said stoutly, reaching out to shake Remus's hand. 'Have a fabulous summer, Remus.'

'You too,' Remus said. Then suddenly Sirius was gone, Hermes hooting disapprovingly at the indignity of swinging from his hand.

On the platform reunions were taking place wherever one looked. Parents hurried towards their children, gathering them into tight embraces. There was a nervous energy underlying the joy of being together, and families were jostling to be among the first through the barrier and away. Looking around, Remus realized that there were half a dozen adults on the platform who did not appear to be waiting for anyone. They stood very erect, each in a different position that appeared to be random until one realized that between the six of them there was not a single inch of the platform or the train that could not be seen by at least one. All of them had their wands in hand, and there was a stony-faced uniformity to them that was once reassuring and vaguely unsettling.

One of them, a tall man with tawny hair and piercing eyes, paused for a moment in his scanning of the crowd to lock his gaze with Remus. He instantly felt the desire to vanish, as if the man were accusing him of some terrible crime. But the stranger's head shifted and his scrutiny moved onward.

'Remus?'

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a familiar voice, startlingly near at hand. He looked up to find his father standing next to him, hand already on his trunk. He looked tired and careworn, but he smiled nonetheless. 'You've grown,' he observed.

Remus's fingers moved instinctively to tug at his sleeves. He managed a hangdog smile. 'I suppose I have,' he said.

'It's very good to see you,' said Father. His arm moved as if to draw Remus into an embrace, but he hesitated. 'I suppose it isn't very dignified to hug a wizard in front of your friends, is it?' he said wryly.

Remus let go of his baggage and flung his arms around his father, squeezing him tightly. 'It's not embarrassing in the least,' he said. 'I've missed you.'

The embrace was reciprocated, Father holding him tighter than he ordinarily did. 'It's very good to see you,' he whispered again, hoarsely.

Remus drew back, studying his sire. Father's eyes were shadowed and his lips were thin. The bones of his face stood out more sharply than they had the last time Remus had seen him, and his jaw was speckled with at least two days' growth of hair. He was wearing his best robes, but they had been very clumsily pressed and the left cuff was fraying. His effort to be cheerful could not altogether disguise a deeper melancholy.

'Remus!' James was shouting to him from the far side of the platform where he stood between his parents, both of whom looked radiantly happy – in glittering contrast to most of the people around them, whose joy was more desperate. 'Remus, remember to ask about visiting!'

Remus grinned and nodded, not quite sure enough of himself to holler across the crowd. He turned to his father, who was obviously looking for an explanation. 'James has invited me to stay the last two weeks in August,' he said. 'And I think Peter wants us all to come to his house this summer too. And… and I hoped p'raps I might have them over for a week? If… if it's not too much of a burden.'

Father hesitated, a shadow in his eyes. Then he nodded. 'If your mother doesn't mind then of course you may,' he said. 'She's the one who will have to come home from work to a house full of rambunctious young men.'

There was a strange lilt to his voice, and Remus tried to read the emotions in his eyes, but he could not. 'I'll ask her,' he said quietly. 'Thank you.'

Peter crossed through his peripheral vision, hurrying with his mother into the queue for the barrier. He was talking at a great speed, and Remus imagined he was likely relating his year's adventures in a single long, eager sentence. Fervently he hoped that Peter would remember that there were certain discoveries that were not to be shared.

'Would you like to sit down and wait for the crowd to pass?' he asked his father. 'You look like you could do with a rest.'

The wizard chuckled ruefully, almost bitterly. 'You're looking after me now, are you?' he asked. 'I'd hoped the months away would cure you of worry.'

Remus said nothing, though he knew from the furtive glances the man kept shooting at him that he was not the only one who had spent time worrying about absent family. Together they wrangled his trunk and satchel across to one of the benches by the wall. Father sat immediately, before Remus could suggest that they choose another. This one was less than ten feet away from the rangy wizard who had been staring at him.

'How is Mother?' he asked. 'Is she happy at the Muggle Post Office?'

'Very,' Father sighed. He looked sidelong at Remus. 'She wanted to come with me to fetch you, but they're open late on Thursdays. There's always too much work to be done on pension day.'

'It's all right,' Remus said. 'I don't mind at all.' There was an awkward hush between them, as though neither knew quite what to say. 'Everyone is in such a hurry,' Remus observed at last.

Father nodded. 'It's been like this since the incident with Big Ben,' he murmured. 'You ought to see them in Diagon Alley: fairly running from one building to the next. No one wants to spend any more time away from the safety of hearth and home than they have to.'

Remus nodded sombrely. He could not help but wonder whether this was why his father seemed relieved that Mother was working late. She would be safe at the Post Office in Falmouth: she might not be safe here.

He glanced over his shoulder to be sure the tawny man was not looking at him. 'Who are those people?' he whispered.

'People?' Father echoed.

'The ones just standing and watching everything,' Remus said. 'Five men and a witch.'

Father looked around, not very circumspectly. The Marauder in Remus wanted to tell him to keep his head down and use the corners of his eyes, but he said nothing.

'Aurors,' Father said at last. 'I suppose they're here to make sure nothing goes wrong.'

Remus could not imagine quite what the Ministry thought_ could_ go wrong, but the vigilance of the watchers made more sense now. He relaxed a little and leaned back against the bench. He tried to swing his right leg, but the sole of his shoe merely scuffed against the cobblestones and he stopped, not wanting to wear on it unnecessarily.

The throng was thinning a little now, and he caught sight of Sirius. He was sitting on his trunk with Hermes's cage balanced on one knee, looking around crossly. As he searched the eddies of passing faces his expression began to change, becoming first perplexed and then almost fearfully hopeful. One of his scans crossed the bench where Remus was sitting, and he grinned, lifting his hands in an exaggerated shrug. It seemed that no one had come to collect him.

Then suddenly his face shifted again, lips drooping into a faintly quivering line and grey eyes growing stony and deliberately impassive. Remus tried to follow his line of sight, but soon found it unnecessary. Narcissa Black was moving towards him, pale hair floating in her wake. Beside her walked a young witch with ebony hair and hooded eyes, spool heels clicking. Her wand was in her hand and she too seemed aware of the strangers on the platform, for she kept shooting swift appraising glances towards them. It was Sirius's cousin Bellatrix.

Sirius scrambled to his feet as though determined to be at his best before they could reach him. Narcissa was wearing a very supercilious smile, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. She said something and Bellatrix nodded regally, her lips moving in what Remus imagined to be a most unpleasant coo. Behind the two young women a house-elf came up, toiling under the weight of Narcissa's luggage. Remus did not recognize the elf; he supposed she was their parents' servant. Sirius spoke, his chin jutting insolently. Bellatrix smiled, slow and menacingly, and reached for his arm. It looked like a gesture of fondness, not out of place between cousins, but Remus saw Sirius's jaw tighten and he knew that she had pinched him.

He did not quite realize that he was on his feet before his father stirred, raising his head with a start. 'What is it?' he asked, almost blearily. Remus scarcely heard him: he was watching Sirius.

The motion had drawn his friend's eye, and Sirius was looking at him now. Tersely, urgently, he shook his head. Then he grinned at his cousins, shrugging off Bellatrix's hand and hefting his trunk on end. He bowed, made clumsy by the burden, and swept the arm holding Hermes in a broad arc to indicate that the girls should go first. The house-elf halted to allow him to pass her, staggering under Narcissa's belongings. Sirius did not even glance at her, and Remus wondered whether his friend realized that as he struggled to drag his trunk one-handed without the aid of a trolley his shoulders acquired the same stoop of miserable resignation.

There were several families waiting for their turn to leave, but Bellatrix brushed past them all. A stout young Hufflepuff who was queuing with a wizened old witch who must have been his grandmother said something sharp about budging ahead, but the eldest Black daughter silenced him with an imperious glance. Then, smiling at her younger sister, she led her entourage through the brick wall. Remus flinched involuntarily as Sirius vanished after her.

He sat down again, staring at his hands in his lap. He could feel his father's eyes upon him, and he was not in the least surprised when a firm, consoling hand settled on his shoulder.

'I know it's never easy,' Father said quietly; 'but I do want you to remember that it's all for the best.'

'How can it be for the best?' Remus exclaimed with more fervour than he had intended. A couple of sixth year girls turned to look at him, astonished. The tawny-haired Auror's head whipped around. Remus felt himself flushing, and he shrank a little on the bench. 'It's not for the best,' he said. 'He's miserable. He's… he's not happy at home.'

'I mean that it's all for the best that the two of you aren't friendly anymore,' Father said quietly. 'I understand that it hurts, but no good ever would have come of being close to that sort of boy.'

Remus was flabbergasted. 'Sirius?' he stammered. 'Not friendly with Sirius? What do you mean?'

Father was watching him with pained compassion. 'Remus, if he could not even go on accepting the kind of family you come from, do you really think that he could cope with… _other_ truths?'

'No,' said Remus. 'No, you don't understand: Sirius and I are great friends. All four of us are. We're… we do everything together. Almost everything,' he amended, for of course there was one thing that he would always have to suffer through alone. 'We're great friends. That's why I want him to come and stay for as long as you and Mother will allow: so that he can get away from London and he doesn't need to cope with his family at home.'

He was expecting his father to show some sign of agreement, or at least comprehension. Instead the man looked positively dismayed. 'You're still friendly with Sirius Black?' he said, sighing heavily. 'Oh, Remus, I know he's a nice enough boy now, but you ought to understand by now that blood will tell. His sort of people – they're the ones responsible for the dreadful things that have been happening.'

'They're not,' Remus said stoutly. Then, lest his father should think he was still a naïve little boy, he clarified; 'Not his sort of people, I mean. Sirius isn't like that. Not even a little.' Well, perhaps a little, he thought to himself, but in none of the ways that truly mattered. 'I couldn't hope for a better friend, Father. Truly I couldn't.'

The wizard exhaled heavily, chafing his hand against his stubbled chin. 'Remus, I wish you would be more sensible about this,' he said wearily. 'If you could convince the Potter boy and the other one to tolerate you that would be little less than a miracle. For the grandson of Arcturus Black to accept that one of his classmates is a…' He seemed to remember that they were still in a public place, for he fell silent, watching his son in misery. 'It just isn't possible,' he mumbled at last.

Remus wanted nothing more than to spring to the defence of his friends, all of whom had found it in their hearts not merely to tolerate a werewolf but to accept him as one of their closes comrades, but he could not. It would only distress his father to know the truth, and in any case he did not know how to explain the manner in which it had all come out. Since he was small his father had ingrained in him the need for secrecy, the importance of caution and circumspection. He did not want Father to think that he had ignored those lessons, or that he had done anything to betray his own secret. How could he explain that it had been inevitable that the others would work it out sooner or later? How could he be sure that his father was neither disappointed nor angry with him?

'I think we ought to go,' he said softly. There were only a handful of people still on the platform, most of them seventh years engaged in extravagant farewells to friends they would not be seeing again in September.

Father nodded doggedly and hoisted himself to his feet. He took one end of the trunk, and Remus bent to grab the other. Together they shuffled to the barrier and stepped out, quickly and smoothly, into the Muggle side of King's Cross Station.

The first thing that Remus noticed was that there were Aurors out here, too. Unlike the ones on the other side they were wearing Muggle garments, but all four of them had their wands in plain sight. One was watching the barrier: the other three were looking out in separate directions.

'What are they waiting for?' Remus asked, glad of a chance at a new topic of conversation.

Father's head fell forward, and Remus wished he had stayed silent. 'They're worried there might be another attack,' he said. 'Everyone's shocked by the latest killing, not in the least because they went after a half-blood. The Ministry's in an uproar.'

They were past the Aurors now, and Father turned towards the disused lavatory that was the safe Apparition point out of the station.

'H-He was Professor Meyrigg's husband,' Remus said hoarsely, hurrying to keep pace. 'The man who was killed.'

His father halted, turning without letting go of the trunk. 'Professor Meyrigg?'

'She was our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year,' said Remus. His voice was very low and he hoped it wasn't trembling. 'They killed her husband; Voldemort and his followers.'

His father blanched a little and looked hastily around. 'Hush!' he hissed. 'You shouldn't call him that.'

'Why not?' asked Remus. 'It's his name, isn't it? Professor Dumbledore used it.'

'What Dumbledore choses to say is his own business,' said Father; 'but I don't want you to use that name. There's been trouble over it. I spoke to an old friend in Magical Law Enforcement last week: he said there have been threats against _The Daily Prophet_ for publishing it at all, and they're not using it anymore. If it isn't safe to be put in the newspaper we shouldn't know anything about it.'

Remus reflected that Mr Meyrigg's name had not been deemed safe to put in the newspaper, but he still knew it – and a fair sight more. Yet it would not do to contradict his father. 'Yes, sir,' he said meekly. 'I understand.'

Father looked relieved. 'Good,' he said. He pursed his lips briefly before adding; 'Remus, it's not that I am trying to scare you. I don't want you to be frightened, only cautious. You understand that too, don't you?'

Remus bobbed his head. It seemed that all his life his father had been working towards the goal of making him cautious, and he could not deny that it usually served him well. If it made Father uncomfortable he would not use the man's name at home, but for clarity's sake he was going to use it when he was safely back at school.

'Good,' Father said, half to himself. He held open the lavatory door so that Remus could inch through. 'Good.'

The discomfort of Disapparation drove away almost all of Remus's other qualms.

_discidium_

Remus was dosing on the couch in the sitting room when he heard his mother's key in the front door. He lifted his head drowsily, yawning and sitting up. He glanced at the clock: it was a quarter past ten.

The door opened and his mother came in, bowing her head to allow easier access to her hatpin. She removed the hat and hung it on its usual peg, then stepped out of her shoes and wriggled her toes against the cool floor of the entryway. Remus noticed that her stockings had two little runs in them, carefully stayed by neat stitches on either end.

She had not seen him yet, and he shifted carefully, not wanting to appear as if he had been sleeping. She would only worry that she had kept him from his rest.

Mother set down her handbag on the little table by the door, and took off her mackintosh. It was covered with fine little beads of water from the mist already rolling in off of the sea. This too she hung up, and then she stepped into the slippers that were waiting for her and moved towards the sitting room door.

'Good evening,' Remus said politely, just as she had taught him. Mother looked up, her face made radiant by a sudden smile.

'Oh, Remus, love!' she exclaimed. 'I thought you would be in bed!'

She hastened towards him and he met her halfway. They twined their arms around one another in an embrace that both had been yearning for. Remus let his forehead rest against her collarbone, inhaling deeply. She still smelled of rosewater, but there were other scents now too: the sweet, gummy smell of paste, the musty aura of stored paper, and the sharp tang of ink. She smelled, he realized, precisely like a Post Office.

'You've grown!' Mother was saying, pulling back a little so that she could look at him. 'You'll be taller than me in another year or two.'

Remus wasn't sure that the prediction was accurate, but he smiled abashedly. 'I'm afraid I'm growing out of all my robes,' he said, tugging at his sleeve to show how short it was. Anxious lest she should misunderstand he bit his lip. 'But I can make them do another year, I'm sure I can. Only I shall need a shirt to cover my wrists…'

'You certainly shall,' Mother said, her fingers tracing one of the scars on his forearm with fond familiarity. 'And we will get you larger robes too, I promise. I'm afraid they won't be new.'

The shadow of worry flitted across her face as swiftly as a passing magpie, but Remus saw it all the same. 'Father hasn't found work yet,' he said. He might have guessed that from the wizard's appearance and despondency, but he had not given it any thought until this minute.

Mother sighed. 'He's had a little here and there,' she said; 'but nothing steady, and nothing that makes good use of his talents. I keep telling him that it doesn't matter, that as long as we've a roof overhead and food on the table we'll manage somehow, but…' She looked around the room. 'Where is he?'

'He's gone to bed,' Remus said, glancing towards the wall that separated them from the staircase. 'I made him go: Apparating to and from London wore him out.'

'I told him to Floo,' Mother said, shaking her head. 'We might have spared a few Knuts.'

Remus said nothing. If money was so tight that his father did not even want to pay the toll to use a public fireplace, he did not see how they were possibly going to afford to buy larger robes, or schoolbooks, or anything else that the school might require of them. Nor did he see how they could afford to have three houseguests to stay.

Mother was smiling again, blissfully studying him. She curled her arm around his shoulders. 'Come along, and we'll have some tea,' she said. 'I'm growing chamomile this year, and the first batch dried beautifully. I think there's a bit of milk left, too.'

Remus let her guide him into the kitchen, and he perched on the stool while she put the kettle on. She could hardly keep her eyes off of him long enough to do it.

'Tell me all about school,' she said. 'Did you fare all right on your exams?'

'I got the top mark in Defence Against the Dark Arts!' Remus exclaimed, the words bursting out before he could think of a way to share the news without sounding as if he were boasting. He could not help his smile as he said; 'James lost a point for penmanship, and Sirius confused Cornish and Norman pixies, or they would've tied me for it. I'm not sure who else was close, but I'm the only one in second year who got full marks.'

'That's wonderful!' Mother set down two teacups and moved to give him a quick, affectionate squeeze. 'I'm so very proud of you.'

'I made Outstanding in History of Magic and Transfiguration, too,' Remus said, running through his lessons one by one. 'Professor Sprout said I'm doing excellent work in Herbology, and Professor Flitwick says I show promise in Charms – but he's such an encouraging teacher, I'm sure that he says that to everyone. Still, I only botched one spell on his practical. I just made Exceeds Expectations in Astronomy, but that's… it's because I missed a few lessons over the course of the year.' His heart sank a little as he thought of his classmates studying the full moon while he ravaged himself. Then it plummeted to the bottom of his abdomen as he remembered something even harder to admit to. 'I very nearly failed Potions,' he whispered. 'Even working with James all year, I nearly failed it.'

Mother was watching him with sober, gentle eyes. 'How nearly is nearly?' she asked.

It made Remus sick to think about it. 'Professor Slughorn said that if I hadn't managed to get part marks on every question on the written exam he would have had to keep me back next year,' he said.

For a minute there was silence. Remus did not dare to look up for fear that he might see shame or disappointment in his mother's eyes. Finally a calm and matter-of-fact voice rose up over the faint hissing of the warming kettle.

'Very well,' Mother said.

Remus stole a glance at her. She looked neither ashamed nor disappointed, but merely determined. 'Very well?' he parroted.

'Very well,' said Mother. 'We shall just have to work on it. We'll work on it together, and we'll have you up to third year standards well in time for September.'

A host of protestations warred for precedence: that Mother was a Muggle and Muggles couldn't brew potions, that Remus was a hopeless dunce in the subject and she'd never be able to teach him anything, that they could not afford ingredients for potions-making, that he had other work to do over the summer on top of two full moons and his visits with his friends. Yet somehow none of them surfaced. The expression his mother was wearing left no room for argument.

'Where are your Potions notes and your textbook?' she asked as she moved to the icebox to look for the milk.

'In my trunk,' Remus said. 'Upstairs.'

'Go and fetch them right now,' said Mother; 'while I fix the tea.'

Remus obeyed, taking the stairs as quietly as he could and slipping past his parents' room. His father's slow and heavy breathing issued from within: he was fast asleep.

He had packed with care, and it was not at all difficult to find his roll of notes, tied neatly with a bit of string salvaged from James's parcels from home. He picked up _1001 Herbs and Fungi_ and the tatty copy of Blushfield's _Guide to the Cauldron_ and wrinkled his nose against the faint whiff of aconite that tainted them. He hadn't noticed it at school, but they had been shut up in his trunk for days without a proper airing.

He took the stairs slowly, reluctant to present his mother with the fruits of his failure, but the scent of fresh chamomile tea drew him inexorably back to the kitchen. Mother had set out the tea things on the dining table, and she had even brought down her porcelain candlesticks. She had just finished lighting them, and she shook out the match before holding her hands out for the books and parchment.

Remus released them, bracing himself for her to spread them out on the table so that she could begin to pick apart a year's worth of mistakes. Instead she took them and set them on the shelf that held her cookbooks. 'Leave them with me for a few days so that I can get a grasp of the subject,' she said. 'Then we'll see what we can do to improve your work.'

He hoped that he did not look too relieved: she was not going to dwell any further on Potions tonight. He sat down before his teacup, and she did the same.

'What about your friends?' she asked. 'From your letters I know you've had a wonderful time with them. Will you be meeting over the holidays?'

'I hope so!' Remus said, his enthusiasm returning. 'That is, I'd like to. James…' He was about to outline the schedule they had worked out, but he hesitated. There was no question that he would be allowed to go and see his friends: what he had to establish was whether they would be allowed to come to see him. 'Mother, is the money dreadfully tight?' he asked softly.

Mother sipped her tea cautiously before replying. 'That's not something you should have to worry about, Remus.'

'I mean, are you having trouble paying for food?' he pressed. 'Have you and Father enough to eat?'

Her eyes were very sad. 'Now what would give you an idea like that?' she asked.

Remus thought of the sharpness of his father's cheekbones and the unusual prominence of his mother's spine when he hugged her, but he did not speak. Instead he followed his mother's example and took a little draught of the hot and fragrant concoction. 'Can you afford to feed me?' he asked, very quietly.

'Remus, of course we can!' Mother said earnestly. 'You mustn't try to make problems where none exist! Money has been tight this year, but we're managing perfectly well, and we'll continue to manage just as long as we have to.'

Remus swallowed another mouthful, steeling his courage. 'Last summer you said… you said that it wasn't much harder to feed five people than it was to feed three,' he began.

Mother's harried expression softened with understanding. 'You want to know if we can afford to have guests,' she said. 'You want to know if you can have your friends over to visit. Remus, of course you may. I would be proud to have James and Sirius to visit: they're such lovely boys, if a little excitable, and there is nothing I love more than to see you having fun with them.'

'Could they… perhaps… could they stay a whole week?' Remus asked. 'Or even just six days? And… and it wouldn't be two this time, but three: Peter wants to come too…'

He held his breath, waiting for her mournful assertion that it just wasn't possible; that he could only have two friends for five days, or three friends for two days, or that she had changed her mind and they could not come at all. Mother swirled the fluid in her teacup, staring thoughtfully into its milky depths.

'What about Wednesday?' she said at last. 'That would give me the week-end to plan, and Monday to go to the shops, and then on Tuesday night you and I could do some baking. If your friends' parents agree, they could stay until after supper on the evening of the thirteenth. You oughtn't to be too poorly then, don't you think?'

For a moment Remus could not speak, or even move. Wednesday was July fourth: if his friends could stay until the evening of the thirteenth that would mean nine nights and almost ten whole days together; ten days that Sirius would be able to spend enjoying his summer instead of languishing at home. He could not even imagine how much fun they could have in ten days.

Carefully he set his cup upon his saucer, getting to his feet. He rounded the corner of the table and put his arm around his mother's shoulders. He bowed his head and kissed her temple. 'Thank you,' he whispered, unable to say anything more. 'Oh, thank you.'


	95. An Effort to be Useful

**Chapter Ninety-Five: An Effort to be Useful**

When Remus came down the next morning, Mother already had her hat on. She was standing in the kitchen, murmuring softly to his father, who leaned heavily against the cooker as he chewed morosely on a piece of dry toast. As Remus entered the room she fell silent, momentarily lost as she searched for her smile.

'Good morning, love,' she said. 'I thought perhaps you'd be having a bit of a lie-in.'

'I'm up most mornings for lessons,' Remus said. 'I suppose it's habit by now.'

'Useful habit to have,' Father mumbled, reaching for his mug of tea.

Mother glanced briefly at him before speaking again with brisk efficiency. 'I must be going, Remus, but there's porridge on the table for your breakfast, and cold tongue in the icebox for dinner: you can make a sandwich if you like, or take it as it is. There are plenty of apples and if you'd like to boil some potatoes that's quite all right. I'm afraid there's no butter, but you could mash them up with the last of the milk.'

Mother twirled in a circle as if to be sure she had not forgotten anything. There were two small packet wrapped in waxed paper on the countertop, and she picked one up and tucked it into her handbag. Then she took out her Muggle coin purse and her little doeskin money-pouch. From the first she took out a fifty pence coin; from the latter fifteen Knuts. She set them down on top of three sealed envelopes, one of which was made of parchment.

'I've written up the invitations for your friends,' she said to Remus. 'If you'd like you may take them down to the Owl Post and send them on today. If you do go out, please stop at the grocers and pick up a pint of milk and a dozen eggs.'

'Yes, Mother,' he said quietly, looking at the letters and wondering how late she had sat up to write them.

She took the other little package and gave it to his father, stretching up to kiss a fresh razor-nick on his cheek. 'Be sure to _eat_ it, Ross,' she whispered. 'And good luck.'

The corner of his mouth twitched painfully. 'Luck hasn't got me very far,' he muttered, but he bent to kiss her in turn. 'Take care today,' he said. 'Will you be home early?'

'A little after six,' Mother said. She moved to kiss Remus. 'Have a lovely day, dear heart.'

'Thank you,' Remus said. 'And you as well.'

Mother nodded and strode out of the kitchen, but a moment later she was back. She reached for the shelf of cookbooks and picked up _Basics of the Cauldron_. 'For my dinner break,' she said in answer to Remus's unspoken question.

'You can't take that,' Father protested. 'People might grow suspicious…'

'I'll tell them it's an old Irish standard,' Mother said. 'An introduction to the great deeds of Brian Bóroimhe.'

Before Remus could laugh or his father could speak she was gone. A minute later the front door closed. Remus listened for the sound of the motor, but it did not come.

'Is she walking?' he asked. 'All the way to the Post Office?'

Father nodded grimly, swallowing the last of his tea. 'Saves on petrol,' he said. He pushed himself off of the cooker and shuffled to the sink to rinse his mug. 'You ought to eat that porridge before the Warming Charm wears off. If you would like to stay in today I can Post the invitations to your friends before I leave.'

'You're going to look for work?' Remus inferred, noticing for the first time the half-dozen neatly tied rolls of parchment on the kitchen surface. He supposed they were copies of his father's employment history.

'In Inverness,' Father said with wry weariness. 'I shall be applying in Iceland soon.'

It was a joke, surely, but Remus did not laugh. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.

His father stared at him for a moment, and then reached out to grip his shoulder. 'No, Remus, I'm afraid there isn't. It's something I am just going to have to manage on my own, somehow.' He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. 'Though if you would fetch the eggs and milk for your mother I would appreciate it enormously.'

'I will,' Remus promised.

His father washed his hands and smoothed his robes – the same set he had been wearing the previous evening. Remus was just sitting down to breakfast when he took his leave, trudging out into the back garden with stooped shoulders. There was an audible crack as he Disapparated.

When he had finished eating, Remus washed his dishes and those that had been left in the sink from his parents' breakfast. He wiped the table and the countertops and swept the floor with care. Then he went up to his room to change into his Muggle clothes. He noticed for the first time how short his trousers were growing. They looked quite ridiculous, but if he pulled his socks a little higher they hid the scarred stretch of calf and that was the most important thing. He went to the water closet to brush his teeth and comb his hair, and then he was ready to go out.

He checked his right pocket very carefully to be sure there were no holes or worn places that might allow coins to fall, and then he put the Knuts and the fifty-pence piece into it. His mother's shopping basket was in the pantry, and he put the envelopes into it. He would have carried them, but if he intended to bring back eggs he was going to want something to hold them. He stood at the front door for a minute, composing himself. Then he realized that he would need a key in order to get back inside, and so he went to fetch it from the drawer in the sitting room. As an afterthought he moved back through the kitchen and checked the back door, but his father had already locked it. As long as he could remember his father had insisted upon keeping the doors locked, especially at night.

The day was overcast, with a uniform blanket of pale grey clouds diffusing the daylight. Still, it was pleasantly warm and there was a gentle breeze coming up from the quays. Remus started down the street, pausing for a moment to watch a little girl rattle by on a bicycle that was far too large for her. There was an elderly man in the front garden at the very end of Chancery Row, pruning his hollyhocks. Somewhere in the next road a car door slammed. It was a perfectly ordinary morning, not unlike a hundred that Remus had spent wandering aimlessly up and down the pavement in front of his parents' house, trying to break up the monotony of lonely days at home. As he had grown he had graduated from the limit of one end of the property to the other when he was only six, to walking from the blue house to the third white one at the venerable age of eight, to traversing the entire street when he was ten.

Now, as he reached the corner and turned onto Waterloo Road, he felt extraordinarily grown up. It was absurd, of course: in two years he had been away at school for nearly six times as long as he had been at home. He had learnt to manage without his parents' daily guidance and protection. He had learned things that his mother would never know, and done better in at least three of his courses than his father had ever done. He had escaped an Acromantula and he had faced the uncovering of his secret several times. He had helped Professor Meyrigg on the terrible day that she lost her baby. He was hardly a child any longer. Yet it was this moment, more than anything else, that made that realisation tangible: he left his street, all on his own, and walked away towards the heart of the city.

It was a little more than a mile and a half from the Lupin home to the tall brick building that housed the Falmouth Owl Post. It was just down the hill from King Charles, the Muggle primary school that Remus's parents had briefly sent him to attend before a few ill-considered words of the sort a foolish five-year-old would utter had put paid to that. He paused at the stone wall surrounding the schoolyard. There were a few children climbing on the apparatuses, but the building itself already had the stuffy, shut-up look of the holidays. Shuddering a little at the inevitable memory, Remus moved quickly on.

Falmouth did not have a proper wizarding high street, and so the Owl Post building sat in the midst of a row of Muggle homes and run-down shops. It was a narrow, acetic structure with faded blue paint on the sills and shutters. The placard beside the door read '_Artemis and Hart Quantity Surveyists. By Appointment Only_.' Remus paused for a moment, telling himself that he was trying to savour the moment of independence but suspecting that he was in fact trying to collect his courage. Then he took the stairs with quick, sure steps, and entered the building.

The entryway was narrow and dimly lit, with several doors opening off of it. One was inelegantly labelled '_Loo'_, and two with frosted glass panes in them flanked the front door. The left one read _'Andrew Artemis, Surveyor-In-Chief'_, and the one on the right '_Jacob Hart, Consulting Engineer'_. Remus moved to the one at the very back of the hallway; the unmarked door. He knocked.

A voice on the other side bid him enter, and he stepped into what looked exactly like a Muggle office, strewn with maps and old blueprints and large, dusty stacks of old telephone directories. Behind a battered aluminium desk sat a prim-looking middle-aged woman dressed to look like a Muggle secretary. Unfortunately she was wearing a pair of Golden Snitch earrings, the wings of which whirred and fluttered distractingly. She was chewing obnoxiously on a large wad of gum.

'Are you here to see Mr Artemis, or Mr Hart?' she asked absentmindedly, not looking up from the battered paperback she was reading.

'I'm here to use the Post,' said Remus.

The witch looked up, eyes narrowed into slits. 'We're a surveying firm, dear. If you're not here to see either of the gentlemen mentioned then perhaps you're at the wrong address.'

Caution was understandable: it was certainly not completely inconceivable that a Muggle boy might find himself at the wrong address. Remus smiled and said politely, 'No, Miss, I'm quite sure it's the right one. I've come to send some letters by Owl Post.'

'I've no idea what you're talking about,' said the woman pertly. 'Are you here to see Mr Artemis, or Mr Hart?'

Remus tried to remember what his father had said the last time they had been down here together, but he could not. He was almost certain that he had simply said he was here to use the Post, and they had let him through… 'I'm not certain whether either of them are real,' he admitted.

'If you're here on business,' said the witch; 'you'll know whether you're here to see Mr Artemis or Mr Hart.'

Remus felt his courage flagging. He could always turn and run off. He could tell his parents that he hadn't felt up to coming up into town. He could be safe in his bedroom in twenty minutes.

But that would never do, he realized. He had told his father that he would do it, and his father had listed this errand and the attendant stop at the grocers as the only things that Remus could do to help with his present troubles. If he turned around he would be failing in that trust, and to make matters worse the invitations to his friends would be delayed. He suspected that it would be difficult for Sirius to convince his mother to let him come; he needed as much advance notice as he could get.

'I'm not here to see either of them,' he said, astonished by the calmness of his voice. 'I'm here to use the Post, and I'm really not certain what it is you would like me to say before you'll let me do it.'

The witch scowled suspiciously at him. 'How do I know you're really here to use the Post?'

'Well, if I were only trying to carry out a practical joke, you've just proved to me that I'm an extraordinarily good guesser,' Remus said. The words came out so innocent and reasonable that he did not realize until after he had spoken them how cheerfully sarcastic he must sound. He was horrified, but took care not to let it show. A Marauder did not apologize for wit, even when it was rather impolite.

The witch's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Then she scowled and sniffed derisively. 'Very well,' she said, reaching into the top drawer of the desk and producing her wand. 'But in future if you want to send a letter you're to say that you're here to see Mr Artemis about a contract.'

'Not very believable, is it, seeing as how I'm only thirteen?' Remus said pleasantly. The witch bristled a little, but she twitched her wand at a sagging pine bookcase, which vanished to reveal a narrow staircase climbing up into the wall. 'Thank you,' said Remus, very courteously. 'I'm much obliged.'

He took the steps at once, though behind him he heard the woman muttering something about impudent Muggle-born brats, her gum squeaking against her teeth. He could only imagine what Sirius would have made of her.

The staircase ended in a tiny square room with only one door. Remus opened it and stepped out into a large space with a ceiling that seemed to go all the way up to the roof of the building – at least three storeys. The walls were lined with brass perches, and the perches were almost all occupied by cheery-looking Post owls in tags and jesses. There was a large fountain in the middle of the room where the owls could descend to drink, and shallow troughs of feed were fixed to the walls at adult eye level. Off to one side under an awning glittering with stars and comets, was a long oak counter backed by filing cabinets and a tall fixture full of little cubbies. A skinny wizard in the sort of garish robes that young people seemed to favour in the first years after being freed of the uniform black of Hogwarts was sitting on a stool behind the counter. With his spectacles and his narrow nose and his weak chin, he looked rather like an owl himself.

Remus stepped forward and the young man smiled. 'Good morning and welcome to the Falmouth Owl Post!' he said proudly. 'Sending, receiving or enquiring?'

'Sending,' Remus said, reaching into the shopping basket and pulling out his envelopes.

'Lovely! Marvellous! Wonderful!' the young wizard said. He hopped off of his stool and reached out to take them, then looked briefly at the addresses and threw back his head. 'Claude?' he hollered. 'How do I post a letter?'

There was a guttural snort and a couple of hefty grunts, and a portly old wizard trundled around the nearest filing cabinet. His hat was askew and there was sleep in his eyes. 'Merlin's pickled prawns, boy, can't you do anything on your own?'

'Sorry,' the young wizard said, grinning at Remus. 'It's my first day behind the desk.'

'Says that like he thinks it's a reasonable excuse,' the other man muttered, shaking his head despairingly. 'Only worked for us the last two summers, didn't he?'

'Shovelling feed and sweeping pellets,' the boy said cheerfully. 'I didn't think I had to pay attention to what _you_ were doing.'

'Now, see, they're all domestic,' the wizard grumbled. 'Couldn't be simpler. This one going to London's straightforward enough, but you're going to have to look up the others.' He looked at Remus, suddenly solicitous instead of annoyed. 'Whereabouts is Titchmarch, lad?'

'I'm afraid I'm not sure,' Remus admitted.

The wizard turned to his new apprentice and put his hands on his hips. 'And what do we do, Barney, when we're not sure where a letter is going?'

'Look up the village in the register, sir!' said Barney happily.

'Then _do_ it…' the man said.

Barney went over to an enormous tome bolted to the other side of the counter and began to thumb through it. 'Thenfield, Thornby,' he muttered, skipping quickly down a page before turning to the next. 'Ticehurst… Tidmarsh…'

The older wizard shook his head helplessly and turned back to Remus. 'Three letters, all domestic. How would you like 'em sent? Burrowing, Ordinary or Geriatric?'

'I'm not sure what that means,' Remus admitted.

'Well,' said the man; 'your Burrowing Owl is fast, and very reliable. Guaranteed to get to London in less than half the time of one of our ordinary birds. They come more expensive, you see: have to be imported. We've only got half a dozen, but there's four in at the moment.' He looked up at the perches, squinting until he saw what he was looking for. He nodded in vindication. 'Four,' he said. 'Can't take much weight, but they're excellent for urgent letters.'

'And Ordinary?'

'Any of our standard owls,' said the man. 'Reliable and experienced, young enough to be quick but old enough to know better. Most common choice for letters. 'Course you could sent it by Parcel owl if you really wanted to, but there's not much sense in it. Don't need a Grey Owl or a Fish Owl to take a bit of parchment.' He chuckled as though he had said something wildly funny. 'Then there's our Geriatric owls. They're a bit long in the beak, but they get there in the end. A bargain at two Knuts a run.'

'I see,' said Remus, reaching into his pocket for the fifteen Knuts that Mother had given him. 'And how much for Ordinary?'

'Five apiece,' said the man. 'Burrowing's ten.'

'May I think about it for a moment?' Remus asked. The man nodded and went over to scold the younger wizard, who had apparently lost his place in the directory.

Remus wondered what he ought to do. His mother had sent him with three letters, obviously intending that they should all be sent by Ordinary Post. Yet if he sent them by Geriatric, he would be able to bring nine Knuts home. He knew that he ought to do whatever he could to save his parents from unnecessary expense, but he also wanted Sirius's letter to arrive as quickly as possible.

'There!' the old wizard said, thumping the book. 'Titchmarsh. Now, which sorting office will it go through?'

'How'm I meant to know that?' asked Barney.

The wizard moaned. 'It's the second column, boy, right after the county! Haven't you any sense?'

'Oh.' Barney grinned proudly as he said. 'Northampton, then.'

'_Right_. Now ask how the gentleman would like 'em sent, and whether he'd like to pick his birds.'

Remus made up his mind as Barney loped down to his end of the counter. 'How'd you like 'em sent?' he asked.

'These two by Geriatric, please,' Remus said, reaching to shift the ones destined for Peter and James; 'and the other by Ordinary.'

'Very nice, very nice,' said Barney. 'Would you like to pick your birds?'

'No, thank you,' said Remus. 'I'm sure whichever ones you choose will be perfect for the job.'

Barney swelled a little with pride at the vote of confidence, then faltered. 'Uh… er…' He looked sidelong at his supervisor.

'Tell him it'll be nine Knuts!' Claude sighed. 'Then take his money and give him his change.'

'Nine Knuts,' said Barney. Remus took out the requisite coins and surrendered them. Barney frowned. 'Claude, what if he only gives me nine? What do I do for change then?'

Remus was beginning to wonder whether the young wizard was trying to wind the old one up. It certainly seemed to be working. Claude lumbered over, snatched the money and thrust it into the drawer of the old cash register. 'There you are,' he said to Remus. 'We'll send 'em along directly. The one for London should be there in a few hours, and the one headed for Gloucestershire before suppertime. The other one should arrive tomorrow. Good enough?'

'Yes, sir, perfect, thank you,' said Remus.

'All right, then. That's all we need: sorry 'bout the delays.' The man shot an impatient look at Barney.

Remus thanked them both again and then took his leave. He was anxious about passing the irritable witch downstairs, but she was once more engrossed in her book and scarcely looked up as he passed. He supressed the urge to point out that her earrings were not at all conducive to her disguise, and was soon out in the open air again.

The grocers was only four doors down, and Remus purchased his milk and eggs with no difficulty whatsoever: apparently young boys in too-small Muggle clothing picking up food for their mothers were a common sight. With his errands complete and his confidence growing, he took a different route home, walking down a lane of beautiful old houses.

It was nearly one o'clock when he unlocked the front door and stepped into the entryway of his home. He put his purchases carefully into the icebox and laid his change on the surface for his mother. His stomach was grumbling, and so he set about preparing himself a bit of lunch. He checked the pantry, relieved to note that there were indeed both apples and potatoes in abundance. He took one of each, washing the former and paring the latter with care. While the water boiled he fetched the pressed tongue and cut himself two thin slices of his mother's home-baked bread. He would have spread one piece with mustard, but there was only a little remaining in the pot and so he left it. He could quite happily eat his sandwich plain.

He boiled the potato and, as his mother had said he might, mashed it with the last ounce of milk in the old bottle. He filled a glass with cold water from the sink and sat down at the table to eat. It was peculiar to dine alone, without even the presence of one of his parents in the next room. He thought of the cheery noise of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and realized that he was already missing his friends.

When his dishes were washed Remus stood in the midst of the kitchen for a while, wondering what he ought to do next. He was not quite ready to apply himself to his summer schoolwork, and it did not seem right to sit in leisure while his parents were away trying to provide for him. He noticed that the kitchen window was dingy: apparently it had not been washed for some time. A quick survey of the house revealed that the situation was the same throughout.

So he fetched the pail his mother used for cleaning and he prepared a solution of water and vinegar and a little washing-up liquid. Mother ordinarily added a dash of lemon juice to make the mixture smell more pleasant, but there was none to be found. Remus used it as it was instead, carefully wiping the inside panes of every window and making certain the sills were clean. Then he went out into the back garden and fetched the stepladder that lay along the fence. He propped it against the house and, balancing the bucket with some difficulty, set about washing the outside of the windows on the ground floor. The ladder was too short for him to reach the upstairs panes, but when he had finished the big sitting room window at the front of the house he went around to the west side and knelt among the pansies to clean the tiny window that peered into the cellar. It was sealed with magic, of course, and behind the glass he could see the shadow of the heavily reinforced bars that ensured that nothing could get in – and most especially out.

With the windows washed he needed something else to do. The afternoon was growing warm despite the clouds, and he did not want to go back indoors. So Remus went back into the garden. His mother's flowers were flourishing, and every inch of the little vegetable patch had been put to use. Remus looked around to be sure that he was alone, even though the high fences guarded him from the neighbours' view. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, baring forearms scored with pale webs of scar tissue. He stared for a moment at one, still livid from his most recent transformation. Then he knelt down and set about pulling the weeds that were showing between the neat rows of parsnips.

He was still working when his father appeared, Apparating in with a pop. Remus sat back on his heels, grubby hands in midair. The wizard had not seen him yet: his back was turned to the vegetables. His shoulders sagged as he shifted out of the controlled posture he always adopted when travelling in that fashion, and he lifted an unsteady hand to his brow.

'Did you Apparate straight here?' Remus asked softly. 'You should have stopped over in Blackpool.'

His father turned weary eyes upon him. 'I did,' he said. 'I spent most of the afternoon in Blackpool, as a matter of fact. No one had any use for me there, either.'

Remus brushed his hands against the grass and got to his feet. 'I don't understand it,' he said. 'You're clever and you're qualified: it shouldn't be so difficult for you.'

Father grunted softly and moved to sit on the back stoop. He landed heavily, one foot skidding out from under him. 'I suppose it shouldn't,' he said. 'But I had a run of bad luck at first, and then I was looking too close to home for too long. After a while it begins to look odd if you've been out of work for a lengthy stretch – especially if you haven't any reference from your last real job. People start to wonder why that is, and they usually decide that they can do better.'

'But that isn't fair,' Remus said. He sat down beside his father. 'You've been out of work for so long because no one will hire you: it isn't your fault.'

'Isn't it?' the man asked, looking quizzically at him. 'Perhaps I never should have left the Ministry. Perhaps I should have just stayed there and tried to endure… to endure…' He gestured hopelessly and shook his head. 'Or at the very least I should have given them two weeks' notice and asked for a letter of character.'

'Perhaps you just haven't applied in the right place yet,' Remus said, trying to think of something encouraging to offer. 'You mustn't give up hope.'

'I mustn't give up _trying,_' his father said heavily. 'I gave up hope a long time ago. Your mother… she's been simply extraordinary. Hasn't said a word of blame, laughs about the people she meets at the Post Office, insists she doesn't mind supporting me…' He shook his head. 'You've brought in more money this year than I have, Remus.'

For a moment Remus was puzzled: surely his father had contributed more than six Knuts saved on postage. Then he remembered. 'The ten Galleons,' he said softly.

His father nodded, then fixed suddenly keen eyes upon him. 'I've been meaning to ask you about that,' he said. 'You said that you won them in a competition at school? Hogwarts doesn't ordinarily reward its students with money: House points are the currency of choice. So how did you really get it?' A furrow of concern descended between his brows. 'Remus, you didn't _take_ that money, did you?'

'No!' Remus said hurriedly. 'No. No, it was James and Sirius. They gave it to me.'

His father suddenly looked very ill. His lips moved, horrified, but no sound came out. Suddenly Remus realized how his words sounded: as if he had been on the receiving end of charity, largesse from his wealthy friends.

'It was a wager,' he said. 'We… were looking for a name for our group, for the four of us so that we didn't have to keep saying Second Year Boys in the Third Dormitory. James kept making suggestions and Sirius kept poking fun at them, and so James said he'd pay for the right name, and they wagered ten Galleons against each other for whoever came up with it. And it was I, so they each paid up five.'

Father did not seem to know what to say. Remus supposed the entire story did sound absurd, particularly when related like that. 'And what is this name?' the wizard asked hoarsely.

'The Marauders,' Remus whispered, flushing a little. The image the name conjured was hardly flattering, and he did not want his father to realize how much trouble he and his friends made at school, but he was not prepared with a plausible alternative.

'I see,' said Father. 'And for this your friends paid five Galleons each?'

'Well, no,' said Remus. 'No, Peter gave me some Chocolate Frogs, because he hadn't had a wager on, even though I think he would have been quite happy with Gryffindor United…'

He waited, unsure whether he would be lectured on the importance of behaving well at school or on the evils of gambling. His father shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on his knees. Then suddenly he began to laugh, a low and disbelieving chuckle that grew until his face was alight with mirth. Remus was taken aback, but the sound was infectious, and soon he was laughing as well.

When the fit of amusement passed, Father hoisted himself onto his feet and tried to smooth his rumpled robes. 'Very well, then,' he said. 'I suppose that _would_ qualify as a competition of sorts, though not perhaps what your mother thinks it was.' His eyes sobered as he closed his fingers on the door handle. 'The money could not have come at a better time, Remus. You have a very generous heart.'

Remus did not speak as he followed his father into the house, but he could not help but hold his head a little higher as he went. He knew that he was a burden to his parents, but if he could ease that just a little then it would be easier to live with himself. His happiness faded almost at once, however, when he realized that his father felt just the same.

'We could fix supper,' he said, coming into the kitchen.

Father looked up from his scuffed shoes. 'Supper?' he echoed.

'For Mother,' said Remus. 'Do you know what she was planning?'

Father shook his head, looking bewildered. 'Supper,' he said, as though the word had a foreign feeling in his mouth. 'Yes. Yes, I suppose someone _should_ fix supper.' There was a curious covetous glint in his eyes as he spoke. Uncomfortable, Remus turned to wash the earth from his fingers.

_discidium_

Mother was delighted when she came home to find the two of them in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a clumsy meal of egg and chips. The three of them sat down to eat, and there was a pleasant homey feeling to supper that Remus had almost forgotten. When they had eaten he hurriedly stood and volunteered to do the washing-up while Mother rested and Father had a bath. His offer was accepted gratefully, and when he was finished he joined his parents in the sitting room for a quiet evening of listening to the wireless. At ten Remus rose and gave each of them a goodnight kiss. He ascended to his room, tired but satisfied, and was curled in bed before he realized that his hands still smelled vaguely of vinegar.

He had not been asleep for very long when he heard a rapping noise. He woke up befuddled, hoping that one of his friends would get up to see to it: after all, James and Sirius were the ones with the owls, and it was Peter who usually forgot about them and closed the dormitory window. Then he realized that he was at home now, and there was no one else in the room. He got up onto his knees and reached for the catch to his window.

A large black bird was perched on the sill, regarding him regally. Remus's stomach flopped wretchedly. It was Hermes.

Remus was certain that he was going to be sick. It was only the first day of the holidays, and already Sirius had been driven to sending his owl to safety. He wondered frantically what could possibly have occurred in the thirty hours since he had last seen his friend, and then he was seized by the despairing thought that he had to try to do _something_ to help him. Hermes was hooting irately now, holding out his leg.

Remus almost laughed aloud when he realized there was a letter tied to it. Perhaps Sirius was not in trouble after all: he always spoke of owl privileges as one of the first things his parents rescinded when he was being punished. Hurriedly he took the piece of parchment and unfurled it, holding it at an angle so that the faint glow of the lamps in the next street rendered it readable.

_Remus,_ it read. _Got your owl: your mum's a trump! Asked the parents at once of course, and they said I can't go anywhere until my summer essays are finished. We'll see about that. Sirius_.

Remus read the letter twice, turning it over and feeling it carefully. Struck by a sudden thought, he went to his wardrobe and brought out his wand. He knew that Ministry regulations did not permit the use of magic by under-aged wizards unless at school, but surely one tiny spell could not hurt. His father was in the next room: perhaps the Ministry would believe him responsible and think nothing of it.

Hermes let out a trill of warning, and Remus turned to see the owl glaring at him. 'Did he use Invisible Ink?' Remus asked. 'Is there something more to the letter?'

Hermes ruffled his feathers in a way that made it look very much like he was shaking his head. Guiltily Remus put the wand back. He knew better than to flaunt the laws. Mischief at Hogwarts was one thing: the Ministry of Magic was another. He moved back to sit on the head of his bed, looking up at the owl.

'What do you suppose he means by "_We'll see about that_"?' he asked the bird. 'You don't think he would do something rash, do you?'

Hermes made a long-suffering sound. He bent forward, pecking fondly at Remus's fringe. Then with a little hop and a farewell hoot he took flight, rising like a shadow into the sky above the city.


	96. Burdens Allayed

**Chapter Ninety-Six: Burdens Allayed**

On Saturday both of Remus's parents were at home. Mother was not working, and Father seemed to think it futile to try to look for employment on a weekend. So while his wife sat at the kitchen table, planning and figuring and writing out endless lists he struggled to make his robes presentable for the upcoming week. He laundered them and hung them to dry in the sun, then tried several pressing charms before giving up and attacking them with Mother's heavy iron. He was not very skilled, but he was persistent, and if the results were not spectacular they were at least serviceable.

Remus saw to washing the dishes, and then went into the sitting room to dust the shelves and mantelpiece. His mother called him into the kitchen briefly to consult as to his friends' favourite dishes and his own confidence about preparing the noon meal on days she had to work. Then, at a loss as to what else he might do to help, he went up to his room to sort through his summer assignments. The History of Magic essay would require a trip to the library in Oxford, but he could make a good start on his Transfiguration research. He settled on his bed with his back against the wall, and was soon absorbed in his work.

It rained heavily on Sunday, and the little house had a stuffy and dreary feeling to it. Mother had finished with her strategies for feeding the expected guests, and she spent most of the day in the sitting room with Remus's Potions notes spread over the couch. He did not dare to ask how she hoped to help him: he feared the answer that she could not. In the middle of the afternoon Father put on his cloak and went out, trudging down the street. He did not return until long after his wife and son had finished their supper, but instead of eating he went straight up to bed.

Monday morning they were gone again, and Remus was alone in the house. He had offered to do the shopping, but Mother had decided that as she had such a great deal to pick up she would take the Morris Minor and take care of it herself after work. Remus was very glad that she decided to use the car, for it was still very wet that day and the rain fell in a steady, depressing drizzle.

He was just putting on water for potatoes when Ronan arrived, bearing a letter from James. Remus read it eagerly, delighted to learn that his invitation had been accepted. Of course there had never been much doubt that Mr and Mrs Potter would agree, but he had wondered whether James would want to stay for such a long stretch. After that his day was decidedly less monotonous; even the task of pairing up odd socks seemed to have a purpose.

A Post owl arrived from Peter just as Mother was coming in with the groceries. Remus gave the owl a few oats, which it accepted cheerfully, but he set the letter aside as he hurried out to help her. Once the bags were unpacked and the perishables settled in the icebox he snatched it up and tore it open.

'Who's it from, love?' Mother asked, unpinning her hat and shaking the water from it.

'Peter,' said Remus. 'James's arrived at lunchtime: he's very happy to come and he'll be arriving by Floo on Wednesday morning.' He studied the letter and composed himself carefully. It would not do to seem disappointed. 'Peter writes that he can come, but not until the eighth,' he said. 'It seems his mother would like him home for a little while first.'

'That is certainly understandable,' said Mother. She bent in to peck him lightly beside his ear. 'I would have to think very hard about letting you leave me so soon after coming back from school.' She folded the empty paper sacks carefully and tucked them into a drawer, then went to change her shoes for her house slippers. She had never worn them during the evenings before, and Remus wondered whether her feet pained her after a long day of standing at a post office wicket. 'What about Sirius? Have you heard anything more from him?'

Remus shook his head. 'Just the one note,' he said. 'It hardly seems fair. He has the whole summer to write his essays. He could work on them _here_ if he wanted to.'

'I see,' said Mother. 'And who would make him write them?'

'I could,' Remus said. 'Or at least I could try to talk him into it. It works at school. Sometimes.' He thought of his own preliminary attempts to address their holiday work. It would take a couple of weeks to do everything properly, and by then the full moon would be upon them and it would be too late to get Sirius out of London for a while before it was time to visit Peter. 'He'll not be able to come,' he said. 'And James will be bored with only me for company.'

'Now, that's just foolish,' she said. 'I'm sure that Sirius _will_ be able to visit, and in any case you and James get along wonderfully.'

Remus managed a feeble smile, but he knew that even if he did manage to keep James entertained neither of them would be able to enjoy themselves as they would if Sirius were present. James because he really did need more excitement than Remus could offer, and Remus because he could not allow himself to have fun while he worried about Sirius shut up in his bleak London home.

On Tuesday Mother worked a short shift at the post office: she was home at one o'clock, and almost at once she was out of her good dress and into one of the shabby old ones that she wore around the house. She started moving about the kitchen with accomplished efficiency, and Remus abandoned his books in the sitting room to come to help her.

They started the bread first, using the yeast that Mother had set that morning. They fixed two large balls of dough: one white and one brown. While those sat to rise they brought out the treacle and brown sugar and spices and started a batch of gingerbread. They made a quickbread starter so that Remus would be able to make fresh scones for lunch on days when she was working, and stowed it in a jar in the pantry.

Then it was time to knead the bread dough. Remus had always loved this part of the process: with his sleeves pushed up above his elbows and his hands dusted with flour, he attacked his dough with both fists. He punched and pressed, squeezed and pounded the warm, clinging sponge, then folded it over and set to it again. Mother worked at hers with the same vigour, all the while plying him with questions about his year at Hogwarts.

Remus told her of his progress in Charms, of Professor McGonagall's difficult but exciting lessons, of Professor Binns's increasingly narcotic teaching style. He told her about Professor Meyrigg: how she had slowly and determinedly drawn everyone into participating in her lessons, how she had encouraged him to join in class discussions, how well she had taught them all. He mentioned her kind words about his grading of the first year exams, though he did not mention that he had been in detention at the time – nor what he had done to get there. He told of the realization that she was expecting a baby, and of her subsequent collapse in the midst of a lesson and his visits to her during her weeks of bed rest. Then he came to the part about Mr Meyrigg.

'I only wanted to cover his face,' he said softly. The dough was forgotten now: the fingers of his clenching hands dug deep into it but he could not feel it. 'Everyone was too busy; it wasn't their fault. But somebody had to cover his face.'

Mother nodded, her gaze never wavering. She did not speak, but waited until he was ready to go on.

'S-So I went in,' Remus said. 'Dorcas Meadowes told me not to, but I didn't care. _Someone_ had to do it.'

Mother's eyes were gentle and mournful. 'Aye, someone had to do it,' she said, losing some of the careful cultivation of her voice. 'Your great-grandmother would have called it a work of mercy.'

Remus tried to swallow the urge to burst into tears. He kept his gaze focused on his mother's face. Now that he had begun it seemed impossible to stop, though he had been so determined to bear this sorrow silently. 'I pulled up the sheet,' he said; 'but Professor Meyrigg was crying, she was begging for her baby and then I saw…' He closed his eyes. His throat was tight and his chest was burning. 'He was so tiny, Mother. Like… like a little kitten or… she was begging for him. She wouldn't let Madam Pomfrey stop the bleeding. The midwife said…' His voice broke and he clamped his lips tightly together for a moment, trying to master himself. 'So I took a towel and I swaddled him and I walked right in between them and I gave him to his mother.'

The words flew out in a single heavy breath, inevitable and unstoppable. Remus felt his knees trembling. He had never meant to tell all this to his mother, who had lost her own baby and did not need to be reminded of that anguish. He forced himself to open his eyes, blinking through the film of fluid. 'S-She thanked me,' he whispered.

Suddenly he was weeping, shaking with silent paroxysms and completely incapable of fighting the outpouring of grief. He felt his mother curling her arms around him and he clung to her like a small child, his floury fingers curling into the faded cotton of her dress. She was murmuring something, and she kept kissing him while her palm traced soothing circles over his spine.

When he was able to speak again, the words came out between hiccoughing sobs. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he choked out. 'Your baby died, and I kicked you. I kicked you, and you lost the baby, and the doctors wouldn't even let you hold her and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…'

'Remus,' Mother said. He was shaking against her now, his head jolting from side to side as he tried in vain to control himself. He tried to speak but the only sound that issued from his lips was a shattered moan. 'Remus. _Remus_!'

She was holding him closer now, her embrace tightening around his body. The quaking in his limbs abated and the constriction in his ribs eased despite the arms pressing around them. Then, incredibly, the sobs faded. Tighter and tighter his mother held him, and Remus felt himself slowly easing into her hold. His head was resting on her shoulder now, and his legs no longer struggled to keep him upright.

'Remus,' Mother whispered; 'Remus, what do you mean that you kicked me?'

Startled for a moment out of his torment he raised his head and looked at her. She loosened her hold a little so that he could take a half-step backward. 'When Father tried to take me down to the cellar,' he whispered. 'He tried to lift me out of your lap and I panicked and while he was picking me up I kicked you. I remember…' He looked down at his right foot. He could feel with haunting clarity the snap of a swiftly-straightened knee and the drum-like bounce of his heel against his mother's stomach. 'Peter didn't think it could make any difference, but that doesn't mean I didn't do it. Don't you… don't you remember?'

His mother shook her head, slowly and uncomprehendingly. 'No,' she said in a mystified voice strangled with emotion. 'No, Remus, I don't remember that. You struggled: I know that you struggled. You might have kicked…' Her left hand slipped free of her hold on his shoulders and travelled to her flank, and he knew that she could feel it now, too. 'But it isn't possible that would bring on a miscarriage.'

'Isn't it?' asked Remus haltingly.

'No.' There was not even a shadow of a doubt in his mother's eyes as she spoke. 'A kick from a man, perhaps. A kick from a horse, almost certainly. But you were just a little boy, Remus. You were just an overgrown baby yourself. You'd landed on my stomach dozens of times before then without even a ripple, climbing up onto the couch or bouncing on the bed in the mornings. You mustn't think that it was anything to do with you. These things happen to women; it's nobody's fault and there's nothing that can be done about it. For all that we know there was something wrong with me that made it happen, or even with the baby. Maybe her little heart wasn't healthy, or the cord wasn't right, or the afterbirth. You are certainly not to blame.'

'You would have gone to the hospital sooner if it hadn't been for me,' Remus protested. 'Or asked the Healer to have a look, if he hadn't been working under protest, or…'

'You mustn't think like that, dear heart,' Mother said. 'You mustn't. It never does any good to think like that.' Her eyes grew misty and distant, and she seemed to be seeing something that he could not. 'When… after, when I didn't start another baby I thought…' She shuddered almost imperceptibly and then focused on his face again. 'But it doesn't do any good to think like that. Nothing that happened that day was your fault, Remus, and I need to know that you believe that.'

And he did, he realized. It was impossible not to believe when he looked at her, with love and unshaking conviction in her eyes. He thought of the bewilderment in her voice when she had asked what he meant. It had never even occurred to her before today that he might have had anything to do with his baby sister's death, and she did not believe it now. If she believed, then he could, too. Nearly.

'It must have been so terrible for you,' he said softly, reaching up to brush away a lock of hair that was clinging to her cheek. He did not realize how closely his gesture mirrored the one she made so often in the days after the full moon. 'You couldn't even hold her.'

'I could hold you,' Mother said softly. She kissed his forehead quickly and squeezed his arm. 'You don't know how much you helped me, Remus. And now you've helped Professor Meyrigg, too. I'm so proud of you for that.'

Remus felt able to stand on his own now, and he drew back out of his mother's grip. He sniffled involuntarily and dabbed at his eyes with the back of his hand before he realized that in doing so he had left a streak of flour on his face. 'Oh, the bread!' he exclaimed, turning back to the abandoned heaps of dough. They were already starting to swell again.

Mother laughed. 'They'll be ready to punch down again in a few minutes,' she said. 'We ought to have time to wash our hands and put in the first tray of gingerbread before they are. Then we can start the dough for the sticky buns.'

Remus moved towards the sink, still trying to clear the stuffiness from his nose. Giving up the effort he dug into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Mother was considerate enough not to watch him while he was blowing, but when he turned the faucet she came behind him and hugged him briefly. 'Do you know what my grandmother used to say?' she asked.

Remus shook his head, though he rather thought he had heard most of his great-grandmother's adages over the years.

Mother's smile was both sad and peaceful. 'Bread baked with tears always tastes the sweetest,' she said.

Remus reflected that perhaps he had not heard all of them after all.

_discidium_

Mother was taking the last three loaves out of the oven and Remus was starting on their fourth round of washing-up when Mr Lupin Apparated into the back garden. Watching from the window, Remus saw him fumble and drop his wand into the grass. He stooped to retrieve it but seemed unable to rise again. He slipped onto his knees and sat there with his head bowed.

Remus averted his eyes, unwilling to invade this private moment. He busied himself in scouring the baking tray and hoped that his mother did not look out the window.

Finally there came the sound of the back door opening, and Father came trudging into the kitchen. His shoulders were bowed and Remus realized that although the day was fair his robes were wet from the hem to the knees. The exhaustion on his face abated a little as he inhaled deeply of the scents of fresh baking.

'It smells heavenly, Dorothy,' he sighed, looking almost content.

'Why, thank you,' said Mother. 'We've certainly tried our best, haven't we Remus?'

Remus nodded, still watching the wizard's face as he took in the surfaces covered in loaves of bread, neat dozens of buns, biscuits, gingerbread and the platter of sweet rolls. Pleasure turned to wonder and then to concern.

'Are we expecting a trio or a battalion?' he asked.

'Four thirteen-year-old boys and the two of us will go through a great quantity of bread in nine days,' Mother said cheerfully. 'And I shan't have much free time for baking. When you've had a chance to settle in, perhaps you could charm them to keep them fresh for me?'

'Yes, of course,' Father mumbled, still staring at the bounty before him. 'But Dorothy, how on earth can we…'

'We'll manage as we always do,' said Mother. 'I'm picking up four hours of overtime again this Thursday and Helen is going to be away on holiday next week. We agreed this was important, Ross,' she added softly.

Father nodded slowly, digging into the pocket of his robes. 'I've this to give you anyhow,' he mumbled, and drew out two rather grubby Galleons.

'That's wonderful!' Mother exclaimed happily, lifting onto her toes to kiss him. As she did so the sodden edge of his robe brushed against her stockingless leg and she stiffened, looking him over with an appraising eye. 'What happened?' she asked worriedly.

He grimaced. 'I applied for a vacancy with the printers in Hale,' he said. 'The owner said thank you, I wasn't quite what they were looking for, but if I wanted a spot of work his wife had a Grindylow in the garden pond that I could take care of for him.'

'That was kind of him,' Mother said.

Father cast her a withering look. 'Don't you see? One look at me and he knew I wasn't _quite what they were looking for._ No one wants anything to do with me. People can smell desperation, and it's worse than a criminal past.'

Mother sighed. 'We're hardly desperate, Ross,' she said. 'We have a roof over our heads and food on the table, I have a steady job and you do what you can, our son is healthy and happy and doing well at school – our son is able to _go_ to school. We've a great deal to be thankful for.'

'Of course we do,' Father mumbled, but the look in his eyes told Remus that whatever Mother said he, at least, was very desperate indeed.

'Now go upstairs and have a wash and put on some dry things,' Mother said gently. 'We'll be having fresh bread with our supper, and I picked up a lovely piece of cod that will be fixed up in no time. I'll wash your robes tonight and iron them properly for you. Perhaps there's even something I can do about that sleeve.' Her fingertips brushed the fraying cuff.

Father made a low, guttural sound deep in his throat and turned to leave, but Mother caught hold of his wrist and kissed him again, very tenderly. 'I love you, Ross,' she said. 'We both do.'

After that she let him depart, and soon enough there came the sound of heavy footfalls as he trudged up the stairs. Mother turned slowly, looking down at the Galleons she had been clutching all the while as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Then she slipped them carefully into her apron pocket and looked up at Remus, smiling once more.

'Now then,' she said as she set about sliding the fish into the oven; 'do you suppose that a brilliant young wizard who did so very well on most of his exams could explain to me what a Grindylow is?'

_discidium_

The following morning Remus was up almost before the sun. He bathed and dressed hurriedly, made his bed with care, and went down to fetch the broom so that he could sweep the floor in his room. He made certain that everything that could be put away on the bookshelf or in the wardrobe had been, and then brushed off the carpet in the upstairs corridor. By the time he was finished he could hear his parents stirring in their bedroom, and so he went back to the kitchen to start the water boiling for porridge. He looked up at the clock. It was nearly seven, and he wondered how soon he might expect James. This was followed almost instantly with the question of whether he might expect Sirius at all.

He had just finished setting the table when his mother came down, putting in her last three hairpins. She looked very neat and charming in her blue dress with the shoes to match, and she was smiling. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of the table and the pot of porridge. 'Eager to make a start today, love?' she asked.

Remus bobbed his head. He was fairly quivering with excitement at the prospect of seeing his friends again, and he sent up another silent prayer that Sirius would be allowed to get away from London.

Mother was checking the big stock pot that she had put on to simmer the night before. She stirred it deeply with a long-handled spoon and nodded in satisfaction. 'I'll strain it and add the vegetables before I go, Remus, and then all you need to do is leave it on a low flame until it's time to eat. With bread and cheese it ought to make a nice hearty meal, and there are oranges and gingerbread for afters. Remember if you go outside to be sure everyone is wearing their Muggle things, and if you want to take Sirius and James to the park you may. I'd rather you didn't roam farther afield until we've worked out where your friends want to go and the routes you plan to take.'

'Yes, that's very sensible,' Remus said, wondering whether he would be able to convince his friends of that. He moved to take the porridge pot off of the cooker, hesitating on his way back to the table. 'Do you think that Father is going to be all right?'

For a moment Mother's smile faded and her brown eyes were shadowed. 'We are just going to have to make sure of it,' she said.

Footfalls on the stairs sent Remus hastening to finish laying out breakfast, while Mother took out the parsnips, turnip and potatoes that she had cut up the previous evening and began to stir them into the savoury-smelling broth on the stove. Father came into the room with his face still pink from scrubbing and his robes looking neater than they had in the time Remus had been home. He kissed his wife and touched Remus briefly on the shoulder before sitting down heavily at the table.

'Good morning,' Remus said. He tipped a little milk into his father's mug and poured out some tea. The wizard curled an instinctive hand around the warm ceramic and nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

'I was just telling Remus that the soup will be ready in time for lunch, if you'd like to come home,' Mother said. 'It would do you good to have a hot meal to hold you through the afternoon.'

'We shall have to see,' Father murmured. Mother sat down and began to dish out the porridge. Remus moved to his own chair and settled precariously upon it. 'I think it's time to try London again,' said the man. 'There are places I didn't try before because…'

He trailed off into silence and began to eat mechanically. Mother managed to make cheerful conversation right through the meal, and Remus did his best to help her with it. As soon as he was finished eating he got up to clear the table so that his mother would know she did not need to worry about doing so. She rose gracefully and collected her handbag. She kissed her husband and embraced her son and, wishing them both a good day, hurried off for work.

'I don't know how she does it,' said Father once he was certain she was gone. 'No matter what she manages to be cheerful.'

Remus could think of nothing to say to this. He wished that he had that ability. He set about filling the sink. Father was still nursing his tea, and the clock was creeping past eight. Remus had finished with all of the other dishes and was just starting to wonder whether he ought to say something when the man sighed, pushed back his chair, and rose. Remus reached out to take his cup and Father shook his head.

'I can still clean my own mug,' he said.

'I know that,' said Remus mildly; 'but I don't want you splashing water on your robes. They look very neat today, and you're sure to make a good impression if you keep them that way.'

His father gave him a long look, and then caved. Remus took the mug and turned to wash it, but he nearly dropped it when a loud thud and a yelp sounded in the sitting room. Father stiffened, groping for his wand. Then a voice came from the next room, cheerfully irritated.

'Oi! Who puts a poker set on a hearthrug?'

Remus only just managed to set the mug down safely before his legs were carrying him through the door into the sitting room. There, beating ash from his robes with one hand and rubbing his shin with the other, was Sirius Black.

'You got away!' Remus exclaimed, restraining the urge to bounce with excitement like Peter did. 'Can you stay until the thirteenth? Oh, I'm so happy to see you!'

Sirius grinned, straightening up and looking around at his scattered baggage: a very expensive dragonhide suitcase with silver findings, his school satchel, and a tightly rolled sleeping bag that looked to be made of black velvet. 'I got away,' he said proudly. 'And I can stay until the thirteenth. I hope you haven't done too much planning, mate, because there's about a thousand things I want to do while I'm here and I'd hate to throw off your schedule.'

'I haven't planned much at all,' Remus said. 'Apart from meals, but that was chiefly Mother's doing.'

Sirius inhaled deeply and grinned. 'Something smells scrumptious. Got any on offer?'

Remus laughed. 'That's soup Mother's started for lunch,' he said. 'It won't be fit to eat for hours. We'll find you something, though, I promise.'

They gathered up Sirius's possessions and shifted them to the other side of the room so that James would not trip over them when he arrived. Then Sirius led the way into the kitchen as though he were the one who had lived all his life in the little house.

'Hallo, Mr Lupin!' he said sunnily, grinning at the wizard and climbing onto the stool by the cupboard. Remus fetched a plate and began to cut thick slices of his mother's bread. He tried to study Sirius's face to determine whether he was merely ordinarily peckish or actually ravening.

Sirius was busy trying to talk to the wizard. '… crossword this morning?' he asked. 'Because try as I might I couldn't work out seventeen down.'

Father shook his head. 'We've cancelled our subscription to _The Daily Prophet_,' he said.

Sirius frowned quizzically. 'Must make looking for work a sight more difficult,' he remarked. 'Are you off at it today?'

'He's going to London,' Remus said, trying to take the pressure off of his father, who surely did not want to be having this discussion with a thirteen-year-old visitor. 'Would you like butter or jam?'

'Sure I can't have soup?' Sirius wheedled. 'It smells so _good_. Lamea's soup never smells like that: it's perfuming the whole house!'

Remus reflected that as number twelve Grimmauld Place was at least five times the size of his home and Sirius did his best to eschew the kitchen he was not the best person to judge the scent of his house-elf's soup, but he merely smiled. 'Mother will be pleased to hear it,' he said. 'But no, I'm afraid it just isn't ready. The potatoes will still be nearly raw.'

'I like raw potatoes,' Sirius said cheerfully, but he took the plate that Remus offered and tore into the bread and jam with gusto. 'Slytherin's sacroiliac,' he mumbled around an enormous mouthful. 'Even the bread doesn't taste right in London.'

'I have to be going,' Father said quietly, edging towards the door. He was looking at Sirius almost wistfully, and Remus wondered whether that was because he was afraid of what he considered the inevitable end of their friendship, or because he wished that his own son were as tall and healthy and clever.

'Take care,' he said, smiling for his father. Then the man was gone and he was left alone with Sirius, who had finished one piece of bread and was now moving on to the other. Remus fetched one of the dining chairs and sat down with one foot beneath him in an attempt to make up some of the disparity in height between Sirius's perch and his own.

'How did you manage it?' he asked.

'Easy,' Sirius said, swallowing the last crust and licking his fingers contentedly. 'Bite, chew, swallow, repeat. 'Course it helps when it's _delicious_, but it's a fundamental survival instinct, really…'

'I meant how you managed to get away,' Remus clarified. 'You wrote that she wouldn't let you go anywhere until you finished your essays.'

'Oh, that,' said Sirius shrugging. 'Even easier, in fact: I finished the essays.'

Remus raised a sceptical eyebrow. 'In five days?' he said.

'Why does no one believe me?' Sirius exclaimed, planting his hands on his hips. Then he fell back into his customary graceful slouch and grinned. 'Dad had to look every one over before he accepted the truth.'

'They can't be very well done if you just dashed them off,' said Remus.

'So?' snorted Sirius. 'I'll have plenty of time to polish 'em up before school starts. What's the rush? The point is that Mum tried to impose one of her unreasonable embargoes, and I went and met the condition again despite her.' He frowned thoughtfully. 'One of these days she'll work out it isn't an effective strategy and she'll stop doing it.'

He raised his feet, letting his legs stretch out in mid-air. 'So what about you?' he asked. 'How's your holiday so far?'

'All right,' said Remus. 'I made a good start on Transfiguration and I've finished the first three charts for Astronomy. Do you think you'll have a chance to see the Perseids? Professor Arachne's offering extra credit for an eyewitness account.'

'I don't need extra credit in Astronomy!' Sirius scoffed disdainfully. 'Though I suppose it _would_ be a good excuse to get out of London for a couple more days. Not a bad idea, mate. You're right devious. What I really wanted to know, though, was how _you're _doing. And how's your mum? Where is your mum, by the way?'

'She's at work,' Remus said. 'At the—'

'At the Muggle Post!' Sirius cried eagerly. 'With the thing that goes _ping_ and the biro quills and the tiny, sticky pictures of the Queen!' He unleashed a wicked grin. 'Think she'd mind if we paid her a little visit?'

'The Queen?' asked Remus innocently.

Sirius swatted at him. 'Your _mum_, of course!'

'We're to stay close to home today,' Remus said, as firmly as he dared. Perhaps if he established that limitation immediately it would spare him later debates. 'We can go down to the park if we want to, but Mother wants to know our itinerary if we're going anywhere else.'

'Oh.' Sirius looked disappointed, but only slightly. 'I suppose one more day won't make much difference,' he said. An enormous grin seemed likely to split his face in two. 'I can't believe you managed to wrangle an invitation so early!'

'Peter can't come until Sunday,' said Remus. 'But I'm expecting James sometime this morning.'

There was a clatter of fire tools and the _thud_ of something heavy being set down. Sirius waggled his eyebrows. 'Something tells me he's arrived,' he said.

_discidium_

As it turned out it was not difficult to keep James and Sirius occupied in the house that day: they more or less saw to one another. James had brought a copy of _World Quidditch_ and they spent the next hour and a half speculating on England's chances for the 1974 international season. They went into the back garden for a while to lie in the grass and watch the clouds while they talked of everything and nothing, and then it was time for lunch. Mother's rich chicken and vegetable soup was a tremendous success: James pronounced it fit for a king, and Sirius polished off four bowls. Then he and James went upstairs to change into their Muggle clothing while Remus washed the dishes and put the rest of the soup away in the jars his mother had left for that purpose.

Then they all went down the street to the little playground. Though there were small children in abundance James and Sirius had little competition for the swings, and they were soon jumping off of them over and over again while Remus watched from solid ground and did his best to herd any stray little ones out of the landing zone. The novelty wore off eventually, and they wandered back to the house where there were Gobstones to play and stories to tell. Although the three of them had been living in close quarters for ten months they did not run out of things to talk about – nor did they seem likely to in the near future. They were in the sitting room, laughing uproariously at one of James's mad stories when Mother came home.

Instantly Sirius was on his feet, offering his very handsomest thanks for the kind invitation to visit and praising her cooking on no uncertain terms. He insisted on helping with supper, of which Remus was glad. Between the three of them it was quick work, even with James hanging on at the fringes of the kitchen and pinching bits of onion and parsley.

The meal was on the table when Father came in, making a valiant but obvious effort to keep from looking as downtrodden as he felt. He greeted James courteously and let Sirius pump his hand with enthusiasm, and he washed his hands at the kitchen sink instead of retreating upstairs. There was happy chatter from all three boys as the food was passed around, and Sirius took a tremendous bite from his slice of bread, closing his eyes blissfully.

'How do you do it?' he asked Mother. 'How do you make it taste so heavenly? I've _never_ had bread like yours.'

'I didn't make it alone: Remus helped me,' she said. James seemed perplexed, but Sirius grinned and clapped his host on the back.

'Well done!' he cheered. 'What's the trick?'

Mother caught Remus's eye and held it in a moment of close conspiracy. She smiled playfully at Sirius. 'I have a secret ingredient,' she said.

'What is it?' Sirius pressed.

James whacked him. 'Git,' he said amiably. 'If she _told_ you then it wouldn't be much of a secret, now would it?'

Even Father was startled into a smile.


	97. Sirius Black andthe Thing That Goes Ping

_Note: Just a friendly reminder that the Missing Moments poll closes on Monday. We've already had a record number of participants, so swing by my profile page and vote on your favourite plot bunnies!_

_Also, in the spirit of credit where credit is due: thank you to the stamp collecting community! Your websites were very, very helpful._

**Chapter Ninety-Seven: Sirius Black and the Thing That Goes **_**Ping**_

Between stifled giggles Remus hushed his friends for the fourth time in five minutes. 'My mother has to work in the morning,' he hissed.

'Quite right, too,' said Sirius, not quite as quietly as Remus would have liked. 'Somebody's got to be sure the Muggles get their letters.'

'And their pensions,' James said. 'What _is_ a pension, anyway? There can't be that many members of the King's household living way out in Cornwall.'

'I should say not,' said Sirius soberly; 'seeing as Britain hasn't got a king. Don't you know anything, Potter?'

'It isn't that sort of pension, anyhow,' said Remus. 'It's the money the government gives elderly people every week.'

'Gives them for what?' asked James.

Sirius stared at him and Remus tried to remind himself that James had led a very well-to-do life. 'For food and housing and clothing and things,' he said in the same patient voice he often used with Peter.

'I'd worked that out, smartknickers,' James said. 'I mean what's the government paying that stuff _for_? Why are they doing it?'

'So that old codgers don't have to live with their daughters and terrorize their grandsons,' Sirius muttered.

'But isn't that the way it should be?' James asked. 'My grandparents all lived at the manor until they died. It was my dad's parents' house first, after all.'

'Right,' Sirius said, bobbing his head sarcastically. 'Granny and Grandad Potter. I can just see 'em dandling you on their knees and cooing over your ickle baby specs.'

This was indeed a striking image, but James did not seem to pause to consider it. He waved a dismissive hand. 'Oh, no, they were long gone by the time I came along. But my mum's mum lived with us 'til I was six.'

'What about you?' asked Sirius, jutting his chin towards Remus.

He shook his head. 'My father's mother died when he was still at school,' he said; 'and his father just after my parents were married.' He straightened up a little, struck by a perplexing realization. 'I'm not sure about my mother's parents. They lived in Ireland.'

James snorted and Sirius shushed him, swatting the crown of his head and scooting out of the way when James tried to strike back. 'Your mother's a Paddy?' he asked. 'She doesn't sound like one.'

'No,' said Remus. 'When she came to England to be educated she worked very hard on that. In those days it was something of a social disadvantage to have an Irish brogue.' Not unlike the social disadvantage of marrying a wizard or being mother to a werewolf, he added silently.

'Still is,' James said with a grimace.

Sirius shook his head. 'You're so closed-minded,' he said, not quite joking. 'Anybody who's not just like _you_…'

'I like you, don't I?' James argued. 'And I like Peter. _And _I like Flitwick.'

'Flitwick's exactly like you!' Sirius contradicted.

'He's not!' said James. 'He's short.'

Sirius straightened his spine and made a great show of measuring the disparity between his own height and that of the other boy. '_Exactly _like you,' he confirmed.

This pronouncement was followed by a playful tousle that Remus did his utmost to hush. He cast anxious eyes to the door, listening for any sound from the room across the corridor. He heard none, and he prayed that his parents were still sleeping.

'We've got to be quiet,' he insisted. 'Mother is working and Father will be going out to look again, and—'

'Why's he having such a rough time of it?' James asked. 'He's been out of work nearly a year now, hasn't he?'

Remus nodded, resting his chin on one knee. 'I don't know why,' he confessed. 'He says it's because people can tell how badly he needs a job and they don't want to hire him, but I can't understand that at all. Wouldn't they want someone who was willing to work hard?'

'I don't think he ought to have left the Ministry,' James said. 'Those are meant to be good jobs, and they give you a stipend when you retire.'

'That's a pension,' Sirius said. 'Except the Muggles give them to everyone, not only the people who work in government.'

'Yes, but isn't that foolish?' asked James. 'Shouldn't employers make sure the people who work for them are taken care of? And shouldn't children look after their parents?'

'Let 'em fend for themselves, that's what I say,' Sirius growled, flopping down onto the floor and rolling into his sleeping bag. He inhaled deeply and made an overdramatic choking noise. 'Bloody hell, it smells like my grandfather,' he grumbled. 'Remus, tomorrow night can I borrow a couple of blankets like I did last time?'

Remus was reluctant to promise his parents' bedding, which Sirius had used before, and he could scarcely ask his friend to sleep on bloodstained bedclothes – though he supposed that he might use them himself. 'Of course,' he said earnestly.

'Why don't you just launder that thing?' James asked drowsily, descending out of sight at the foot of the bed. 'Give you an excuse to play with a Muggle washing machine.'

'Brilliant!' Sirius said happily, stretching out on the floor. 'That's just what I'll do!'

_discidium_

It seemed a little less brilliant at eleven o'clock the following morning, after the three of them had wrestled the sodden mass of quilted velvet out into the back garden and onto the clothesline – which sagged alarmingly under the weight but did not snap – and spent a good twenty minutes picking bits of shed pile from the drain-holes of Mother's washing machine. In the end, however, all evidence of their struggles had been erased and the sleeping bag itself seemed none the worse for its experience. Sirius peered out of the kitchen window while Remus measured out flour and salt and starter for scones, his eagerness arrested by the sight of his bedclothes swaying in the sea breeze.

'Brilliant,' he said, earlier expletives forgotten. 'Now it'll smell of sunshine and Lupins.'

James sniggered. 'I'm going to tell everyone at school that you like a flower-scented bed.'

Sirius retorted that he had just better try it and Remus, who remembered the mortification James had shown last summer when his mother had made a similar play upon his name, tried very hard not to laugh.

Baking scones with Sirius Black was something of a challenge. He wanted to help, of course, and he did so with tremendous enthusiasm, but the trick to good scones was to mix them only as much as necessary. Sirius attacked the bowl with a mixing spoon and the vigour of a wizard trying to emulsify plimpy liver oil in five minutes or less. The resulting product was dense and lumpy and as hard as granite. Only repeated soaking in Mother's soup rendered them almost chewable.

'You should talk to Hagrid,' James said, pushing his front tooth with his thumb to see whether it would wiggle. 'Between the two of you I'm sure you could mix up that indestructible element that's been so long sought by bridge-builders and stonemasons.'

'I'd like to see you do better,' Sirius huffed. 'Especially on your first try.'

'I have an idea,' said James. 'Why don't you let Remus see to the food and keep well out of it?'

'You mean like you do?' asked Sirius. 'Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to let your host do all the work?'

James rolled his eyes. 'You didn't learn that from your mother, either. I expect she told you that's what house-elves are for.'

Sirius snapped his fingers, a look of sudden epiphany blossoming in his eyes. '_That's_ what house-elves are for!' he gasped. Then he grimaced and let his tongue loll out. 'It isn't every day you have a chance to fix your own lunch,' he said earnestly. 'I intend to enjoy it as long as I can. If you're too afraid of failure to even try, don't let me talk you into sharing the experience.'

'I'm not afraid of failure,' James said haughtily. 'Failure is not in a Potter's vocabulary. I just don't see what there is to be accomplished by mucking about in Mrs Lupin's kitchen and wasting ingredients.'

'Who's wasting?' Sirius protested, reaching for another scone and contorting his mouth so that he could gnaw upon it with his side molars. 'They're delicious. Food always tastes best when you make it yourself.'

'It's not the taste that worries me,' James said dryly, whacking his own against the table several times before a small piece finally broke off and rolled towards the pitcher of ice water.

'Just for that remark,' said Sirius primly; '_you_ may do all the washing-up by yourself.'

James shot him a very dirty look.

'Oh, no, that's all right,' Remus demurred. 'I'm more than happy to—'

'Silence, Lupin!' Sirius commanded. 'It'll do him good: teach him humility.'

'If the dozens of detentions you two have been in haven't taught him humility, I don't think that washing three bowls and a baking sheet is going to accomplish much,' Remus remarked quietly, turning back to the last few spoonfuls of his soup.

There was an awful moment of silence during which he was left to wonder which of his friends he had insulted more by his saucy comment. Then Sirius threw back his head and roared with laughter, while James chuckled until his breathing started to hitch. Both of them reached to slap him on the back at the same moment. He bolted forward a little with the force, but he found himself grinning.

'Right, then,' said Sirius, pushing back his chair and stretching contentedly. 'To work with you, Potter. Remus and I will be out in the garden.'

'Doing what?' James asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

'Weeding the vegetable patch, of course,' Sirius said blithely.

James planted his hands on his hips and frowned. 'Why is it that when we're sent to weed Hagrid's pumpkins it's a dismal chore, but when it's at Remus's house it's fun?' he demanded.

Sirius smiled smugly. 'Hagrid doesn't grow parsnips,' he said, as though this ought to explain everything. As he tugged Remus towards the back door he confided; 'Parsnips are a very sensitive vegetable. They require a lot of care and attention to reach their full potential, you know.'

Remus followed him, having little choice in the matter. He hoped that James would not break any of Mother's dishes.

_discidium_

That evening Remus and his father fixed supper, which despite Sirius's eager assistance turned out rather well. Even James fell in, paring potatoes with less than spectacular skill and helping to set the table. When the meal was finished and the remains cleared away, the four of them moved into the sitting room. Sirius had rescued the crossword from James's copy of _The Daily Prophet_, and he presented it proudly to Mr Lupin. He then proceeded to perch on the arm of the wizard's chair, looking over his shoulder and offering suggestions.

James, of course, found this exceedingly boring and quickly challenged Remus to a game of chess which turned into a series of five games, only one of which even came near to stalemate. Finally James threw up his hands in defeat, shaking his head. 'You've been practicing!' he accused. 'You've been playing that chess-champion mother of yours again, haven't you?'

Remus shook his head. Mother had not had time for games since he had been home. 'Professor Meyrigg and I had a few games while she was in the hospital wing, remember?'

James frowned at him. 'It's not fair,' he said ruefully.

'Stop picking on the simpleton and help us here, Remus,' Sirius called from the other side of the room. 'We're stuck on twenty-nine Across. The clue is _five on a die_ and it's got an "X" on the end and an "N" as the fourth letter. Eight in total.'

'_Five on a die_?' Remus got to his feet and padded over to look at the newspaper. Every word was indeed filled in except for the one in question. He shook his head. 'I'm afraid I don't know,' he confessed after a long stare.

'_Quincunx_,' said James, shifting to lie on his stomach with his chin on his fists.

'No need to be rude,' Sirius said, wrinkling his nose.

James snorted. 'No, it's the word you want,' he said. '_Quincunx_. An arrangement of five objects in the same plane, with four forming the corners of a square and the fifth in the middle. Like the five on a standard die.'

Father moved his quill, nodding with satisfaction. 'He's right,' he said. '_Quincunx_.'

Now James was smirking. 'Simpleton, am I?' he asked.

Sirius's eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Where'd you learn that?' he challenged.

James opened his mouth in the particular way that usually meant he was about to spin an elaborate yarn. Then he closed it and shrugged. 'It's a novice mistake in Quidditch,' he said. 'Three Chasers in a line with a beater on either side of the centre player. Common gaff for beginners because they forget the game's played in three dimensions..'

'Well, there you go, then,' said Sirius. 'You're still a simpleton, just one with a single area of almost freakish expertise.'

Remus laughed quietly, startling his father. The wizard had been looking from one dark-haired boy to the other in startled dismay, clearly concerned – as Remus often had in the early days – that their playful ribbing had crossed the line into ugly insults. He relaxed visibly at Remus's reaction, and Sirius hopped off the arm of his chair, dusting his hands in satisfaction.

After that the three boys went upstairs. Sirius and James stayed in the corridor while Remus hurriedly changed into his nightshirt. Then they came in, shucking their robes with no thought for modesty and laughing all the while. The three of them piled into the lavatory to brush their teeth, and they were just laying out Sirius's bedding – which did indeed smell very strongly of fresh air and sunshine – when they heard the front door opening.

Sirius was downstairs in a flash. By the time James and Remus caught up to him, he was already helping Mother off with her mackintosh.

'How was your day? Was it as busy as you expected? Did you give out lots of pensions? Did you sell a lot of stamps?' he asked, the questions firing off rapidly, one after the other.

'My day was lovely, and every bit as busy as I expected,' said Mother, smiling delightedly as she slipped her arms out of the sleeves and went for her hatpin unencumbered by the coat. Sirius shook it once, sharply, and smoothed it over its hook. 'I gave out hundreds of pensions, and I sold about the usual number of stamps. I also did a large quantity of ledger work, and helped a charming old lady who was posting a package to Perth.'

'Where's that, then?' asked Sirius.

'Australia,' James said, rolling his eyes. 'Don't you know anything?'

'I suppose they have a Quidditch team, don't they?' said Sirius archly. He turned immediately back to Mrs Lupin. 'Why do you stay so late if the Post Office closes at nine on a Thursday? Is there other work to do? Do the old Muggles make a mess of the place or something?'

'Gracious, no!' Mother laughed. 'No, they're very tidy and considerate as a rule. I stay late to help with the books and to be sure the wickets are neat and ready for opening tomorrow. It always takes longer on Thursdays because we haven't enough time to do as much of it during the day.'

She was out of her shoes now, and bent to pull on her slippers, but Sirius beat her to it. Dropping to one knee he held first one and then the other while she stepped into them. 'Thank you, dear,' said Mother earnestly, and Sirius beamed as though he had just been given the Order of Merlin.

They moved into the sitting room, Sirius dancing attendance upon Remus's mother while the other two boys followed behind. Mother crossed the room and kissed her husband.

'How was your day, love?' she asked softly. Father gave her a long, dogged look that made her smile fade for a moment. She sighed almost inaudibly and pressed her hand to his jaw. 'Never mind,' she said. 'Better luck tomorrow.'

Father bit back an acerbic remark, but Sirius was talking again. 'We did the crossword together,' he said. 'Your husband's got a knack for it, you know. We would've managed the whole thing by ourselves if Potter here hadn't decided to get smart about quincunxes.'

'You were asking Remus for help,' James argued cheerfully.

'That's quite another matter,' Sirius said, turning his nose in the air in the manner that always reminded Remus of Narcissa. 'When Remus assists with a problem he does it without putting on airs.'

'Yes, he's very good at that,' Mother agreed, moving towards her rocking chair and sitting down with a tiny, blissful smile of relief. 'Now, perhaps one of you can explain what exactly a quincunx might be.'

It was after eleven o'clock when the conversation began to wind down again. All the while a question had been burning behind Sirius's eyes, but he did not work up the nerve to ask it until the three boys were on their feet and preparing to go up to bed.

'I imagine that what with being so busy on a Thursday the Muggle Post is quite quiet on a Friday, isn't it?' he asked.

'Some weeks, certainly,' said Mother. 'And it's never as busy as on a Thursday.'

'Hmm.' Sirius did an admirable job of looking pensive, but Remus knew the next question had been on his mind for hours – if not days. 'Then suppose three young wizards wanted to drop by and see how everything was done there… Friday might be an opportune day for it?'

'It might.' Mother's smile was knowing now. She waited for Sirius to make the next move.

'So then can we come to see you at work tomorrow?' he blurted out, the finesse of his approach abandoned in his eagerness. 'Will you show us how to post a letter? May I see the thing that goes _ping_? Will there be Muggle money to change?'

'I'm sure you'll have a chance to see all of that,' said Mother. 'Though I think you ought to go and get a good night's sleep first.'

'Yes, yes, absolutely!' Sirius said. He grabbed James with one hand and Remus with the other and herded them towards the door. 'Goodnight! Goodnight and thank you!'

He fairly tore up the stairs, dragging his friends behind him. Once back in Remus's bedroom he flung himself onto the floor and rolled up into the velvet sleeping bag. 'Sleep well! No talking!' he commanded. 'Potter, get the light!'

Although silence reigned in the room after that, Remus could hear Sirius's excited breathing coming up from below, and he knew that it would take him hours to settle down enough to sleep.

_discidium_

The following morning, Mother gave the boys instructions and a hand-drawn map to the Muggle Post Office. They were to come by at eleven o'clock, she said, and then she would have a chance to show them around before they could all have lunch together. She had made sandwiches and an assortment of other cold foods, and she put out the big wicker picnic basket for Remus to pack when the time came. She had to be at work for nine o'clock, and so she said her quick goodbyes and departed on foot as usual.

James, who seemed content to leave the arrangements to his friends, had been perusing the sporting results in his newspaper. He set it down to help himself to another piece of toast, and Sirius snatched it.

'Hey!' James protested. 'I haven't finished reading it yet!'

'I'm taking the crossword,' Sirius said stoutly. 'You never even look at it, and Mr Lupin and I are going to do it after supper. Aren't we, sir?'

'That would be pleasant,' Father said, startled out of staring into the depths of his tea. He managed a wavering smile before his face settled into its usual grim lines. 'Now, boys, I want you to be careful today,' he said.

'I won't break a thing, I promise,' Sirius said, raising one hand in oath. 'Nor will I muddy the floors, nor leave sticky marks on the windowpanes.'

'Thank you for that assurance,' said the wizard; 'but that is not what I meant. You are all old enough to understand the important of the Statue of Secrecy, and the penalties for violating it. Mrs Lupin is treading a very fine line by holding down a Muggle job, and we all have to be careful not to let anything slip. That means you are going to have to watch how you behave and what you say. You must not speak about owls, you must not talk about the ways in which the Muggle Post is different from ours. You mustn't mention anything to do with magic at all. And although I know it will be difficult, Sirius, you must try to curb your enthusiasm a little.'

'Aren't Muggle lads enthusiastic, then?' asked Sirius.

'Not about post offices, no,' said Father.

'Well, perhaps I want to be a postman when I grow up,' Sirius declared. 'I'd be plenty excited then, wouldn't I?'

Father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

'Don't worry, sir,' said James sympathetically. 'Remus and I will keep him in line.'

'Thank you,' said the wizard. He looked from one boy to the next in turn. 'There's one other thing,' he said. 'You must not do anything that might upset the postmaster or cause Mrs Lupin trouble at work, do you understand? You all have to be on your very best behaviour. Remus?' He fixed his son with a very grave eye. 'You understand how important that is, don't you?'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said, nodding vigorously. 'Yes, I understand perfectly.'

'All right.' Father got to his feet, using the edge of the table for leverage. 'Behave yourselves,' he said. 'Please.'

'Absolutely,' Sirius pledged. 'And good luck to you, sir!'

'Thank you,' said Father. He moved to collect his wand.

'Oh, wait!' Sirius snatched _The Daily Prophet _back from James, who had just picked it up again. He rifled through and took one of the broadsheets, folding it half and then in half again. 'Best take this: it's the _Situations Available_ section.'

'Hey…' James began. Sirius patted him condescendingly on the head.

'The greater need, Potter,' he said. He crossed the kitchen and put the paper in Mr Lupin's hand, grinning. 'You never know: might be the perfect job in there today!'

With a visible effort Father thanked him, and then hastened out into the garden. The noise of Disappartion followed almost at once.

'Right, then!' Sirius said, rubbing his hands together gleefully and climbing back over his chair. 'Eat up, men: we have places to be!'

_discidium_

They left the house a little after ten. James insisted that Sirius carry the picnic basket. When Remus protested the bespectacled boy just winked and remarked that it would slow him down a little. He had a point: Sirius was brimming with eager energy, and it would be better for everyone if he managed to work off a little of it before they reached the Post Office. Unfortunately the walk was chiefly downhill, and the tidy rows of shops on Killgrew Street were almost more than Sirius could comprehend. Every other step he was exclaiming over something, from the mannequins in a dressmaker's window to the row of television sets all turned to the same channel to the shockingly short skirt of a young woman walking by. When they came to the roundabout it was all that James and Remus could do to keep him from stepping out into the traffic just to see what the drivers would do.

The Post Office where Mother worked was on a corner of a street almost too narrow for cars to pass one another. It was an old stone building with big double doors. Sirius thrust the basket into James's arms and hurried to open them. They entered together, stepping out onto the clean tile floor. Remus looked around with interest. It had been years since he had last been here, and he had been too small to take much of an interest at the time.

The front area was very open, with red rope barriers marking out the places where people were meant to queue. There were wooden chairs with straight backs and simply carved armrests by the windows, presumably for patrons to use. A long countertop stood in the middle of the room, just before the start of the queue. It was equipped with notepads and pencils and biros fixed in place by chains to prevent people from carrying them off by mistake. There were two large books on the counter as well: one was a Cornwall telephone directory and the other an index of postcodes. There were three wood-framed booths against one wall, each housing a pay telephone.

The queue ended at the wicket counter, which housed five windows. Only three were in operation at present, and Mother was standing behind one of them. She spoke to the gentleman she was assisting, pointing to something on the form before him. Then she looked up, seeing the boys. She smiled at Remus, who returned it timidly and wriggled the fingers of his right hand in greeting.

'Would you look at that!' Sirius whispered, staring in awe at the book of postcodes. 'It's bigger than some in the Restricted Section.'

'It's a book,' James said, clearly unimpressed. He moved towards a notice board on the wall opposite the telephones and began to study the papers pinned to it.

'And the quills!' Sirius exclaimed. At Remus's desperate glance he corrected himself. 'I mean _biro_ quills.'

'Pens,' said Remus.

Sirius looked around in a circumspect manor that usually meant he was contemplating mischief. 'Think anybody would mind if I wrote my name?' he asked, eyeing one of the notepads enviously.

Remus smiled. 'I'm sure no one would mind,' he said.

Sirius was occupied for the next five minutes with the Muggle pen, first scrawling his name and then writing it out with care, then drawing a rather alarming face and a tree and something clearly intended to be a motorcycle. He observed his hand from every possible angle while he worked, even lowering his nose almost to the countertop so that he could see the little metal ball roll as it released the ink.

'Magnificent!' he pronounced at last, tearing his masterpiece off of the pad and folding it with care before slipping it into the pocket of his trousers. He looked around eagerly. 'Let's go and stand in the queue!'

_discidium_

'It's just a queue,' James said five minutes later, when the budged up for the third time.

'It's not just a queue,' said Sirius. 'It's a Mu—it's a Post Office queue. They're infinitely more interesting than the regular sort.' He grabbed the thick rope of the barrier and swung it so that the clips on either end tinkled against their metal stands. 'Isn't it funny to think that some people do this sort of thing _every day_?'

The elderly lady behind Remus was listening to them, and she was beginning to look perplexed. He turned around. 'Would you like to go ahead of us, madam?' he asked politely. 'We aren't in any hurry.'

'Why, thank you, dear,' she said, instantly benevolent. She shuffled past, clutching her shopping bag in one hand and petting Remus's cheek with the other. 'You're good boys to stand aside for an old-age pensioner.'

Sirius's whole body perked up. 'Are you here to get your pension?' he asked. 'I thought pension day was Thursday!'

'I couldn't come down yesterday,' the lady said. 'I don't like to go out in the rain if I can help it, and I didn't feel the need to hurry. Dorothy knows not to expect me when the weather's foul: she'll have everything ready by the time I get to the window. Such a good girl, Dorothy is.'

Remus realized with a burst of pride that the woman was talking about his mother, and he held his head a little higher. The man she had been helping shuffled off, and the elderly woman approached the counter. Sirius leaned forward to listen.

'Good morning, Mrs Pascoe!' Mother said, smiling radiantly. 'Much better weather today, isn't it?'

She was speaking more loudly than usual, doubtless out of deference to the old lady's hearing. The woman nodded. 'Much better,' she said. 'I'm here for my pension, dear, and I'd like a book of stamps while you're about it.'

'Certainly, Mrs Pascoe,' said Mother. She reached beneath the counter and brought out a ledger book. 'Now, how's little Penny?'

'Brave an' beautiful,' the old lady said. 'Do you know, she called Agnes "mam" on Sunday? Clear as you like: "mam"! And she's only six months old!'

They went on talking, but the woman at the next wicket finished with her customer and beckoned to Sirius. 'I can help you over here,' she said.

It was too late to do anything: Sirius closed the distance between himself and the window in two long strides. 'Good morning!' he said eagerly. 'Are you the postmistress?'

'I'm one of them, yes,' the lady said. She was perhaps ten years younger than Mother, and she wore her hair long and very straight. Her front teeth were crooked, lending a peculiar charm to her smile. 'How can I help you today, then?'

Sirius's chest puffed out. 'I would like to post a letter,' he announced with the robust air of an amateur actor delivering his very first line on stage.

'Certainly,' said the lady. 'Where is it going?'

'To London,' Sirius said, almost without hesitation.

'Very well, then. Will you be sending it First or Second Class?'

Sirius's eyes widened. 'What's First Class?' he asked breathlessly.

'It means it will get there tomorrow,' the lady said. 'Three and a half pence.'

'And Second Class?'

'Within three days, excepting Sunday,' she said. 'Second Class is three pence.'

'Excellent!' said Sirius, digging out his Muggle pocketbook. 'I'll send it First Class, then.'

'Certainly. Would you like me to post it for you?' The woman opened a folder full of stamps and carefully tore one away from its fellows.

Sirius's face fell. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm wasting your time: I haven't got a letter for you to post.'

'Forgot it at home, did you?' the lady said sympathetically. 'It's quite all right: just put the stamp on when you get home and drop it in any letterbox.'

'Really?' Sirius asked, perking up immediately. 'I can do that? I can buy a stamp even if I haven't got a letter?'

'Yes, of course,' the woman said, laughing a little. 'That's what stamps are for!'

'Oh!' exclaimed Sirius. 'Oh, well, in that case I'll take twenty of each!' He opened his pocketbook and looked at the assembled notes. 'Let's see now, twenty at three pence and twenty at three and a half makes… four pounds fourteen pence?'

'One pound thirty pence,' Remus corrected quietly. He decided that he really ought to make a greater effort to help Sirius understand that there were a good deal more pence in a pound than there were Knuts in a Sickle.

'That's right,' the Muggle lady said. She folded off a rectangle of four stamps by five and tore the perforations with a practiced hand. Then she opened another folder and did the same. 'Twenty First Class, twenty Second,' she said.

Sirius pulled off a one-pound note and rummaged through his coins until he found the correct change. He handed it over proudly and picked up his stamps with the care usually reserved for great works of art. Forty tiny images of Queen Elizabeth in profile stared back at him.

'They're all the same,' James said, rather disappointed. In fact half of the images were rendered in blue and the others in grey, but otherwise they were indeed virtually identical.

'Oh, well, I have the European Communities stamps if you'd rather,' the young woman said, reaching for another folder. She took out a sheet of stamps emblazoned with a picture of a jigsaw puzzle, one piece of which bore the Union Jack.

'I'll take some of those as well!' Sirius said eagerly. 'And do you use different stamps for posting letters outside the country?'

By the time he was finished Sirius had spent nearly six pounds on stamps, and he was struggling to hold them all. Suddenly a third hand appeared at the wicket, holding out an envelope.

'Put them in here, Sirius, so that they don't get lost or damp,' said Mother.

Sirius looked up, grinning enormously. 'Do you have any idea how many different sorts there are?' he asked eagerly. 'There's one in there with a great fat cricket player on it!'

'Yes,' Mother said with a little laugh. 'Beth, this is my son and his friends: they've come to have a look 'round.'

'_This _is your son?' said Beth, evidently impressed. 'He's going to be a heartbreaker in a year or two, you know.'

'No, I'm Sirius,' said Sirius, planting crossed arms on the countertop. He twitched his head towards his shoulder. 'Remus is her son, and that's James. Delighted to make your acquaintance.'

'Come around to the side,' Mother said, motioning towards a swinging door at half-height. 'I'll give you a quick tour and then we can have our lunch.'

She took them behind to show them the other side of the wickets. Sirius was remarkably well-behaved, though he did insist on being allowed to try the rubber date stamp and the postmark-issuer on the piece of paper in his pocket. Then Mother led the way into the sorting room, where a couple of men were perched on stools and sharing a cigarette. They were only too happy to oblige Dorothy, it seemed, and they let Sirius shift a bin along the belt of rollers and gave him a chance to try hefting one of the heavy canvas sacks that postmen used. Mother took them to the back door where the truck came to load and deliver parcels, and then she led them down a narrow hallway to a room with an unmarked door.

'That's the vault,' she said, opening it but staying firmly on the outside of the threshold. 'We keep the pension money in there, and we lock up the stamps at night.'

'Funny sort of vault,' said James. 'Why's it got a handle?'

'Because Muggles don't have goblins to open it, git,' said Sirius.

'Hush!' Remus exclaimed, looking around. There was no one to be seen and he breathed a little easier.

'That's just about all,' Mother said. 'Oh, but I would like to introduce you to Mr Penrice. He's heard a great deal about you, Remus, and I would love him to meet you.'

Of course, there was little enough that Mother could have told her Muggle boss, but all the same Remus felt oddly proud to know that his mother spoke about him at work. It was such an ordinary thing to do: to boast about one's child to one's employer. Yet he was almost certain that in eight years at the Ministry his father had never once done it.

Mother moved down to another door and knocked. A gruff voice from within bade her enter.

'Mr Penrice?' she said, moving into the office. It was a crowded affair with old issues of the postcode guide on a shelf in the corner and two desks crammed quite near one another. At one sat a broad-shouldered man in a rather dingy brown suit, and behind the other was a grey-haired lady with long fingernails, tapping away at a heavy old typewriter. 'Mr Penrice, this is my son Remus and his friends Sirius and James. You said I might show them around today.'

'Quite so, quite so,' the man said, nodding and scratching at his moustache he leaned over the desk and held out his hand. Remus shook it timidly, and then each of his friends did the same. 'Proud to meet you, boys. Remus, is it? You're mother's got nothing but good things to say about you. Work hard in school, do you?'

'Yes, sir,' Remus said politely.

'Good. Good. Do her proud, m'boy! Your mother's a treasure and we're lucky to have her. Aren't we lucky, Miss Carmichael?'

'Yes we are, Mr Penrice,' said the woman at the other desk, not even looking away from her work. 'Very lucky indeed. She reached the end of her line and the click of the keys gave way to the sounding of a little bell.

Instantly Sirius was on the alert. 'May I try it?' he blurted out. 'May I? Just once?'

He scrambled around Miss Carmichael's desk and reached for the typewriter, his fingers dancing in the air over the keys. 'May I try it? May I _please_ try it?' He looked up at his friends with shining eyes, almost beside himself with excitement when he said; 'Didn't I tell you? It's the thing that goes_ ping_!'

Miss Carmichael looked horrified, to say nothing of extremely uncomfortable to have her space invaded by this noisy and clearly very agitated boy. Mother reached tactfully for Sirius's arm, drawing him gently back to the right side of the desk.

'Miss Carmichael is working, Sirius,' she said. 'But we have a typewriter out front that you could try if you like. That would be all right, Mr Penrice, wouldn't it?'

The man's expression made it plain that no favour was too much for a valued employee. He nodded. 'Go right ahead,' he said. 'Charming lads, Mrs Lupin. Charming lads.'

Back behind the wickets Mother settled Sirius down with a clean sheet of paper. Balanced precariously on the edge of a stool, Sirius began to pick out letters with his forefinger, typing faster and faster until he reached the end of the line. The bell sounded and, as if he had been doing this all his life, he pushed the lever to shift the bar back to the home position. He started again, this time using both hands. His two fingers flew, and the little hammers swung up, and each time he reached the end of the line he made a tiny sound of excitement.

The other two women who were working with Mother watched between customers, both charmed and amused by the spectacle. At last Sirius reached the bottom of the page and pulled the sheet from the rollers in triumph. 'There!' he declared, holding it out for James to admire. 'Isn't that something?'

'It's something, all right,' James said, good-natured but nonplussed. 'It's the words to _No, Nay, Never_, written over and over again in small letters with no punctuation, too few spaces, and random incorrect letters scattered wherever you please. Also an arbitrary number nine in the middle of the third chorus.'

'I think I'm going to frame it,' Sirius said, nodding earnestly.

_discidium_

They ate their picnic lunch in a little patch of green space in the next street. It was apparently a popular spot: Muggles from many of the surrounding businesses had come out to do the same, though the three Marauders and Mother had the most elaborate meal. Remus ate quietly, listening while Sirius peppered Mrs Lupin with questions about the GPO in general and her particular Post Office in particular. James piped up now and then with a happily mocking comment, which Sirius of course enjoyed immensely.

When they had eaten it was time for Mother to go back to work. Sirius thanked her profusely, and she might have found it difficult to get away had James not pointed out that they had the rest of the afternoon to look in at the Muggle shops. Sirius's enthusiasm was neatly diverted then. He was, he declared proudly, determined to return to London with no less than three pairs of what he called 'proper Muggle pajamas', which apparently meant anything that had trousers and was not hand-stitched with real pearl buttons. They found what he was looking for in a clothing shop just down the street, and then passed a couple of pleasant hours perusing the other businesses in the area and laughing together over the strange things they found.

When at last they turned towards home, Remus was tired but almost indescribably happy. It had been a remarkable day. Tired legs carried him up the hill towards home, and he was struck by the uncomfortable thought that the walk that was so pleasant on a warm afternoon with his friends to accompany him would be really quite miserable if taken alone, late at night in the rain, after a long day of smiling for strangers at a Post Office wicket.


	98. Together in Cornwall

_Note: Excerpt courtesy of J. Milton Hayes._

_The Missing Moments poll has closed. Thank you to everyone who voted! I'll be posting the chosen Missing Moment on December 1._

**Chapter Ninety-Eight: Together in Cornwall**

'It's raining _again_?' James moaned, stopping to stare out the kitchen window on Saturday morning.

'What's the matter with you?' asked Sirius. 'You've been narky since you got here. It's not raining that hard: we can still go down to the park.'

'I don't want to go to the park, I want to go swimming,' said James; 'and I've been waiting very patiently while you've done everything you wanted, no matter how ridiculous.'

'Ridiculous?' yelped Sirius. 'What have I wanted to do that was the least bit ridiculous?'

'Counting the perforations on each of your stamps?' said James. 'Spending two hours watching the cars in the street to see whether their wheels would come off? Tasting the washing-up liquid?'

'That was a misunderstanding,' Sirius said defensively. 'It smelled of lemons.'

'How have you survived to the age of thirteen?' asked James.

Sirius did not dignify that with comment. He shambled over to the table and planted himself opposite Mr Lupin. 'Where's the lovely lady wife?' he asked.

'Upstairs,' said Father. 'She has the day off and I think perhaps she's having a well-earned lie-in.'

'Oh.' Sirius looked disappointed, but helped himself to a piece of toast and started plastering it with strawberry jam. 'Going out again today?'

Father shook his head. 'Not much point,' he said.

Sirius frowned. 'You've not given up, have you?' he asked. 'I know it can't be easy, looking for work and not finding much, but you've got to keep trying.'

'Do I indeed?' said Father, rather sourly. 'And what would the grandson of Arcturus Black know about looking for work?'

Remus's hand flew to his mouth, horrified by what his father had just said. He waited breathlessly for Sirius to fly off into a rage. James, apparently expecting the same thing, set down his fork very quietly.

Instead, Sirius just cocked his head to one side. 'Not much,' he admitted. 'But as this particular grandson of Arcturus Black was Sorted into Gryffindor, he knows a thing or two about sticking to a thing even when it's not easy.'

The man's pale lips moved spastically for a moment and he lowered his eyes, clearly ashamed of his outburst. 'I shall start again on Monday,' he said heavily. 'Many employers are not at their place of business on a Saturday, and those who are have too much to do without being pestered with unsolicited applicants for their vacancies. I'm liable to do more harm than good in going out today. Besides, my robes need laundering.'

'I'll help!' Sirius offered enthusiastically, dissipating the tension with an eager clap of the hands. 'I've already had a go with the laundry machine.'

'Oh, please, _no_!' moaned James. 'We're supposed to be on holiday: can't we give the household chores a rest? Are you ever going to realize that they aren't fun?'

'All right, then,' said Sirius. 'What do _you_ propose we do, if all my plans are so dreadfully tedious?'

'I don't know,' said James crossly. Father had gone back to his mug of tea, which he was clutching like a rescue buoy in a stormy sea. 'I've already said that I want to go swimming, but if it's just going to be cold and damp and miserable again I suppose I'm going to have to settle for sitting here and watching you dust bookshelves.' He poured himself a glass of milk and took a long, morose quaff. 'We can't even go to see a Quidditch game, because the sodding Falcons got themselves eliminated from the final rounds of the season.'

'We could go to the cinema,' Sirius said, producing a scrap of newsprint from his pocket. 'They're having a Summer Adventure Extravaganza.'

'The cinema,' James echoed, shaking his head.

'It's an experience!' declared Sirius. 'An essential part of Muggle culture! It's one of those things you've got to try at least once in a lifetime.'

'I see. And if we don't try it I suppose your experience of indigenous Muggle life in Cornwall will be tragically incomplete,' said James.

'Oh, no!' said Sirius brightly. 'I've been dozens of times. Uncle Alphard's got a soft spot for the pictures: he's taken me to see _On Her Majesty's Secret Service, Kelly's Heroes, The Man Who Haunted Himself, Blackbeard's Ghost, The Odd Couple…_'

'You and your Uncle Alphard are an odd couple,' James muttered. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'How'd you manage to sneak off to the Muggle pictures dozens of times without your mother finding out?'

'I didn't sneak off: I was with Uncle Alphard,' said Sirius. 'He was considered quite the levelling influence up until everyone found out he was at Drommie's wedding. And it probably wasn't really _dozens_, but quite a few, anyhow!'

'Well, I don't want to spend two hours sitting in a dark, crowded room,' said James. 'If we don't get out and do something interesting, I'm going to go mad…'

The debate continued at the table, but Remus had by this time slipped out of the kitchen. As he ascended the stairs the voices died away to a distant din. He moved quietly to the door to his parents' bedroom, which stood slightly ajar. Cautiously he peered around it. It was not like his mother to sleep late, but if she was trying to he did not want to disturb her.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing her dressing gown and brushing her hair with a look of deep thought upon her face. After a moment she seemed to sense his presence, for she turned towards the door and smiled.

'Good morning, love,' she said. 'Come in. Are your friends having breakfast?'

He nodded. 'Father made toast and eggs,' he said.

'Good.' Mother studied his face for a minute, quietly bemused. 'What is it, Remus?' she asked.

'James is bored,' Remus said. 'We've been doing everything that Sirius wanted and he's been having a wonderful time, but James is getting tired of it. I know you always said that a host has to do whatever he can to make sure his guests are happy, and I wondered what I should do in this particular case.'

'Well, what would James enjoy?' Mother asked. She set the brush down on her knee and began to deftly plait her soft brown tresses.

'He wants to go swimming,' Remus said.

'Oh, dear, I hadn't thought of that!' Mother said inexplicably. 'I meant to see to it back in May, because I knew you'd want to…'

Remus did not stop to wonder what she meant. 'Of course it's too cold today,' he went on. 'And he can't play Quidditch in town – he didn't bring his broomstick in any case – and the Falmouth Falcons are out of the running for the British Cup so he can't even go to see a game. He likes to do daring, sporty things, but there just isn't much of that sort of thing to do around here. I suppose I could take him down to the park to jump off the swings again, but I think he might be starting to outgrow that.'

'Hmm,' said Mother. 'Well, if you think there's something else he might enjoy I'm free to take the three of you somewhere today. Perhaps we could go up to Pendennis Castle: they enjoyed that last year, didn't they?'

'Yes,' said Remus; 'but it's Saturday and the ghosts won't be out.'

'There's always…' Mother stopped, looking thoughtful.

'Yes?' asked Remus anxiously. He was desperate for ideas, and he knew that his mother would think of something perfect. Instead she shook her head.

'It will come to you,' she said. 'When it does I'll take you wherever you like.'

'But if you've an idea—' Remus began.

Mother smiled. 'I think it would help your confidence if you decided on something yourself,' she said. 'You're growing up now, and part of that is making decisions like this. Why don't you go and have a good breakfast while you think about it?'

Remus was not at all sure that her faith in him was justified, but he was not in the habit of arguing with his mother. He went back to join Sirius and James, who were now laughing over _The Daily Prophet_, their quarrel forgotten. He ate quietly, puzzling over the question of how to keep James entertained. Mother came down presently, and he noticed with some surprise that she was wearing her heavy brown dungarees instead of a frock. She only ever wore those when they went rambling, which they did not do very often. The last time had been the spring before he went to Hogwarts: after an uncommonly mild transformation in May he had been strong enough by the new moon for a bit of an adventure. They had driven out to St. Ives and walked down to the cliffs past Carn Naun Point. He remembered vividly the roar of the sea and the thrill of clambering up over boulders and stone pathways hundreds of years old. By the end of the day he had been too exhausted to walk back to the car park, and Father had carried him on his back despite the fact that he was eleven years old.

'Mother,' he said as he swallowed the last forkful of egg. 'How far would you be willing to take us?'

'Take us for what?' James asked eagerly.

'Take us in the Morris Minor?' said Sirius with a hopeful grin.

'How far would you like to go?' asked Mother, smiling at Remus.

He flushed a little. 'St Ives?' he murmured.

'What's in St. Ives?' said James.

'Can you get there by road?' asked Sirius.

'St Ives sounds perfectly reasonable to me,' said Mother.

_discidium_

Making ready for the outing was something of an undertaking. Although James, as he had been last year, had been equipped for anything and everything by his family's well-meaning house-elf, Sirius had nothing suitable for a ramble in the rain. Eventually he was suited up in his warmest trousers, a flannel shirt borrowed from James, woollen socks from Remus's drawer, and Father's Muggle cagoule. His school shoes were sturdy enough for walking, and Mother found a spare knitted hat in the chest of winter things. The three boys piled happily into the little brown automobile while Mother exchanged a few private words with her husband on the front steps. Finally she slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and released the brake.

The drive to St Ives took nearly an hour, winding over hilly moorland before turning away to the southwest. Sirius spent the entire journey exclaiming happily over the sights they passed, from a large green tractor trundling along to the whirlwind glimpses of Redruth as they passed through the town. Remus felt rather guilty, for it was a long way to travel just for an afternoon's glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean, but Mother appeared to be enjoying herself, and James was clearly eager to try his hand at cliff-climbing.

His qualms dissipated after they got out past the limits of St Ives and found a place to park. Mother fetched the satchel with their lunch from the boot, and James and Sirius took off at a run. Laughing, she sprinted after them, calling to Remus to hurry or he'd be left behind. Out in the wind and the fresh air she looked ten years younger, and she kept pace with the two athletic boys very well. Indeed, she outstripped them on the descent to Carn Naun and clambered up onto an enormous granite stone to wait for them.

They ate among the rocks on the beach, staring out over the broad expanse of the sea. It made Remus feel very small indeed, sitting here amid the greatness of nature. Neither Sirius nor James seemed in the mood to be contemplative, however, and he soon found himself cajoled into a climbing contest. They scrambled up amid the rocks, each struggling to get a little further along than the others. Sirius was the first to slip, when he planted his foot on a loose stone and tumbled back several yards, laughing uproariously. James was an abler climber, but Remus was quick. He was only outdone when the route he had chosen took a sudden sharp incline beyond what he could safely traverse.

James came skidding down from his hard-won height, shouting eagerly and crying out a fresh challenge. The other two hurried after him, and so the day went on. The slow drizzle of the rain let up around three o'clock, and though the clouds remained low it began to grow quite warm. James and Sirius stripped off their jackets, and then their shoes and socks and finally their shirts, and went charging up and down the coast, splashing one another in the surf. Remus watched them wistfully: two perfect specimens of healthy youth. Try as he might, he could not help but feel just a little envious of his friends.

'Why don't you go after them?' Mother asked, coming to sit beside him on the broad, flat rock.

Remus shook his head. 'I'd never be able to keep pace, and besides, it's still too cold to be doing that.'

Mother hugged him briefly. 'That's my sensible boy,' she said, squinting out over the water. 'Do you know, the first time I came up here with your father I thought I might catch a glimpse of home? It's silly, of course: we're far too much to the south, and in any case it isn't possible to see across to Ireland.'

'Do you ever get homesick?' Remus asked, turning his waist so that he could look at her. Gentle brown eyes slipped away from the sea and focused on his face.

'No,' said Mother. 'I'm home now.'

James and Sirius came back, shaking water from their arms and trying to keep the sand from clinging in sticky clumps to their feet. Both were red-faced from exertion, and their lips were beginning to turn blue, but they were wearing twin grins of delight. Remus hastened to help them gather up their scattered garments, and soon the small band of adventurers was trekking back up onto the hilly lands. When they finally reached the place where Mother had parked, James flopped into the back seat of the Morris Minor, exhaling blissfully.

'Brilliant idea, mate,' he said to Remus. 'Nearly as good as a proper swim. Brilliant.'

Mother glanced at her son through the rear mirror, and she winked.

They stopped at a chippie in St Ives for fried cod wrapped in newspaper and paper cups full of steaming tea. Then Mother announced that they would have to refill on petrol before starting home. This sent Sirius into raptures of delight, and Remus and James spent a bemused fifteen minutes watching from the safety of the vehicle while Mrs Lupin showed her young charge how to work a petrol pump. By the time they were back on the motorway James was dozing with his head against the window, and Remus's legs were beginning to ache in a very satisfying way.

Sirius did not appear to be the least bit tired: he regaled them with several boisterous songs as they drove, and when he began to run short Mother launched into some of her favourite narrative poems. '_The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God_' was a particular success, and Sirius begged her to repeat it over and over. His favourite line, naturally enough, was: '_For all his foolish pranks he was worshipped in the ranks'_, which he recited at least half a dozen times as though savouring the flavour of the words.

The sun was setting over Falmouth as they drew near to home: the clouds to the west were lifting, and the crimson glow rent through their tatters and stained the harbour. It was a very beautiful sight indeed. Remus roused himself out of his sleepy stupor and gently woke James for the short journey from the car to the house. While Sirius related every detail of his day to Mr Lupin, Remus took his other friend upstairs and helped him to find the necessities for a hot bath.

With James taken care of Remus went back down to the living room, only to discover that Sirius had been raiding his school trunk. He had retrieved his Chocolate Frogs box full of photographs and letters and was curled up on the sofa next to Mother, proudly showing off the snaps of his infant cousin.

'They've called her _Nymphadora_,' he said ruefully. 'Odds on it was Drommie's idea. She's always been a bit of a strange one. But just look at her little hands! Isn't she the most beautiful baby you've ever seen?'

'She's certainly among them,' Mother said. She frowned ever so slightly and drew the photograph nearer to her nose, peering at the image in puzzlement. 'What an extraordinary colour her eyes are,' she said. 'They look almost… orange.'

'I think that's because of the stuffed Erumpent,' Sirius said, pointing. 'See, she's looking at it, and she's obviously liking it, so I'll bet she's made her eyes orange. She's a Metamorphassessor – I mean a Metamorphalogic… Metamorpha…'

'Metamorphmagus,' said Remus. Sirius favoured him with a grateful smile and Mother with a look of pleasant helplessness. 'She can change her hair and eye colour, and the shape of her face and things. There's a very sweet one in there where her nose keeps shifting.'

'Right!' cried Sirius, shuffling through the sheaf until he found it. 'See? At first we all thought she'd been hexed by Bellatrix – that's Andromeda's older sister; she's not very pleasant – and even after Tonks and Drommie took her up to St Mungo's they couldn't work it out right away. Seems it's very rare. There've only been… how many in Britain, Remus?'

'Five in the last century, though apparently it's more common in other parts of the world.' Remus sat down on the other side of his mother, leaning in to look at the picture with the toy Erumpent. It was of the last batch that Sirius had received before leaving school. At nearly two months, little Nymphadora was holding her own head up while Andromeda supported her body in a sitting position with one hand and held the stuffed creature with the other. She was waggling it while the baby watched, eyes wide with wonder and indeed decidedly orange in colour. She flapped one tiny arm in excitement and Andromeda laughed.

'This man your cousin married,' Father said, looking up from James's copy of the_ Prophet_ with a pensive expression on his face. 'What did you say his name was?'

'Tonks,' said Sirius. 'Ted Tonks. He was Hufflepuff's star Beater in our first year. Bit of a charmer, from what I gather.'

'Tonks… he's not wizard-born, then?' said the man. 'What does your family think about that?'

'Blasted Drommie off the family tree, didn't they?' Sirius muttered, scowling. A sudden grin split his face. 'She got the best of 'em, though! Wrangled twenty thousand Galleons out of her parents and another five out of mine before she ran off. Uncle Cygnus is still spitting nails over that one.'

'I imagine it's so much the worse now that there's a child,' observed Father. 'I'm surprised you're allowed to have contact with her at all.'

'Oh, I'm not,' said Sirius cheerfully. 'That was made pretty clear after the elopement. We're careful: I never send Hermes with her letters, and they're put through a sorting centre by the Owl Post. I don't even know where she lives; what I don't know can't be forced out of me, you see.'

For a moment Father was silent, watching Sirius as though seeing him for the first time. 'Then you're defying your parents to keep contact with your cousin,' he said softly.

'Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes. Definitely,' said Sirius. He chuckled softly. 'I'd hate to think what Mum would do if she found out. But Drommie's a good egg, and it's hard for her to be cut off from everybody. I know she misses Cissy, though I can't think why, and Granddad still asks for her. She was always 'specially good with him.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'And now she's just got me and Alphard. And Tonks and the baby, of course. I don't think she's got much to do with her Muggle in-laws.'

'No,' said Father hoarsely; 'no, I don't suppose she would.' He was still staring at Sirius, who had turned his attention back to the photographs.

'Here's one just before Drommie had the baby!' he said, passing it to Remus's mother. 'Doesn't she look exactly like a pumpkin?'

_discidium_

Peter arrived on Sunday afternoon, just as Mother was putting the chicken into the oven for supper. He was greeted enthusiastically by his friends, who then took him down to the playground so that he could be initiated into the Order of Marauders Who Jump Off of Swings. Supper that night was sumptuous: the roast chicken with stuffing and potatoes and the first of the year's parsnips roasted just for Sirius. Mother made her apple amber pie for dessert, which delighted Peter to no end. The boys spent the evening playing Gobstones on the sitting room floor and filling Peter in on their adventures.

When it was time for bed it became evident that there was a problem. Remus's little bedroom had just enough floor space to sleep two: one lying parallel to the bed and the other stretched along its foot from the wardrobe to the wall. There was no way at all that they could fit another person. They tried it with the door open, and they tried it with the door closed, but they just could not work out how to make Peter's sleeping bag fit.

'I suppose I could sleep in the corridor,' Peter said, struggling to hide his disappointment.

'No, Peter, we'll work something out,' said James. He was studying the space with a critical eye. 'P'raps your mum has some idea, Remus.'

Remus was worried that if he went to his mother for help she would propose that the boys take the master bedroom, which of course would leave her and his father to make do in here. He shook his head. 'We ought to try to solve it ourselves,' he said. 'That's an important part of growing up.'

'Growing up?' scoffed Sirius. 'Why would you want to go and do a thing like that?' He kicked at his velvet sleeping bag and frowned. 'There's nothing for it, Pettigrew. Somebody's going to have to sleep standing up in the wardrobe.'

'We could fit two on the bed,' Remus said quietly. 'If somebody doesn't mind sharing. Two on the bed and two on the floor: then we could all be in here.'

'It's an awfully small bed,' James said sceptically.

'I don't mind sleeping on the floor,' Peter put in hurriedly.

'It's a capital idea!' Sirius declared. He scooped up his bedding and flung it on top of Remus's quilt. 'There you are, Peter! It's all yours.' He winked. 'I'm beginning to get a backache anyhow.'

Remus could not quite express how grateful he was to Sirius for accepting the proposal so that he did not sound like a fool. He helped Peter lay out his bedding, and had just climbed up onto the bed next to Sirius when his mother knocked on the door, coming in with biscuits and mugs of chocolate.

'My, it's cosy in here,' she said, passing the refreshments around. 'Are you all going to be comfortable?'

'Quite,' said Sirius, who was already in his sleeping bag with his back pressed against the wall. His pillow was crammed next to Remus's. 'Listen, I was going to ask: if it's raining tomorrow I thought I'd take this lot down to the pictures in the afternoon, my treat of course. Would that be all right? We'd walk.'

'Yes, of course that would be all right,' said Mother. She smiled at James. 'And the first sunny day we have Mr Lupin is going to stay home and take you all down to the beach.'

'Brill!' said James happily, taking a swing of his cocoa. 'Ten Galleons says its sunny tomorrow, Black.'

'Not a chance,' Sirius chuckled. 'It's the cinema for you, Potter!'

'What's the cinema, again?' asked Peter.

'It's an experience,' James said laboriously. 'A crucial piece of Muggle culture. According to Sirius Black.'

'It's _fun_, James,' wheedled Sirius. 'You'll like it: I promise.'

'Ten Galleons,' warned James.

_discidium_

'Don't you two look _sweet_!'

James's jibing voice woke Remus from a pleasant slumber. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked to bring his friend's face into focus. James was hovering over him, grinning tremendously. Remus tried to roll onto his back but discovered that he could not: something large, warm and breathing was pressing close against him. He twisted his head and realized that it was Sirius, curled in towards him with his dark head resting on Remus's shoulder. He was still asleep, one arm curled up so that his hand rested against his face. His sleeping bag was tangled around his legs and he was taking up a good deal more than half of the bed.

'Good morning,' said Remus, trying ineffectually to slip out from under his friend. 'Sirius?' he whispered. 'Sirius…'

'Black! Wake up!' James shouted.

Sirius roused himself with a tremendous snort, bucking back away from Remus and looking around in wild confusion until he realized where he was. He flopped back against the mattress, scrubbing at his eyes. 'What's the hurry?' he asked blearily.

'No hurry,' said James. 'I just thought I'd be sure you knew how adorable the pair of you looked.'

Sirius scowled. 'I am not adorable.' He glared at Peter, who was watching in amusement from the foot of the bed. 'I am _not_ adorable.'

Peter gestured helplessly. 'You were a little bit adorable,' he said. 'You certainly looked very comfortable.'

'Cosy's the word,' said James. 'Like puppies in a basket.'

'If you're going to poke fun then you and Peter can share tomorrow night,' said Sirius. He managed to get himself out of the sleeping bag and he straightened the front of his new pyjama shirt. He patted Remus on the shoulder and grinned. 'Don't mind them, mate. They're only jealous because they had to sleep on the floor.'

James made a rude noise and bent out of sight. He reappeared with a fistful of gold coins, which he flung unceremoniously at Sirius. 'You win,' he said gloomily. 'It's raining again.'

'Capital!' Sirius nodded in tremendous satisfaction. 'The ocean will still be there tomorrow, Potter.'

Despite losing the wager James was in a good mood that morning, for Peter was there to hang on his every word. The smaller boy was delighted by stories of recent goings-on, and when those ran short he started asking questions about James's plans for their visit to his home in August. He laughed at his jokes and agreed with his opinions on the morning's newspaper, and generally smoothed all of James's ruffled feathers.

The walk to the cinema was very pleasant: the rain was little more than a heavy mist, and after Sunday's brief hours of sunshine the window boxes were blossoming with brilliant colours. Everything had a clean, salty feeling to it, and there was something absolutely magnificent about having the four of them together again. This was as it ought to be, Remus thought: the Marauders reunited.

The film Sirius chose was a strange one, full of shouting and explosions and tremendous jeopardy. As he had predicted James loved it, though Peter gripped the arm of his chair anxiously and Remus found the whole thing rather contrived and silly. Still he could not deny that the spectacle was remarkable, and he stepped out into the evening light somewhat dazzled by Muggle ingenuity.

'Go on, Potter: admit it!' Sirius cried, swinging triumphantly around a lamppost and clapping his hands. 'Admit that it was brilliant!'

James shot him a pained look, arms crossed over his chest. Then he sighed. 'All right, it was brilliant,' he said. 'When they tried to climb that Christmas tree I thought for certain they were all going to die.'

'It was so sad when the lady gave the Reverend her necklace,' mourned Peter. He shuddered. 'I'm glad that boats like that aren't real.'

'Oh, but they _are_, Peter!' said Sirius with relish. 'There are ships just like that cruising the high seas as we speak! One of 'em burned up in Hong Kong last year!'

'That's horrid!' cried Peter. 'Why would anybody make anything so dangerous?'

'They aren't really dangerous,' said Remus. 'Generally speaking.'

'What about that one that hit the iceberg?' asked James with relish. 'Fifteen hundred people died!'

'And there's the RMS Lusitania,' put in Sirius. 'The Germans torpedoed it in the Great Muggle War, and it sank in the Irish Channel. Only about eight hundred people survived that one.'

'That's still better than six,' mumbled Peter.

'It was only a film, Peter,' Remus said consolingly. 'None of it actually happened.'

'What about that ladder!' Sirius cried gleefully. 'Wouldn't you love to have a go at something like that?'

'I wouldn't,' said Peter. James and Sirius both laughed, and the plump boy grinned, clearly comforted by the knowledge that he was fulfilling his usual role in the group.

_discidium_

All the way home they talked about the film. The general consensus, reached just as they turned onto Chancery Row, was that it had been two hours well spent. Mother was back from work by the time they came in, and the six of them ate together. Then Sirius dragged Father into the sitting room to work on the crossword puzzle, and James and Peter followed with the intention of getting up a game of Exploding Snap. Remus lingered to help his mother with the washing-up.

'I can do it,' he said as she put the leftover cottage pie into the icebox. 'Go and rest your feet.'

'I don't need to rest my feet, love,' Mother said. She paused on her way to the table to kiss his cheek. 'I wanted to thank you, Remus: you've been such a help since you've been home. You weeded the garden again this morning, didn't you?'

'Sirius and I did, yes,' said Remus. 'He quite enjoys it, and I think I've taught him what everything looks like now. He hasn't tried to unearth a radish by mistake in days.'

'He certainly does love to help,' mused Mother. 'I suppose his parents have servants to take care of those sorts of things, and he doesn't have much chance to try them at home.'

Remus thought about the two house-elves at Grimmauld Place. He could not imagine them inviting the heir of the house to help with dinner. 'I think you're right,' he said.

'Anyhow, Remus, your parents _don't_ have servants, and I know it isn't novel or enjoyable for you to be fixing lunch and washing dishes and sweeping up every day,' said Mother; 'but it truly is a tremendous help. Both your father and I appreciate it more than you can know.'

'It's all I can do,' said Remus. 'I wish there were something more, but I'm afraid there isn't. At least this way I can help a little.'

'It's a great deal more than a little help,' she said. She set down the stack of plates and wiped her hands on her apron. Her eyes were sparkling now. 'I wanted to show you how grateful and proud I am, and I bought you a little present.'

The protestation that they did not have money for presents died on Remus's lips. Whatever it was his mother was obviously delighted at the chance to give it to him, and he knew she would be sensible instead of extravagant. It behoved him to accept it gracefully, and to thank her prettily.

Still he said, 'You don't need to give me anything.'

'I knew you would say that,' said Mother, clearly embarking on a speech prepared against a much stronger protest; 'but you worked so hard at school this year, and you did so well, and then to come home and work so hard here too… you're a fine young man, Remus, and you deserve so much more, but this is what I have to give you just now, and so it will have to do.' She picked up a little paper packet that had been sitting next to his Potions books and pressed it into his hands. 'I know your old one is much too small to be decent,' she said; 'and they're calling for a warm day tomorrow, so I thought you'd have a chance to make good use of it. The lady at the shop said the short ones were more the style at present, but this way I thought perhaps you'd get a couple of years' wear…'

Remus's heart fluttered in trepidation as he opened the parcel. He knew even before he felt the slick nylon cloth what she had bought for him, and the knowledge made him ill. He unfolded the article carefully: it was a set of bathing trunks, dark red in colour and cut so that they would come well down on his thighs. But of course they would not cover the hundreds of scars on his knees and calves, nor the deep knots of mangled tissue on his stomach, nor the marks of teeth on his ribs. They would not hide the places he had gnawed on his own arms in a frenzy of violence, nor the place where the other werewolf had bitten him nine long years ago.

Mother was watching him, eager delight illuminating her whole face. 'Do you like it?' she asked breathlessly. 'I was going to take the blue ones, but then I thought that as these are Gryffindor red…'

Remus swallowed the lump of agony in his throat and nodded. 'They're wonderful, Mother,' he said hoarsely. 'They're perfect. Thank you.'

He moved hastily to hug her, before she could see the torment and shame in his eyes. He could never go swimming, not with James and Peter. They had never seen the scars, and they would not understand. Peter would be frightened at the proof of the wolf's power, and James would see how weak Remus really was and he would pity him. He pledged silently that once his friends were home again he would go swimming every single day so as to make good use of his wonderful present, but he knew that he would not swim tomorrow. How could he, when James and Sirius were so strong and handsome and healthy? Even Peter, who was not exactly fit, had smooth and whole skin. Remus could never hope to measure up to any of them, and he knew it, but that did not mean he had to remind them of it in such a glaring way.

When Mother suggested that he run upstairs to be sure they fit, Remus went only too gladly. Alone in his room with his friends' belongings strewn about him, he huddled on the edge of his bed and hugged his arms to his chest as if by doing so he could press away the skinny, scarred body beneath his faded Muggle shirt.


	99. A Truth Laid Bare

_Note: Sorry about the long wait for the update! Stoplight Delight has had a strange and not entirely pleasant week..._

**Chapter Ninety-Nine: A Truth Laid Bare**

Tuesday morning was glorious. Remus woke up to find the little room flooded with sunlight. At some point in the night Sirius had migrated from his deliberately aloof position against the wall, and his head was nuzzled against Remus's arm. Gently Remus nudged him over and slipped out of bed, careful not to tread on Peter's sleeping form. He edged along the bed and took a long, high step over James's shoulders. Having reached the corridor safely he hastened into the bathroom, latching the door behind him. He ran the tap cold and washed his face, then stared at his pallid reflection as if it could tell him what to do.

It would have been so simple, if only Mother had not bought him the bathing suit. He had put his friends off well enough last year with the explanation that he could not swim; he was certain that the same story would serve this year, if neither of his parents said anything to the contrary. Ordinarily he could have simply explained to his mother that he did not want his friends to see his scars, but she had seemed so excited to be able to give him something. Knowing as she did how fond he was of swimming, it was a lovely and generous gift. She did not understand about the scars: she did not even seem to see them. She would be so hurt if he did not make use of his present, and as his father was going to accompany the boys to the seaside it seemed impossible that she would not find out if he did not.

But his father, Remus realized abruptly, would not want him to expose his scars to his friends, either. He would put it down to Remus being cautious, trying to protect the secret that he did not realize was secret no longer. Perhaps he could find a quiet moment to explain his predicament in that context. If Father were willing to help him in a conspiracy of silence, then all he had to worry about was that Sirius or James might drop a careless remark about the paradox of a child from the seaside who did not know how to swim.

He could hear his friends' voices now, eager and cheerful on the other side of the door. Courage bolstered by the knowledge that he had a plan, Remus stood up and straightened his nightshirt to hide his marked legs as best he could. Then he stepped out into the corridor.

There was a howl of laughter and a pair of corduroy trousers came flying out of Remus's bedroom, followed by a very scantily-clad James Potter. His glasses were askew and he was hopping on his right foot while he tried to get his left leg into his trunks. He hesitated in order to grin at Remus and overbalanced, crashing to the floor.

'Good morning,' Remus said mildly, determined not to laugh at his friend's undignified predicament.

The door to his parents' room flew open and Father looked out, eyes wide with alarm. 'What in the name of—' he cried, his voice trailing off as he saw that no one was in immediate peril.

'Good morning, sir!' said James cheerfully, planting his feet to lift his hips so that he could hoist the garment into place. 'It's a beautiful morning: fine day for swimming!'

'Indeed it is,' said Father, apparently at a loss. He looked at the boy again, and then at his son. Then he shook his head and retreated to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

'I think he's a mite uncomfortable,' James said. He picked himself up off of the floor and went to retrieve his trousers.

There were low voices in the master bedroom, but Remus did not pause to try to listen. He followed James back into his own room. Sirius was buttoning one of his shirts with the pointed collars, having already donned his bathing trunks and his socks. Peter was sitting up in his sleeping bag, still looking rather drowsy. Remus climbed onto the bed, carefully tucking his feet beneath them. He sat quietly while the others finished dressing, carrying their laughter out into the corridor. James winked at him as he tugged the door closed.

Remus fetched his shirt and trousers from the wardrobe, opened the drawer that held his underpants and hesitated. Hoping to delay a little he removed his nightshirt and socks and stood for a minute, naked in the sunshine. His left hand crept along his ribs, feeling the ridges of the bones beneath skin puckered and rippled despite all attempts to heal it neatly. His right gripped the wardrobe door as he screwed his eyes tightly shut against the shame. He had done all of it himself. All of it, except the knot of twisted tissue high on his arm – the brand that set him inexorably apart from his friends, no matter how well they pretended otherwise.

He grabbed a pair of white cotton pants and thrust them back into the drawer almost at once. At the very least he owed his mother the courtesy of wearing her gift today – even though it would be a constant reminder of what he could not do. He retrieved the red swimming trunks from the corner of the wardrobe where he had hidden them the night before, and stepped into them. He tied the string at the waist securely and looked down.

Under ordinary circumstances he would have been delighted to wear them. They were bright and new, and they fit quite nicely. He was very glad that his mother had chosen long ones: they covered most of his skinny thighs. They hid some of the worst scars, too: the place low on his abdomen where the St Mungo's healer had bungled her 'satisfactory' job; the deep, tangled wound on his leg where the wolf had savaged itself in a frenzy brought on by Remus's terror that his friends would abandon him. Perhaps…

But his hand moved to settle over the place where he had ripped right down to the ribs, and his eyes travelled up to the crook of his right elbow where the marks of fangs still showed pink from the last full moon. He looked down at his ankles, and the ropes of scars that wound up his legs. He shuddered. He did not understand how Sirius could bear to look at him, and he was not about to ask the same thing of James and Peter. Hurriedly he dressed, tugging his trousers over the trunks. He had to struggle to button the cuffs of his shirt; they were so short now that they were fastening well up on his forearm.

He had just tugged on his socks when the door opened and Sirius looked in. 'You coming?' he asked. 'Breakfast is on the table, and I get the distinct impression that anyone caught dawdling is going to catch the bruising end of Potter's boot!'

_discidium_

Breakfast was a hurried affair, with James offering unsolicited assistance whenever one of his friends seemed in danger of slowing to a leisurely pace. Mother was busy packing the picnic basket with bread and fruit and cold roast chicken, while Father read the second page of James's newspaper with a worried furrow between his brows. Mother had to call his name three times before he finally looked up.

'Yes?' he fairly snapped.

The corners of her smile tightened ever so slightly. 'I'll come by at half past five with the car,' she said. 'If the weather takes a turn or you come home early for any reason, just send Remus around to use Mrs Kemp's telephone to let me know.'

'Oh, I wouldn't worry about it,' Sirius said cheerfully. 'Once we're out there it'd take a typhoon to get us back.'

'I've never been swimming in the sea before,' Peter put in. 'Is it as cold as the lake at school?'

'Colder!' James said eagerly. 'And salty, of course. It's tremendous fun, Peter: you'll love it!'

'And Peter, if it's your first time swimming in the sea you will have to be careful of the undertow,' Mother added. She glanced at her son. 'Remus, you'll be sure he knows what to watch for?'

'Yes, Mother,' Remus said hastily, praying that none of his friends would pick up on that statement. 'Should I go and fetch the old towels?'

'Already packed,' Mother said, nodding at an old canvas bag lying next to the cooker. 'And there's the blue checked tablecloth to use as a picnic blanket and two big bottles of drinking water. Be sure to dry off as soon as you're out of the water, boys, even if it's only for a few minutes, and be careful when the tide is going out.' She surveyed the contents of the basket once more, and then fastened the lid. 'And do try to relax and enjoy yourself, love,' she murmured to her husband. 'You could do with a rest.'

Father exhaled heavily and got to his feet. He turned to James. 'Do you mind if I take the paper?' he asked.

'Not in the least,' James said cheerfully. He pushed back his chair and stood, looking around at his friends. 'Are you lot ready to go yet, or not?'

'Is "not" even an acceptable answer?' Sirius asked rhetorically, getting up from the table and moving to take the basket from Mrs Lupin. He grinned charmingly and said; 'You're an angel!'

'Just be safe and have a good day,' Mother said. Remus picked up the sack of towels and paused to give her a quick kiss before leading the way out into the back garden. James was close on his heels with Sirius shambling after and Peter behind him. Father brought up the rear.

They went by way of Side-Along Apparition, two at a time, to the same beach the boys had visited last year. Remus and Peter went first, and waited behind a run-down old boathouse while Mr Lupin went back to collect James and Sirius. The cries of delight were audible almost before the crack of their arrival, and James had is shoes off so quickly that they might never have been on his feet in the first place.

Sirius handed the picnic basket off to Father and started to divest. He got as far as the buttons on his trousers when he paused and plunged a hand into each pocket. The left one emerged triumphant, holding a crumpled one-pound note.

'Here,' he said, presenting it to the wizard. 'Why don't you go and get yourself something from the tea shop up on the cliff? There's a nice bench on the pier if you don't fancy making do in the sand.'

Father looked at the money and shook his head. 'I really don't think—'

'Then _don't_ think!' said Sirius. 'While you're up there, stop at the newsstand and get me the new edition of _Bike_ magazine. It's only twenty pence, so that should leave plenty for you to treat yourself. Go on: I'll look after this lot.'

The man seemed bewildered. Sirius's way of taking charge could be a trifle overwhelming at times, and Remus could certainly empathize with his father's discomfiture. 'You ought to get a scone at least,' he said quietly. 'You didn't eat anything at breakfast. And Sirius really did mean to say _please_ about the magazine. Didn't you, Sirius?'

'Oh, absolutely,' Sirius said from within the depths of his shirt. He was trying to remove it without undoing any buttons, and not really succeeding. Remus reached up and unfastened the top two, and the garment suddenly came free.

'Where do I put my clothes?' asked Peter. He had stripped down to his swimming things, but was holding his outer garments warily.

'Just toss 'em,' said James, demonstrating dramatically with his trousers. 'We'll come back for them later.'

'They'll get all full of sand,' Peter protested.

'Don't worry,' said Remus. 'There's a great flat rock on the other side of the pier: you can put them there and I'll watch them.'

'You don't mean you aren't going to come in the water _again_ this year?' James moaned. 'Aw, Remus, that's just not any fun!'

Father shot him a sudden anxious look, and Remus shook his head. 'I told you,' he said quietly. 'I don't much like the ocean.'

James stared at him for a long, hard moment, and then shrugged. 'You're barmy,' he said. Then he swooped down to collect his scattered clothing and took off at a run through the sand. Sirius whooped in delight and tore after him, hampered only somewhat when he reached the damp, sticky stretch where the shadow of the pier kept it from drying. Peter hesitated for a minute, and then hurried after them, leaving Remus alone with his father.

The wizard was pale now, clutching the handle of the basket with knuckles that were growing alarmingly white. 'You can't swim with them, Remus,' he said hoarsely. 'You realize that, don't you? Oh, God, I didn't even think…'

'I know,' said Remus with much more serenity than he felt. 'It was the same last year. I stayed on the sand for most of it, and when I did go in it was only to wade: I kept my clothes on.'

'If they saw they would be sure to guess,' Father whispered. His mouth trembled as he spoke and he looked as though he was going to be ill. He tried to chafe his hand against his face, but he was hampered by Sirius's pound note. 'Remus, I'm sorry. I know how you love to swim, but—'

'But I can do it when my friends are gone,' Remus said stoically. 'I know. I agree.' He sighed softly and looked at his father's careworn face. 'Won't you please go and get a cup of tea and something to eat?' he asked. 'Sirius is only trying to be friendly; he's not returning the hospitality by having me over to his home this summer, so it's good if he is able to do something to thank you.'

Father clearly had not thought of the proffered money in those terms. He looked down at it again, pensively. 'I suppose that's true,' he said. Then he curled his lip wryly. 'I imagine after what happened last year the Blacks aren't much enamoured with the idea of hosting you and young James Potter.'

'Sirius doesn't want us there either,' said Remus. 'He's ashamed of his family, the way they behave and the things that they believe and the awful, impolite way they have of speaking to anyone they don't consider their equal. He doesn't want to be like them, Father. You have to understand that.'

'I do,' said Mr Lupin softly. 'But do you understand that eventually, blood will out?'

By that logic, though Remus bleakly, no matter how hard he tried to be kind and polite and well-behaved he would one day turn into a craven, lying, vicious creature incapable of human decency, because that was what werewolves were.

'I don't believe that,' he said softly.

From up the beach came the happy shouts of his friends, begging him to come down to join them. Remus bent and unlaced his shoes, tucking a sock into each one. 'I'm only going to wade in the surf, I promise,' he said. Then he walked away from his father towards the place where the others were already knee-deep in the ocean.

_discidium_

All morning James and Sirius and Peter frolicked in the water, while Remus strolled back and forth where the waves lapped ankle-deep against the shore. The day grew hotter and his Muggle clothing felt heavy and oppressive, but at least he was with his friends and they were all having fun. Soon James grew tired of the shallows and he and Sirius ventured out farther. Peter came trundling inland and rubbed himself down with one of Mother's old towels before sitting down to dig in the sand.

'You're so lucky,' he said, licking the salty crust from his lips and wriggling his toes. 'If I lived at the seaside I would come down here every day. And I know I'd be a better swimmer than I am. Didn't your parents teach you?'

Remus glanced up at the pier high above, where his father was seated, still poring over _The Daily Prophet_. Now and then he glanced out to sea, or looked down to see that the boys were still happy and safe, but for the most part he seemed preoccupied with his reading and his thoughts. Remus remembered clinging to Father's neck as the man carried him out into the water. He had shuddered when the first wave struck his back, but with the man's strong arm around him he soon began to feel safe. He relaxed and splashed with one small hand at the next ripple in the water, and soon he was floating on his back with his father's hand cupped behind his head. He wondered how old he had been. He was almost certain it had happened before he had been bitten.

'I'm not always well enough for things like that,' he said, equivocating carefully. He could not quite bring himself to lie this time: last year the deception had been to protect his secret, needlessly as it had turned out in the end. Now it was only to save him more shame, and that did not seem worth it. It was true that he was not always well enough to swim: it was out of the question for the first few days after a transformation at least. And the ocean itself was not safe in winter.

'That's a shame,' Peter said earnestly, patting down his mound of sand and smoothing the sides with care. 'I never really thought about how hard it must have been, growing up with that sort of thing to worry about.'

'Is it a castle, or a mountain?' Remus asked, trying to change the subject.

'A volcano,' Peter said, pressing in at the top of the heap to form a crater. 'Did you ever read about dinosaurs when you were little?'

'A bit,' said Remus. 'I preferred mythology.'

'Oh. Mary used to read to me from a book with all sorts of pictures,' said Peter. 'Great big toothy lizards… they were always walking by volcanoes.' There was a shriek of laughter from the water, where James had just flung Sirius under. Peter shook his head, chuckling softly. 'I'd never have the courage to do _that_,' he said. 'Though I'm sure Sirius doesn't mind it nearly as much coming from James as he would from me.'

Remus was inclined to agree, but he was also very glad that Sirius and James had one another to roughhouse with – and he suspected that Peter was as well. As much as he wished he were out there in the water with the others, it was better like this. He scooped out a fistful of sand and began to construct a lake to go with Peter's volcano.

_discidium_

At high tide the boys moved up onto the pier, where Remus spread out his mother's tablecloth so they could enjoy their lunch. Father ate with them, silent and obviously far away in his thoughts. Peter had put on his shirt, but James and Sirius were still wearing only their bathing trunks, basking happily in the midday sun. Remus was perspiring heavily in his trousers and long-sleeved flannel shirt, and the roar of the water was a tormenting temptation.

'Are you going to sit out here all day?' Sirius asked, biting into his third piece of chicken and cocking his head at Mr Lupin. 'I mean, you don't seem to be having much fun.'

'It's better than looking for work, anyway,' said James. 'Isn't it, sir?'

Sirius swatted his friend's arm. 'Don't be discouraging!' he barked. 'It's quite hard enough to stick to something like that without naysaying little prats making smart remarks. Was there anything promising in the paper this morning?' he asked earnestly.

'The paper?' Father looked up from his bread and butter, somewhat startled. Then he shook his head. 'No, nothing much,' he sighed. 'The usual advertisements for shop assistants and junior bookkeepers: I'll only be told that I'm _not quite what they're looking for_.'

'How do you know until you try?' asked Sirius. 'Maybe one of them might be different. You ought at least to try.'

'Let the man alone, Black: it's his day off,' said James. 'He's enjoying the seaside like the rest of us.'

'No, James, I don't think that he is,' said Sirius. 'I think he's been sitting up here the whole time, fretting over how he's going to go about looking for work tomorrow, and wondering why he's wasting his time with the likes of us when he ought to be out there making an honest effort.'

The bluntness of the words made Remus's heart leap into his throat, and his eyes riveted upon his father to gauge how he would take it. Sirius did not have much tact at the best of times, and surely he had no idea how heavily his stint of unemployment was weighing on Mr Lupin. To his astonishment, Father did not recoil, nor did he duck his head in shame. Instead he very nearly smiled.

'You see a great deal, Sirius,' he said.

'Then why are you here?' asked Sirius candidly.

'He's keeping us safe,' Peter put in. 'It's a public beach…'

'And we're all thirteen; practically grown-up!' Sirius declared. 'Besides, we spent a whole day alone down here last year, and we were only twelve then!'

'And there were only three of us,' added James.

'Precisely!' said Sirius. 'We'll be quite all right until Mrs Lupin comes with the car. Do you know what I think you ought to do?' He was speaking to the adult again, but his tone was very much like the one he often took with his friends when he had made up his mind that they were going to obey him. 'I think you ought to go home and get into your robes, then go out and try to apply at some of those places. I know you're a bit over-qualified to be a shop assistant, but you'd be the best junior clerk they've ever had, don't you think? Well?'

There was a long silence, during which Remus's father seemed to be doing some very hard thinking. Then his gaze shifted to his son, an inarticulate question in his eyes.

'It couldn't hurt to try,' Remus said quietly. 'We'll have a lovely afternoon, just the four of us.'

Father looked from one boy to the next, around the circle to James and then back again to Sirius. Then, remarkably, he laughed – a small, hollow, rueful little laugh. 'It couldn't hurt to try,' he said. He got to his feet and dusted off his trousers. 'Have a pleasant afternoon, boys. Mrs Lupin will be by to collect you at half past five.'

'With any luck we can persuade her to go wading,' said James, squinting up at the sapphire sky. 'Looks like it's going to be beautiful all day.'

'Good luck,' said Sirius. 'And remember: you're a fair sight more than good enough!'

Father looked as though he wanted very much to say something, but he restrained himself. He moved to the steps leading down to the rocks, and disappeared from sight. Shortly after, in the distance, they heard the sound of Disapparition.

'Well done!' James said. 'Now we've got no one looking over our shoulders.'

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Blimey, Potter, do you really think I did that for you?' he asked. 'He's going to give up if somebody doesn't keep pushing him, and I don't think it would be good for anyone if he did.'

'Thank you,' Remus said as he began to wrap up the leftover apples. Sirius nodded briefly in his direction, but said nothing more about it.

When the basket was packed again they went down to the rock where the clothes and shoes were keeping. The water was only a few feet from it now, lapping lazily against the edge of Peter's volcano. The puddle that Remus had dug was gone now, washed away into a faint crescent ridge. While the other three went back out into the water, Peter carelessly shedding his shirt as he went, Remus sat down on the rock and dug his toes into the sand. Beneath the dried crust it was moist and cool and very soothing on his hot skin. He wiped the perspiration from his brow and caved to the urge to unfasten his cuffs. He would have liked to roll up his sleeves, too, but the marks on his forearms were dreadful. In some places the scar tissue had overgrown the normal flesh. So he contented himself with the faint breeze on the back of his wrists and looked out wistfully over the shimmering water.

His friends were quite a distance out now, with the water nearly under Peter's arms. Sirius sent up a spray that rained down on all three of them, and James grabbed his spectacles before diving under. He emerged, shaking his hair and laughing. They looked so happy and carefree and _young_, and once again Remus felt the regretful burst of envy in his ribs. He could almost feel the cold salt water lapping against his flank and streaming from his head and shoulders and ears as he surfaced to suck in a deep, delightful breath of air. He could imagine the fine, silky feeling of the deep sand between his toes, so different from the warm and sticky stuff that surrounded them now. He could taste the tang of the ocean on his lips, and feel the pull in his arms and his legs as he launched into his strong front stroke. He could swim just as well as James; he knew it. He could paddle faster and farther than Sirius. Yet here he was, chained to the land by his scars. It was not fair.

Sirius was coming back towards the shore now, shaking his head furiously so that water flew in every direction. He was already beginning to look like a young man instead of a boy: his shoulders were broader than they had been last summer, and there was a fine fuzz of dark hair on his chest, like down on a growing gander. His long limbs moved with that particular aristocratic grace that he shared, though he would have hated to admit it, with his cousins. He swept the hair back out of his eyes and grinned as he foundered through the last feet of surf and plunked himself down next to Remus on the stone.

`Sure you won't come out?' he asked, accepting the towel that Remus offered him and dabbing at his neck and collarbones. 'It's a beautiful day for it.'

'I'm fine right here,' Remus said, managing a smile. Peter squealed with laughter as he successfully splashed James.

'Yes,' said Sirius; 'but you've got that look you used to wear when Potter and I would tease each other back in first year. You know: the look that said you'd do anything to be able to do that, too, only you didn't think you were brave enough.'

Remus was not able to speak. He was not certain what he found more surprising: that Sirius had so accurately given voice to his thoughts, or that he had noticed, back in first year, the expression that Remus knew he had worn all too often.

'The thing of it is,' Sirius said, turning artfully to squint over the water towards their friends so as to spare Remus the added pressure of his scrutiny; 'you _are_ brave enough, aren't you? You tease James now and then, don't you? You even tease _me_, and I know I command a lot more respect than he does.'

Remus laughed a little, softly, because although most people certainly seemed to feel that way he was not among them. 'This is different,' he said.

'Yes,' agreed Sirius. He was still looking out to sea. 'Though James and I will both be out there, and he's a good swimmer and I'm no slouch. If you did get caught in an undertow or something we could help you. And this little cove hasn't got much for currents anyway. We could just go out waist-deep if you like.'

He was silent for a moment, but before Remus could think of a gentle way to put him off he spoke again. 'It would be a shame, wouldn't it?' he asked. 'Not to try out those nice new togs your mum bought you.'

Remus knew that he was gaping like a fool, but he could not help it. 'How did you know about that?' he asked.

'Snooped in your wardrobe,' Sirius said with a shrug. 'I was looking to borrow a pair of socks that weren't made of worm spit and I figured you wouldn't mind. If you don't want things to look new, you ought to try tossing away the wrappings.'

There didn't seem to be anything that Remus could say to this. As long as Sirius was still looking away he could try to study his face in order to read his expression, but there was only so much that could be gauged in profile.

'The thing of it is,' said Sirius, turning at last and forcing Remus to hastily avert his eyes; 'I can't work out why your mum would spend her hard-earned shillings on a brilliant new suit for someone who doesn't know how to swim.'

He grinned and got to his feet, slapping Remus companionably on the back. 'Think about it, mate,' he said, then strode back out into the water.

For a long time Remus sat there, staring after his friend. Of course he knew that he ought not to be surprised that Sirius had worked it out, but if Sirius had then so could James, and what would he think? That Remus had lied to him for no reason at all. That the werewolf he had taken as a friend was still not able to trust him, not even with something as obvious as the sight of his scars.

And surely it had to be obvious, he realized. After all, James and Peter both knew that the wolf mauled itself during every full moon. Surely, growing up as they had in the wizarding world, they knew that cursed wounds could not be fully healed. James, at least, had to know that; he wasn't sure about Peter. Yet thinking about it abstractly and being faced with the reality were two different things. Remus did not want to see the look in his friends' eyes when they saw the marks on his chest and his arms and his legs.

But he wanted to swim. He wanted so desperately to immerse himself in the cool water and to slide along under the rippling waves with his friends. There was no one to see: no one but a handful of Muggles who, if they noticed the marks on the stranger-boy, would assume they were the result of a car crash or some other mundane accident. There were no sharp-eyed Prefects, no inquiring firsties, no malicious Slytherin bullies looking for something to pick at. It was only Remus and his friends, whom he had trusted with secrets far worse than his scars.

He did not realize that he was on his feet, nor that he had moved to unbutton his trousers until they slid down around his ankles. His swimming trunks were bunched awkwardly, and he smoothed them. Then he tugged off the heavy corduroy and folded the garment neatly. He hesitated, looking down at the blue cloth that still hid the worst of his chronicle of hurts. His fingers trembled as he reached for the first button, and they fumbled on the second, but after that the practiced motion repeated itself down his front. He clutched the two sides of the opened garment, holding them together for just another moment. Then, as swiftly as he could, he stripped off his shirt. His arms moved instinctively to curl around his chest; a futile attempt to hide what he had just laid bare. He forced himself to straighten his elbows and, before sober second thought could overcome him entirely, he ran down into the surf.

He could feel the drag of the water on his legs, chilling and delicious. He could hear his friends calling out to him over the low percussion of the sea. But the blood was pounding in his ears and he knew that his face was scarlet with embarrassment. He felt a foot graze against his, and he knew that he had reached the others, but he could not quite bring himself to look at their faces.

A firm hand clapped his shoulder. Sirius, of course.

'Bloody hell…' breathed James. Remus could feel the hazel eyes boring into him, taking in the white marks and the puckered grey ones and the strands still red from the most recent moon. Then there was a shuddering sound of a wet head shaking, and someone gripped his other shoulder.

'So does this mean you _can_ actually swim?' James asked. 'And you've been putting us off all this time?'

Miserably Remus nodded, finally daring to look at his friends. Peter was watching him with wide eyes, but they were not filled with horror. Sirius looked quietly proud of him. And James was smiling affably, no sign of pity or disdain on his face. His lips parted into a larger grin as he realized Remus was watching him.

'Race you out to the headland, then,' he said, flinging himself backward and diving into the surf. Remus did not hesitate before rocketing after him: after all, it would not do to give him too much of a head start.

_discidium_

They scarcely left the water all that afternoon. Now that they knew that he could swim, Sirius and James seemed determined to establish Remus's limits in relation to their own, and the four boys went through a series of competitions. They established that Remus could swim the fastest, and also that he could keep swimming at a steady pace for the longest time. James was best at underwater headstands and to everyone's surprise it was Peter who could hold his breath the longest underwater. Though Sirius ranked a solid second in that contest and also in endurance, he did not come out ahead in even one of their trials. James ribbed him about it to no end, putting it down to city living. Sirius just chortled and splashed him.

The tide was going out and the wind was growing cool when they finally tramped up to the rock to towel off. Remus rubbed himself down as quickly as he could and pulled on his shirt. Before he could begin to button it, however, James caught hold of one of the tails and tugged it gently off of one shoulder. He stared for a moment at the marks, now standing out more sharply than ever against skin made pale with the cold. His lips parted ever so slightly as he reached with his index finger to trace one particularly nasty knot beside Remus's right nipple, where he had ravaged himself so badly that it had taken two healers and an accomplished German nurse to mend the six-year-old boy.

'Did you do all of this yourself?' he asked softly.

Remus closed his eyes against the rising humiliation and nodded. 'Nearly,' he whispered. He tried to shrug the shirt back onto his shoulder, but James was still gripping the cloth and it would not move.

'Because they lock you up,' he said. 'They lock you up so that you can't hurt anyone else, and you hurt yourself instead.'

He could not reply. He could not even breathe. He could feel Sirius's shadow, cool across his knee, and he could hear the hitched breaths that Peter was taking, but he could not bear to look at them. He kept his eyes tightly closed.

'Bloody hell,' James said again, and Remus shuddered. That had been his first reaction, out in the water. He held his breath, dreading what was to come. Then the hold on his shirt disappeared and James's hand drew back as he let out a low, weighty sigh. 'I never thought it was this bad,' he whispered.

'Why do you think I've been wanting to help him?' Sirius said. He reached around Remus's back and tugged the shirt up to where it belonged, then deftly fastened the first three buttons. 'If there's anything we can do to make it less likely that this will happen every month, don't you think we ought to do it?'

'Yes, of course,' said James. Remus had finally opened his eyes now, and the expression of wounded regret on his friend's face was almost more painful than revulsion would have been. 'But what can we do, a bunch of underage wizards? People have been trying to cure werewolves for hundreds of years, and—'

'If we could turn into animals we could distract him,' Peter said timidly. 'Maybe if the wolf had someone to play with it wouldn't need to hurt itself.'

Sirius said nothing, but he fixed James with a very steady look.

'Well, yes,' said the bespectacled boy reluctantly; 'but it just isn't possible.'

'How do you know 'til you try?' asked Sirius. 'And since when are you unsure of your abilities? On any ordinary day you're quick enough to declare that you're more than a match for McGonagall, but when I so much as hint at the idea of becoming an Animagus, you—'

'It's Remus's mum!' Peter hissed, nodding past the others to the stairs down from the pier. The boys all turned to follow his gaze: Mother was indeed descending, picking her way carefully in the pumps she wore to work.

'Welcome!' Sirius cried, bolting across the sand to meet her at the bottom step. 'Won't you come out and wade for a while? Salt water's supposed to do wonders for tired feet!'

Mother smiled, looking at the boys. Remus was still only half dressed, his damp trunks clinging to his legs. He managed a small smile, and her eyes were shining. 'All right,' she said. 'Just for a few minutes. We have to get you lot home and fed—where's Ross?'

'Went out job-hunting after lunch,' said Sirius. 'There were some promising positions on offer in the paper this morning, and we thought he ought to take a look.'

Mother had managed to shimmy out of her stockings without hiking her skirt more than a couple of inches. She shook them out and tucked them over her arm, then picked up her shoes and walked down towards the others. 'That's good to hear,' she said; 'though I had hoped he would take a day just to enjoy himself. He's been worrying himself sick over things that can't be helped, and…' She let the thought die away and smiled at Peter. 'How was your first paddle in the ocean, dear?' she asked.

The five of them walked up and down in the surf together, the boys chattering happily at Mrs Lupin while their bathing clothes grew dry and stiff with salt. Then they pulled on their trousers and the other three put on their shirts while Remus collected the towels and the picnic basket. The drive home was pleasant, Sirius having noticed the difference between the clutch and the brake and decided it was his duty to predict when Mother ought to push one or the other. Back in the house, the three guests scurried upstairs to shower off the salt and the sand. Remus hung back in the kitchen with his mother.

'I see they fit nicely,' she said, washing her hands carefully before taking the tureen of lentil soup out of the refrigerator and lighting the flame on the stove. 'Did you have a good day, dear heart?'

'Wonderful,' said Remus. He paused, unsure of what he ought to say. He drew in a bracing breath and plunged ahead. 'Please don't tell Father,' he said hastily. 'If he knows I went into the water he'll only be upset. He's so afraid that Sirius and James will see the scars and work out that I'm a werewolf, and I couldn't bear to have him fretting over that when he's got so much to worry about already.'

His mother's serene expression wavered, and some of the colour left her cheeks. Remus wished that he had not spoken.

'He worries about that all the time, Remus,' she said softly. 'Every minute that they're here. All that he can see when he watches you with them is how he imagines it's going to end if they find out the truth. I don't understand why he's built it up into such a horror for himself, but he has and it's driving him to distraction. I wish that he could just let him see what kind boys your friends are, and let himself hope that it won't matter if they do find out.'

'It didn't,' said Remus. Catching himself he said hastily; 'I mean it won't. I don't think that it will. I'm sure… I'm sure if they had a chance to think it over they would still want to be my friends in spite of it.'

Mother nodded and reached out to brush her palm along his jaw. 'That is just what I believe, too, Remus,' she said; 'but your father isn't always sensible where these things are concerned. It's only because he loves you and he is trying to protect you, but he sometimes goes about it in the wrong way.' She shivered a little and shook her head. 'Of course I won't mention it,' she assured him. 'I think it would be better that way.'

Remus nodded fervently. 'I'll go up and get changed before he comes home,' he said, retreating quickly from the room.

He halted halfway up the stairs, gripping the banister and wishing that he had found the courage to tell her the truth. Last summer he had done nothing but lie to his friends about his secret, and now he was lying to his parents about his friends. No matter how hard he tried he could not seem to escape the web of deceit woven around the fact that he was a werewolf. He wished so desperately that he could have explained to his mother that she was right, that she had been right all along, and that his friends had stood by him in spite of everything. She would have understood; she would have been happy and so proud of him and she would have thanked Sirius and James and Peter in a way that Remus could not. But then she, too, would have had to be party to the deception – or worse, she might have decided she could not keep the secret, and she might tell Father. That would be catastrophic. Remus could not imagine how he could possible put his father's mind at rest on this matter.

The distant popping sound announced someone Apparating into the back garden. Remus hurriedly mounted the remaining stairs, squeezing into his overcrowded bedroom. James and Peter were waiting for their turn in the shower, and Remus very nearly asked them to leave so that he could change. Before the words left his lips, however, he realized that he did not need to hide anymore. They had seen the scars once; now the worst of it was over. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled on his robes before unfastening his trousers and removing his trunks underneath them. He was not quite ready to undress completely in front of his friends, but at least he could do this.

There was some satisfaction in that.


	100. Trespassing

_Note: Well, I've been tempting fate for months now and it's finally happened: Stoplight Delight caught a cold. Which meant a wicked sore throat. Which ground the dictation to a halt. But here's the new chapter at last: we've officially hit ONE HUNDRED! To celebrate, I've cranked out the post slightly faster than my larynx would have liked in order to commemorate the __**full moon tonight.**_

**Chapter One Hundred: Trespassing**

As usual, Mother managed extraordinary things with very little time and only the simplest of ingredients. When the four boys descended to the kitchen – the guests fresh from washing and Remus still with his hair stiff from the sea-salt – they found the table already laden with food. In addition to the lentil soup there was sausage, and cheese on toast, and a big bowl of baby parsnips roasted just for Sirius. The whole thing was given a special air by being laid out on Mother's fine lace tablecloth with the best dishes, and from the oven came the enticing smell of rose-petal scones baking.

'It looks wonderful, Mrs Lupin,' James said courteously, sliding into his chair and reaching for his napkin. Peter surreptitiously licked his lips and Sirius hastened to sit down.

'Mr Lupin not home yet?' he asked, looking around as if he might have missed the sight of another adult in the room.

'Not yet,' Mother said as she began to dish out generous helpings of her fragrant soup. For a moment desperate hope flickered through her eyes before she settled into her usual pleasant smile. Remus felt his own quiet stirring of the same emotion. Perhaps he was late because he had had some luck in his search.

'Smells heavenly,' Sirius said, inhaling deeply of the vapours rising off of his bowl. He helped himself to a generous portion of parsnips and began to tuck in with gusto.

They were well into their meal when the familiar crack sounded in the back garden. Shortly afterward the kitchen door opened and Father came in, stepping out of his shoes and tucking his wand into his belt. He made an effort to smooth his weary features before smiling at the boys.

'Did you enjoy the rest of your outing?' he asked as he moved to wash his hands.

'Oh, yes!' Peter said enthusiastically. 'It was really super! Makes me wish that I lived at the seaside. Then maybe I could swim half as well as—'

'Any luck?' Sirius asked. His voice was not really any louder than usual, and Remus did not think that he had meant so fortuitous an interruption, but it was still welcome.

'I'm afraid I don't think so,' Father said, shrugging his shoulders and sliding into his seat. 'I had a decent interview with the proprietor of a bookshop in Diagon Alley, but I don't expect that much will come of it.'

'That's not a very healthy attitude,' Sirius scolded. 'You've got to try to expect a little more success than _that_.'

Father gave him a long look, clearly torn between arguing and letting the point slide painlessly by. In the end he chose the latter and took the bowl offered by his wife. 'Thank you, Dorothy,' he said quietly. He looked at the table and shook his head. 'I don't know how you do it: at work all day, and then you lay out a feast like this.'

'Oh, all the real work was done ahead of time,' Mother said airily. She left the table and bent to take the scones from the oven. She plucked them deftly off of the baking sheet one at a time, holding them between finger and thumb only long enough to lift them onto a plate so they could cool a little before serving. 'All it takes is a little planning.'

'You're a very good cook,' Peter said matter-of-factly, helping himself to another piece of cheese on toast. 'Almost as good as my mum.'

Sirius snorted. 'Even if that weren't slanderous it isn't polite, Pettigrew,' he said. Then he grinned at Mrs Lupin. '_I _think you're the best cook in Britain.'

'I don't know about that,' Mother demurred, but she was clearly pleased by the complement. With their dessert laid out she was finally able to sit down and serve herself. 'Have you boys any plans for tomorrow?' she asked once she had had her first two spoonsful.

'I thought we might go to the shops,' said Sirius. 'I've only got the one magazine so far, and the pajamas. I'd like to see what else is about.'

'Not the shops _again_,' James protested. 'If the sun's out I think we ought to go swimming again. We could walk down to the quays, anyhow, if it's too much trouble to go back to the other beach.'

'I'd like to do some more shelling,' Peter said, clearly trying to support James's suggestion without making it too obvious that he was opposing Sirius's. 'There are probably shops on the quays.'

'What about you, Remus?' asked Sirius. 'What do _you_ want to do? You've had hardly any say at all in what we're up to, and it hardly seems fair.'

'I've been having a wonderful time,' Remus said earnestly. 'Whatever the three of you decide will suit me perfectly.'

The good-natured debate between James and Sirius progressed with the meal. They were still at it even after Remus and his mother had cleared away the dishes and passed around the fresh, sweet scones.

'—well-known fact that growing boys need plenty of fresh air!' James said stoutly.

'You can get fresh air between the shops,' said Sirius. 'Besides, aren't you the least bit interested in learning more about Muggles? You've led a pretty sheltered life up 'til this point, Potter, and I think you ought to broaden your horizons.'

'I'm afraid I just don't find electric kettles as interesting as you seem to,' James said.

'But they switch off when they've finished, so all your water doesn't boil away!' Sirius protested. 'And you don't even need to use a charm or anything!'

'That's because Muggles _can't_ use charms,' James explained patiently. 'Trust me: they would if they could.'

'Just because something is easier doesn't make it inherently better,' argued Sirius. 'Hovering along at a nice steady pace is easier than flying at speed fifty feet up, but that doesn't mean we should all just hover, does it?'

James opened his mouth to dispute this, before realizing that his friend had made a very solid point. He frowned pensively for a moment, collecting his thoughts before beginning again. 'Yes, but that's a challenge,' he said. 'Using an electric kettle is just a convoluted way of achieving the same thing that a charm would without—'

A deafening _crack_ shook the room, as if there had been an explosion near at hand. The floorboards creaked and the teacups rattled on the table. Peter gasped and Mother stiffened, and Father's hand flew to his side as he shot up from his chair. For a moment Remus was bewildered and disoriented, and then he realized that a man in black robes was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wand in hand. Cold grey eyes took in the quiet domestic scene interrupted by the sudden intrusion. It was Sirius's father.

'Bloody hell!' James exclaimed. 'Who do you think you are, popping into people's kitchens like that? It's exceedingly poor manners, even by Black standards.'

The man ignored him and strode towards the table, clamping his free hand on Sirius's shoulder before the boy could rise from his place. Sirius did his best to keep his face impassive, but there was an unmistakeably tightening of his jaw as the fingers closed upon him. 'Go and get your things at once,' Orion Black hissed. 'Your little holiday is over.'

Sirius's chin jutted defiantly outwards, though he did not turn to look at the adult behind him. 'It's not,' he said, eyes still resolutely front. 'I'm allowed to stay until Friday.'

'I'm sorry,' said Mother, getting up from her seat and gliding between Sirius and his father so that Orion was obliged to take a step backward. He released his hold on his son and had to shift his wand to his left hand when the woman reached for his right. 'I do not believe we have been introduced. Dorothy Lupin; pleased to meet you.'

'Orion Black,' he said curtly, shaking hands with cursory automation. 'I have come for my son.'

'I surmised that,' Mother said, smiling radiantly. 'I'm afraid we've finished our supper, but you are most welcome to sit down for a scone and a cup of tea. Sirius hasn't finished his yet.'

Sirius had finally turned: he was twisted in his chair now, elbow hooked around the back so that he could stare up in disbelief at the lady's attempt to disarm his father. It seemed to be working, for there was doubt in Mr Black's eyes now, and he looked rather out of place. The domineering air of entitlement was wavering a little. Mother took a tiny half-step towards him, and he scuttled backwards.

'I'll just fetch another cup,' she said sweetly. She cast a tiny glance at Remus, who understood at once and reached to move her own nearer to his. Mother gestured at her empty chair. 'Please have a seat,' she said graciously. 'Peter, would you pass Mr Black the scones?'

The man sat, looking rather spell-shocked. 'Now, see here…' he began, cut off abruptly as Peter thrust the plate towards him. He gaped at it as if he had never seen a scone before and then, apparently at a loss, picked one up and broke off a corner. Sirius was staring into his teacup now, obviously trying very hard not to laugh at his father's discomfiture.

'Do you take sugar?' Mother asked as she poured first milk and then tea.

'Thank you, no,' Mr Black said, still trying to sound brusque and in charge of the situation. 'Sirius, go and collect your things. We are leaving—'

'Just as soon as you finish your tea?' asked Sirius innocently. He blinked at his father and an unmistakable edge of insolence filtered into his demeanor.

'Yes,' snapped Mr Black. He took a perfunctory sip and his face settled into a scowl. He clearly did not quite understand how Remus's mother had bested him, but he did not like it in the least.

'Sit down, Ross,' Mother said sibilantly, reaching a tactful hand to guide Father's fingers away from his wand. She smiled again at her uninvited guest. 'It's lovely to finally meet one of Sirius's parents,' she remarked. 'He is a charming young man and such a very good friend to Remus.'

'Quite,' Mr Black muttered, forgetting that he had a mouthful of scone. He sputtered a little in a most undignified way, and took a hurried swallow of tea. 'Mrs Lupin, I thank you for your hospitality, but my son and I are expected back in London, and…'

'I understood that Sirius was to stay until Friday evening,' Mother said. 'Have the arrangements changed?'

'Yes.' The dark-haired man shot a stern glance at his son, who seemed suddenly immune to any such unspoken menaces. Sirius munched at his second scone, eyes glittering in silent amusement.

'May I ask why?' said Mother. 'Only we have plans for the boys, you see, and if I'm going to have to change them I feel it's only fair to have an explanation.'

'It's a family matter,' Mr Black said stiffly. 'Sirius, go and get your things.'

'But she's right, Dad,' Sirius said cheerfully. 'The Lupins have made all sorts of plans, and it's going to disrupt them if I leave now. It wouldn't be polite in the least to leave now. Not the sort of thing well-bred chaps do.'

Mr Black cleared his throat and fixed the boy with what was clearly meant to be a very significant look. 'Your mother wants you at home,' he said, enunciating carefully. 'She sent me to fetch you. You are to come at once.'

'Would you like some more tea?' Mother asked. 'I could fix you a cup of coffee if you would prefer. Or perhaps a glass of wine?'

Remus knew that they had neither coffee nor wine in the house, and he cast a fleeting look of disbelief at his mother, who seemed to be lying to a guest. Her expression was still serene and eager-to-please, and it seemed to render Orion Black completely helpless.

'No, no, thank you, Mrs Lupin,' he stammered. 'The tea is quite sufficient, thank you. But Sirius…'

'Have another scone, Dad,' Sirius urged. 'They're delicious.'

'Mrs Lupin grows the roses herself, you know,' said James. 'Quite the genteel occupation, wouldn't you say?'

Mr Black stared at him, and Remus wondered whether he was remembering James's behaviour during the visit to the house at Grimmauld Place. Sirius nudged the serving plate against his father's hand and before the man seemed to realize what he was doing he had another scone in his hand.

With the situation at his left apparently under control, Remus dared to tear his eyes away to look at his own father. He was sitting stiffly in his chair, watching the tableau with horror and awe warring for purchase in his eyes. Though clearly shocked and extremely displeased to have Orion Black at his table, he was also obviously amazed at the way in which Mother had taken the intruder in hand. The carefully polished wand was lying next to the creamer now, and Mr Black took another sip of tea.

'If there's a family emergency then of _course_ Sirius must go home,' Mother was saying. 'But if you could see your way to letting him stay until Friday I know that we would all be grateful. It's so lovely to have a boy of his spirited nature around the house: I'm sure you'll agree.'

Mr Black did not look as though he agreed in the least, but reflexive manners kept him from arguing with someone who had clearly seized the role of hostess. 'Well, yes, Mrs Lupin, but you must understand that my wife…'

'Is missing her son, yes, of course,' said Mother, very nearly causing James to choke on his tea. 'It's hard for all of us to have our boys away at school for so much of the year. But I do think it's important to encourage their social development outside of that environment, don't you? It builds independence and the appropriate adult graces.'

Mr Black's expression clearly communicated that whatever Sirius's adult graces might be, the boy had quite enough independence already. But he nodded. 'Yes, quite,' he mumbled before biting into the scone again so as to have an excuse to fall silent.

'I'm so pleased that you agree,' Mother said. 'Then you won't mind if Sirius finishes his holiday as arranged.'

'No, not in the least,' said Mr Black. He looked rather miserable now, as though he could not quite fathom how he had worked himself into this corner. He brushed the crumbs from the front of his costly robes and got clumsily to his feet. 'You'll excuse me, Mrs Lupin. Mr Lupin. I'm wanted back in London…'

'Of course,' said Father, standing up again. His eyes narrowed a little as he added coldly; 'The Apparition point is in the back garden. Past the cooker to your right.'

Mr Black retreated from the room, very nearly backing out of it. He paused and bowed to Mother. 'Good evening, Mrs Lupin,' he said. Then he turned heel and fled. A minute later the noise of Disapparition sounded in the garden.

There was a moment's silence.

'_Brilliant_,' Sirius breathed at last. He hopped up from his seat and threw his arms around Mother, crushing her in a victorious hug. 'You're absolutely _brilliant_!'

'Well,' Mother said, smiling shyly and smoothing her apron; 'I only hope that I did right, dear. You didn't look as though you're quite ready to go home.'

'That's because I'm not!' Sirius pledged. He cast an eye towards the kitchen window and chuckled. 'And I thought Mum's method was the only way to handle him.'

He moved as though to sit again, but thought better of it. He snatched up the cup and saucer abandoned by his father and brushed off the tablecloth. Then he retrieved Mother's cup from Remus and drew out the chair for her. 'Please do finish your tea,' he said.

Mother sat and Sirius pushed the chair in. Then he took his place again and sighed happily. 'As though he were never here,' he said, half to himself.

James's lips twitched and Remus was afraid that he was going to say something hurtful. It was horribly rude to Apparate into another wizard's home uninvited, and he knew that once Sirius's relief at being allowed to stay wore off he would be humiliated by his father's disgraceful behaviour. There was nothing to be gained from hastening that. 'Perhaps tomorrow we could take the bus down to the south pier,' he said, hoping the change of subject would not seem too contrived. 'That way Peter could go shelling and you could go swimming if it's warm enough, and there's a good stretch of shops to keep Sirius entertained as well.'

'Sounds like a capital idea,' said James. 'I could treat us all to lunch, too.'

Mother rose again and started to collect the empty teacups. Sirius was on his feet almost at once. 'Let me do the washing-up,' he said hurriedly, relieving her of the dishes so quickly that he very nearly dropped them. Remus got up to gather the others before Sirius could do anything foolish.

'We'll do it, Mother,' he said quietly. 'You sit and relax.'

She looked from Sirius's eager face to Remus's solicitous one and nodded, smiling. 'Thank you, boys; that's very kind,' she said, settling back into her seat.

James sighed and hefted himself dramatically out of his chair. 'C'mon, Peter,' he said, grumbling playfully. 'Let's go and treat ourselves to a little Muggle housework.'

Remus filled the sink with hot water while Sirius stacked the plates neatly to his left. Washing dishes with his friends was more difficult than doing it alone. Peter was actually a very capable helper, but Sirius's enthusiasm was nerve-wracking at best and James's half-hearted efforts at wiping the clean dishes left much to be desired. Still, there was a wonderful sense of camaraderie that came from tackling a task together, and soon the four boys were laughing and talking happily while Mother and Father looked quietly on from the table. Remus had just finished washing the tureen when the unthinkable happened.

With the noise of their chatter the _crack_ was less startling this time, but that was more than overmatched by the fact that the uninvited visitor was not Sirius's father this time, but his mother.

She seemed to cast a pall upon the entire room, Apparating in less than three feet away from the boys. Her silk robes rustled and her taloned hand was closed around the handle of her wand. Imperious eyes swept the scene before her and her lip curled menacingly. Peter's eyes were wide, and James squared his shoulders defiantly, but Sirius shrunk back against the sink, clutching his cloth and the dripping ladle to his chest.

'M-Mum!' he yelped involuntarily.

Both of Remus's parents were on their feet now, but neither seemed capable of speech. Mother was staring at Mrs Black as though she had never seen anyone like her before – which in all probability she had not. Father was pale, and his hand crept halfway to his wand before halting.

Mrs Black looked at them as though they had crawled out of a swamp. 'How dare you?' she hissed, her voice leeching all of the warmth from the kitchen. 'How dare you presume to treat my son like a servant? How _dare _you allow him to sully his hands like a Muggle?'

'Mum! No!' cried Sirius hoarsely. He flung the towel and the utensil into Peter's arms as though they burned him. 'No, it's not like that, Mum, I promise!'

'See here,' said James, planting his hands on his hips and scowling up at the stern, patrician woman. 'I've already told your husband that you can't go around Apparating into people's kitchens uninvited. It's just not on, you know.'

Mrs Black's head swivelled towards him like a falcon training on its prey. Her left hand twitched menacingly, but she merely tilted her head further back and let out a chilling sniff. 'This has nothing to do with you, Master Potter,' she said. 'Though I would have expected someone of your upbringing to have higher standards. Scouring like a house-elf…'

'The boys offered to clean the dishes as a favour to me,' Mother said firmly, stepping forward and somehow, miraculously, managing to smile. 'It was very kind of them, but I assure you that I did not expect it. Your son is a thoughtful and most considerate young man; you ought to be proud of him.'

'Proud?' The word came out in a derisive bark of laughter. 'And what would you know about pride? You may be a Mudblood, but you might least have enough self-respect to dress like a witch.'

'You cannot speak to my wife that way!' Father exclaimed. Remus looked at him, startled by the outburst. He was very white and his left hand was clutching the back of the nearest chair, but he stood his ground firmly. Remus was suddenly very proud of his sire: Father, at least, knew who he was facing, and he was doing his very best.

Mrs Black cast a withering eye upon him, taking in his weary features and his unremarkable clothing and the almost imperceptible tremor in his wand-hand. 'Who are you to tell me what I cannot do?' she challenged. 'Last scion of a mediocre house that was never good for anything but grubbing in the gutter.' She turned swiftly towards her son and snapped her fingers. 'Sirius, come!' she commanded.

'Why?' he whispered plaintively. The sound seemed to startle him, for his eyes widened with horror, but he could not take it back.

Mrs Black's lips curved upward into an unpleasant smile. 'Because your aunt and uncle came to dinner tonight,' she cooed; 'and Druella had some interesting information to impart.'

Suddenly Sirius was as white as the froth from the washing-up liquid. James looked puzzled and Peter seemed to be trying to press himself right through the cupboard door and out of sight. Remus could not quite work out what Mrs Black's remark meant, but he felt certain that he ought to know.

'M-Mum, I can explain…' Sirius faltered.

'Can you,' she said coldly. It was not a question. '_Can_ you explain how you defied my express orders and continued to consort with that filthy blood-traitor and the Mudblood she's taken to her bed? By all means, let us hear what Sirius Orion Black has to say for himself.'

The fire of defiance blazed in Sirius's quicksilver eyes and he squared his shoulders, taking a long stride away from the shelter of the sink. He was still very pale, but he opened his mouth and was about to make some very scathing retort. Then his eyes shifted to the left, to where Remus's mother stood watching warily. His back rounded and he slumped into a slouch of defeat.

'I'll go and pack my things,' he whispered.

'Certainly not!' snapped Mrs Black. 'Let the half-blood brat pack your things, and I shall send a house-elf to fetch them later. You are coming home _at once_, and you are going to account for yourself in front of your grandfather and your uncle and your poor cousin Bellatrix! The shame of it, that a child of my body should show such disregard for the dignity of his bloodline and stoop to fraternize with that kind of filth, encouraging her abominable spawn—'

'Nymphadora is not abominable spawn!' Sirius cried, clearly unable to bear any more of his mother's vitriol. 'She's a lovely baby, and she's a Metamorphmagus, and she's going to grow up to be something special!'

Remus did not have time to remark upon the fact that Sirius had finally used the correct word to describe his baby cousin's unique talents. Mrs Black's hand shot out, closing on Sirius's forearm with such sudden force that the boy could not quite stifle a yelp. With a tiny cry of consternation, Mother shot forward.

'Stop it; you're hurting him!' she exclaimed, grabbing at Mrs Black's arm.

'Unhand me, Mudblood!' the other woman shrieked, flinging Mother off so that she stumbled against the table. White with rage now, Father bolted forward, levelling his wand.

'_Stupefy_!' he cried.

He fired the spell with reasonable skill, but Mrs Black was quicker. Her own wand twitched and the Shielding Charm rebuffed Father's Stunner with enough force to shake the table. She followed it almost immediately with an incantation Remus did not catch, but it sent Mr Lupin reeling, clutching at his face. In the moment's confusion Mrs Black grabbed Sirius again and, before he could even make an effort to wrench away, Disapparated with her son amid a concussive _bang_.

For a moment Remus could not breathe. Then he was running around the table to his fallen father. There was blood on his hand and streaming down his cheek from a vicious gash that ran up his jaw and into his hair. He looked at his son, momentarily stunned, and then turned towards his wife. 'Dorothy? Dorothy, are you all right?' he cried.

'I'm fine, Ross, fine,' Mother gasped. She was picking herself up now. The heel of one of her shoes had snapped off and she stumbled out of the other one, smoothing her hair with one hand and looking around in bewilderment. 'Is she mad?' she breathed. 'What on earth…'

'She's a Black,' Father said bitterly. 'By birth _and_ by marriage.' He was struggling to stand now, and Remus moved to help him. The man gripped the boy's slender shoulder desperately, but even so his hold did not cause pain. Remus's stomach twisted, wondering what was happening to Sirius now that he was away from the mitigating influence of outside observers.

'We have to do something,' Mother said, casting about helplessly. 'That poor child… oughtn't we to ring for the police? I mean Floo for the wizard police.'

'And say what?' asked Father. 'That you tried to outsmart Orion Black and his wife took exception to it and came to collect their son anyhow? No one from Magical Law Enforcement is going to do anything about Arcturus Black's daughter-in-law bursting into a half-blood home uninvited. It may be impolite, but it's hardly criminal.'

'She was hurting him,' Mother protested helplessly. 'She can't… it isn't right.'

Remus was still keeping his father on his feet, and he cast a helpless look at James. The other boy seemed to understand, for he moved to right the fallen chair and guided Remus's mother to it.

'I'll speak to my father,' he said firmly. 'I'll go at once and see what can be done.'

'How anyone can grab a child like that…' Mother murmured helplessly. 'Much less her _own_ child…'

James turned towards Father. 'Should I go, sir? Dad might be able to help.'

'There's nothing to be helped,' Father said heavily. 'He's their child, Dorothy. They have every right to take him home if they want to.'

'They don't hurt him,' James said. 'Not really. I'm sure they don't.'

'I'm not,' Remus said softly. 'I'm not sure of that at all. If they've found out he's been in contact with Andromeda they're bound to be furious. I… I think we ought to do something if we can.'

'What can we do?' Father protested wretchedly. 'We've no proof of anything and even if we did… Don't you realize what the Ministry would make of an accusation like that, coming from me? Bad enough your mother's a Muggle, but once they sussed out that y—'

He caught himself, and his whole body shuddered. He shook his head and tightened his grip on Remus as though he was afraid that his son would be snatched away. He dared to loosen his hold on the table and waved his other hand at James. 'Go on,' he said. 'Go and see if there's something that Roland Potter, Esquire, can do about it. God knows I'm helpless.'

James nodded and bolted from the room. There was a noise of rushing air as the fire in the sitting room sprang to life, and James's voice called out his address. Then there was silence. The only sound in the room was Father's laboured breathing and the hammering of Remus's heart.

Finally a frightened voice piped up, wavering from a corner of the kitchen. 'I want to go home,' Peter said.

_discidium_

Long into the night there were comings and goings. James's parents came by Floo, conferring with Mother and Father while Remus helped Peter to pack. Mrs Potter took him home, petting his hair soothingly and doing her best to comfort him after the shock. Then Father went out for a while and returned with a pair of grave-looking wizards who spoke to him and to Mother in turn before entering into a long, hushed conversation with Mr Potter. Presently they departed, around the time that Mrs Potter came back. James's father left then, Disapparating out of the front entryway. James popped out of the fireplace shortly after that, demanding to know what was being done and whether anyone had any idea how rude it was just to Apparate uninvited into somebody's kitchen. Mr Potter came back to report that he had tried to speak with Mrs Black at the house in London, but had been put off by Arcturus with the assurance that this was strictly a family matter and that Sirius was in no danger from his mother.

'That's the end of it, I'm afraid,' Mr Potter sighed, shaking his head and straightening his spectacles in a gesture very reminiscent of James. 'I'm sorry that all of you had such a shock this evening, but it really does seem as if everything is under control now.'

'Walburga Black does come on rather strongly,' said Mrs Potter, giving Remus's mother a quick hug. 'But she's very proud of her boys and I'm sure that once this is all sorted out everything will be fine. We're having Sirius to stay in the last two weeks of August – but of course you knew that: Remus is invited as well!'

'I don't like it,' Mother protested for what had to be the eighth time that evening. 'It isn't right. She was hurting him.'

'It was probably just overexcitement,' James said. 'She'll give him a proper tongue-lashing and send him to bed, and by tomorrow it'll be forgotten. We all knew she'd have to find out sometime that he's been writing to Drommie. That Narcissa's a nasty little sneak.'

There were more platitudes and promises to look in on the Blacks again, and then the Potters took their leave. Scarcely had Remus and his parents had a moment to draw breath when there came a crack from the kitchen. It was the younger of the Black's house-elves, come to collect Sirius's possessions. Remus tried to help, but the elf put him off unpleasantly, making short work of packing Sirius's bags. He stomped around the little bedroom and then vanished with a smarmy farewell.

After that the house was silent. Mother sat in her rocking chair, hugging her ribs with one arm and staring into the empty fireplace. Father tidied the kitchen and locked the doors and put a plaster on his cut face. Remus went up to his bedroom, now curiously hollow without the company of his friends, and sat for a long time on the edge of the bed. His ribs were aching and his legs felt week. He could not bear the thought of Sirius in the clutches of that horrible woman, being punished for something that was not wrong at all.

He slept very little that night. On Wednesday night Mrs Potter came by to report that she had managed to gain access to the Black drawing room that afternoon, and that she had seen Sirius.

'He's perfectly all right,' she assured Mother and Father. 'A bit sullen, of course, but then he's had his seaside holiday cut short. There is nothing at all to fret about: it was just a family dispute, and they've sorted it out now. It seems he wasn't meant to have contact with his cousin – I know it's foolish, but some of the old wizarding families are like that. They take elopements very personally. And after all,' she added with a sweet smile; 'I would be hurt if James ran off to get married and didn't even invite me to the wedding, wouldn't you?'

'Well, yes,' said Mother. 'But to encourage that kind of behaviour between cousins, over a bit of bad feeling…'

'I know,' said Mrs Potter. 'It's absurd. But Sirius is safe, and that's the main thing. It's just a shame he won't be allowed to join the boys in Northamptonshire next week-end. I know that Mrs Pettigrew was so looking forward to hosting all of Peter's friends.'

After that Remus slipped out of the room. He wanted desperately to believe that everything was all right, but he could not help but wonder. And over the next few days as the moon waxed in the summer sky and the aches began to build up in his joints, all that he could do was worry about Sirius, shut up in the big house in London with only his little brother for company. It seemed so unjust, but Remus was powerless to help him.

_discidium_

Sunday came at last, and with it the full moon. The day was uncommonly warm, and Remus sweltered miserably in the throes of his fever. He tried to ease his discomfort with a cold bath, and he drank iced water in abundance, but by the time the shadows began to grow long he was nearly mad with misery. At last he picked himself up off of the couch in the sitting room and trudged down into the cellar. His father followed him quietly, as he always had before.

As Remus stood there, barefoot amid the old bloodstained blankets, he thought about that second transformation, nine years ago, when he had fought with his father and kicked at his mother. Something of his bleak reminiscence must have shown on his face, because his father's brow furrowed. 'What is it?' he asked softly.

Remus shook his head. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, wriggling out of his robes and folding them carefully before handing them over to the adult. His hands crossed instinctively over his ribs, spreading to cover as much of the scarred skin as they could. 'It must have been so hard for you when I was small, when I used to fight you to keep from being brought down here.'

His father's eyes fixed piercingly upon him, shocked and sad and inexpressibly weary. The man sighed and tucked the garment under his arm, then drew his palm across his face and shook his head. 'It was harder when you stopped fighting,' he said softly. 'When I realized that you had accepted there was nothing we could do to help you.'

For a moment they stood thus, watching one another. Then Father turned and hurried up the stairs. The door shut out the light and Remus heard the first murmured incantation before the Imperturbable Charm took effect upon it. With mechanical movements born of long habit he backed into the corner and eased himself down onto the floor, wondering if he had imagined the tears in his father's eyes.


	101. A Rational Terror

_Note: Hi, everybody. Sorry about the delay in posting. Lately it's become evident that Stoplight Delight has to let something go if she wants to keep her sanity. But fear not! She shall not give up on writing! Rather, Stoplight will be taking a little sabbatical from review replies, at least until life is a little more manageable. I will still answer any questions in reviews as I am able, and I will still be accepting and responding to Private Messages, but if I do not reply to your review, please, PLEASE know that I still appreciate it very much, and that it is your devotion and feedback that drives me to keep writing. And please do keep reviewing, because I need all the encouragement I can get these days._

_Thank you all for your consideration and understanding during what has proved to be a challenging year. Happy Christmas, everyone, with love from Stoplight._

**Chapter One Hundred One: A Rational Terror**

Someone was beating on a drum; a large and very hollow-sounding drum. The noise reverberated through the air, pounding against Remus's skull and thumping resolutely against his breastbone. Each thump brought with it a deep, searing anguish that bit into his bones and made the softer organs in his chest quiver in helpless torment. To make matters worse, the inconsiderate drummer refused to maintain a steady pace. He would strike fast and furious, then low and tremulous, and at every tempo in between, so that Remus could never predict when he might strike next, nor steel himself against the next onslaught of pain.

Dimly through the drumming he heard another sound, low and anxious, hitching and halting and weaving in and out of itself in a pattern even more inscrutable than the coarse percussion that all but drowned it out entirely. After a while he realized that it was in fact two sounds, not one: two voices, in fact, both of them alternating between talking to one another and not. The first voice kept cutting off in mid-breath to mumble what had to be incantations – there was a particular way in which wizards did that which was intangibly unlike any other speech. The second voice punctuated its hushed, anxious discourse with the first voice by murmuring gently and soothingly and unintelligibly to someone else.

Through the mists of disorientation Remus recognized the feeling of safety that the second voice brought to him and realized that it must be his mother. Logically, then, the other voice belonged to his father. That meant that it was dawn on the morning after the full moon: it was the only time that called for hasty and desperate spell-casting. Then the pain was to be expected and the irregular rhythm that he had taken for a badly-played drum was in fact the frenzied beating of his heart.

He tried to swim through the mire of misery towards consciousness, like a diver trying to surface from a great depth without any air to draw upon. He felt that he was making excellent progress until suddenly, like a trapeze artist swinging into a brick wall, he struck an impenetrable mass of agony that left him breathless and reeling back towards the safety of unconsciousness. The voices faded to distant murmurs that at last died off into silence.

_Discidium_

When next Remus came back to himself he was on his back in his narrow bed, clumsily covered with an old sheet splotched with years of bloodstains. It still smelled faintly of sea air, so he could not have been lying beneath it for more than a few hours, but it was already sticky with perspiration and it clung uncomfortably to his legs. Not daring to move, he stared blearily at a fresh blossom of red on the worn cotton where it tucked over his right shoulder. He wondered how badly he had done himself in this time, and then he realized that he was alone in the small room and for a moment he was frightened. He had passed dozens of full moons at home in nine years, and he could not remember awaking after a single one without his mother by his side. Then he realized that the afternoon sun was still high outside his window, and that she was surely at the Muggle Post Office.

That was good, he told himself firmly. He would not have been able to bear it if he had caused his mother to miss a day of work – not after all that he had cost his parents this summer already. All assurances aside he was not convinced that they had been put to negligible expense by having his friends to stay. He hoped that he would not need any costly potions or medicines this month. He did not seem to be too badly wounded: breathing hurt only if he tried to do it too quickly or deeply, and as long as he did not move his limbs only ached in a sluggishly indifferent manner that was quite inescapable after the rigours of the transformation.

He was dreadfully, but not intolerably, thirsty, and there was a peculiar lightness behind his eyes, as if the top of his skull might slip free and float up towards the ceiling. There was a bitter taste at the back of his throat and his stomach roiled uneasily. All these were signs that he had lost a good deal of blood, but as his vision was clear he could not have lost _too_ much. He closed his eyes, keeping his breathing shallow and slow so as not to aggravate the stabbing pain below his ribcage that threatened to surge up at the least provocation.

A floorboard creaked in the corridor outside, and Remus struggled to lift his eyelids again. By the time he managed it his father was standing over him, a basin in one hand and a mug of water in the other. He set the former down on the little table by the bed and tried unsuccessfully to smile.

'How are you feeling?' he asked unnecessarily. Remus could not have managed to answer even if there had been a comforting answer to give. He lay quietly as his father slipped an arm behind his shoulders and helped him shift a little so that he could drink. The water was cold and clean and comforting, and after the first two sips Remus dared a good-sized swallow.

It was a mistake. Fire ripped through his middle, exploding across his abdomen. As he tensed against it something shifted in his throat and the fluid went in the wrong direction. All of a sudden he was choking, ribs heaving in an effort to expel the water from his lungs. He tried to fight the urge to cough, for every paroxysm tightened the tentacles of anguish that coiled around his body, but the instinct for survival demanded it. His father was holding him upright, trying in vain to brace him against the tormented convulsions. Remus managed two ragged, inadequate wheezes, but the searing in his ribs told him that he was only drawing the water deeper down. He coughed again, as thoroughly as he could with the pain begging frantically for stillness. His vision was clouded with black blotches and he was certain that he would lose consciousness. Indeed, he was very nearly praying for it, when one more desperate, rattling explosion of air suddenly allowed him to swallow and his body went limp, drained of what strength it had and wracked with agony.

'Oh, God, Remus,' Father exhaled, shuddering a little against his son's body. 'Are you… oh, _God_.'

Remus did not have time to wonder why the second exhortation sounded so much more panicked than the first, for he was momentarily blinded by the impact of his back on the mattress as his father laid him unceremoniously back down and ripped aside the perspiration-soaked sheet. He could not feel anything different about the pain in his abdomen as his father's wand whispered above him amid frantic incantations, but he could tell from the increasing alarm in the wizard's voice that the spells were not working as they ought. He thought longingly of Madam Pomfrey, who would have known precisely what to do – no matter what was happening. She had said that he might send for her if his holiday transformations went badly, he remembered, but he did not recall whether he had asked her _how_ he might reach her, or where, if the need arose.

'Damn it, _damn it_,' Father muttered. He must have lowered his head despairingly, for something that felt very like hair brushed lightly on Remus's ribs, just above the inferno of indistinguishable pain that was obviously the cause of the problem. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm sorry; we have to.'

Remus realized with a shiver of cold horror what the man meant, but before he could even try to overcome the tightness in his throat to speak shaking hands were swathing his body in the sheet and wrapping tightly around him. Father took three deep, unsteady breaths and whispered something that might have been a prayer before with a sickening lurch they both Disapparated.

Blessedly, Remus remembered little of his unceremonious arrival in the intake area of St Mungo's Hospital. At some point in the flurry of activity and stern orders and startled exclamations he realized that there were several people around him, and that he was naked, and that he ought to be embarrassed except that it did not quite seem worth the trouble. Someone forced a potent, tinny-tasting concoction down his throat. It was hot and very thick, and he coughed and sputtered so that his ribs stung, but after that he felt very little of anything. He wanted to ask what was wrong with him, and whether anyone knew how to get hold of Madam Pomfrey, and when someone said '_Sarcirentus Transversalis Fascia_' he thought that he had managed to speak until he realized that it was not a logical answer to either question.

Then suddenly the chaos and the bright lights and the dancing wands were gone, and he was alone in the dark and he was thirsty. He was afraid to move and in any case he did not want water, after what had happened the last time he tried to drink. He tried to think about something else, anything else, but his mind was fogged with bewilderment and he could not remember who he was, or where he was, or why he could not have water. For a long while he seemed to drift to and fro between the hot, thirsty darkness and a cold place where he seemed to feel nothing at all except a detached pulsating rhythm where his solar plexus ought to have been. He wondered where the drummer had gone.

When someone wearing a dragonhide glove took hold of his jaw, Remus tried to clear the fog from his eyes. His enormous efforts to blink sufficed merely to make his eyelids flutter pitifully. Three fingers braced against the side of his neck, while forefinger and thumb forced open his mouth. Though his rational mind knew that his assailant was only trying to administer a potion, his reflexes rebelled and his head jerked backward, trying to free itself. The dragonhide grip tightened, and the index finger forced itself between his teeth, pressing down on his tongue. He gagged involuntarily, his aching chest spasming. Before he could even try to control himself, the hot, metallic potion was flooding into his mouth. He struggled to swallow, but could not quite manage to remember how to do it. He floundered, struggling to keep his windpipe closed: now he remembered what had happened the last time fluid had gone in the wrong direction. The fluid gurgled in the back of his throat and spilled out over his chin, running down over his neck and the glove that gripped him.

With a convulsion of disgust the hand withdrew. There was a coldly murmured oath and a disdainful female voice said; 'There's no use in trying: it won't cooperate. Insert a gavage kit and administer the potions that way.'

Another woman, younger and timid, protested, 'B-But Madam Selwyn, what if he… it… wh-what if it bites?'

'That's what the gloves are for, you silly thing,' the other woman snapped. 'Now either you can see to it, or you can explain to the creature's mother why it hasn't any blood left.'

'But…' the protestation was only a whisper, overpowered almost entirely by the click of raised heels on the floor. In the silence that followed Remus could hear shallow, anxious breathing nearby, but he could not seem to open his eyes. He desperately wished to, and to speak so that he might promise to try again. He was certain that he could swallow if only they didn't shove their fingers in his mouth. Madam Pomfrey always managed to encourage him to do so, no matter how far gone he was after a transformation. But of course, Madam Pomfrey cared enough to try.

A hand settled on his clavicle, heavy in its dragonhide glove and quivering. He heard the young Healer murmuring an incantation, and suddenly there was a horrid crawling sensation in his right nostril. It felt almost like the passing of dry, crusted mucus in the last days of an especially nasty head cold, except that it was moving _in_, not out. Whatever it was, it kept slithering further inside without coming to an end. He felt it slipping down the back of his throat and threading on and on and on until at last it stopped. There was a heavy exhalation of relief and the hand withdrew.

Moments later Remus could feel warmth spreading through his stomach, as if he had taken a long draught of Blood-Replenishing Potion, but he knew that none had passed his lips. There was obviously something else in the concoction, though, because he began to feel a drugged drowsiness creeping over him and the pain in his limbs seemed to fade away. Bewildered but grateful, he slept.

_discidium_

'Dear God, what have they done to him?'

The exclamation jolted Remus out of the quiet complacency of unconsciousness, though his effort to open his eyes was thwarted by something sharp and grainy crusting his eyelids together. His throat was burning faintly, but his mouth was not dry: he did not feel thirsty. He was aware enough to realize that this was peculiar, and to recognize the dismayed voice as his mother's.

'The Healer called it a gavage tube,' Father said quietly. 'She said that he can't swallow the potions on his own.'

'Did she even try?' Mother demanded. 'Did _you_ try? Sometimes it takes a little coaxing right after a transformation: you know that.'

'They said there wasn't time to fuss about,' the wizard protested. 'He had lost such a great deal of blood already, and he needed—'

'And why did he lose so much blood in the first place? When I left home this morning you told me you had everything in hand. You said I didn't have to worry. You told me… I never would have left to go to work if I'd thought you were going to bring him here! How could you do that without sending word?'

'There wasn't time,' said Father hollowly. 'I told you: he was managing all right until he started to cough, and then the wound ripped open again and there was blood everywhere. I did what I thought was best, Dorothy.'

'That simply isn't good enough!' cried Mother. 'Have you any idea how difficult it is to go off to work knowing that your child is lying in bed torn half to shreds, and then to come home and realize he's _gone_? Have you any idea what I thought when I realized the house was empty?'

Remus cringed, wishing that he might stop his ears. It had been ages since he had heard his parents quarrelling like this, but then as now he was at the heart of it. He wondered if his mother realized quite what she was saying. For years it had been his father who had been forced to go off to work on the morning after a transformation – at least on those days when he had not been obliged to send notice to the Ministry that he was not able to come in at all. Again he tried to open his eyes, and when that effort failed he shifted his left hand. It was laden with bandages and twitched only a little, but the motion was not lost on his parents. With a rush of robes his father was at his side, and he felt his Mother's fingers soft and cool against his cheek.

'Remus?' she whispered. He tried again to raise his eyelids, and she noticed the effort. Her thumb brushed against one eye and then the other, flicking away the material cementing them closed. Unsteadily he blinked until her face came into focus above him. She was still dressed for work, with her hair carefully coiffed and her lipstick neat, but under her rouge she was very pale and her eyes were red. Locking her gaze with his she seemed to wilt with relief. 'Can you hear me, dear heart?' she asked.

He tried to nod, but his neck was too stiff and sore. He could not quite manage to speak. His tongue flicked against dry and cracking lips, and she nodded. 'You're thirsty,' she said quietly. She looked sharply over his shoulder. 'How am I supposed to give him something to drink, then?' she demanded.

'The Trainee has been giving water every half-hour,' Father murmured. He looked perfectly wretched, standing near the foot of the bed as if he did not have a right to be nearer. 'Through the… through the tube.'

Mother shuddered. 'Dear God,' she whispered.

Remus swallowed, and felt a strange wriggling sensation deep in his throat. He pressed his lips together and then, with tremendous effort, spoke. 'What happened?' he said, his voice hoarse and raw as it usually was after the full moon. The writhing seemed to worsen with speech, and he closed his mouth again.

'You're in the hospital, love,' Mother said, leaning in and petting his hair soothingly. 'You wounded yourself rather badly, and when it opened up again your father couldn't mend it, so he brought you here.'

'Damn it, Dorothy, I tried!' Father exclaimed sharply. Then he buried his head in one hand and shrank back from the bed.

'It's all right,' Remus said, trying to ignore the discomfort in his throat. Swallowing worried it more than speaking anyhow, he told himself. 'I'm all right. Only…' He hesitated, wondering whether he ought to ask about the mysterious tube that was clearly such a point of contention between his parents. Deciding he oughtn't, he blinked ponderously. 'I'm all right.'

His mother made a wordless noise and kissed his brow. Father seemed unable to look at him. Remus shifted his right arm. When it moved without pain he ventured to lift his hand to scratch his nose, which was itching curiously. His fingers met something unexpected and he paused. His mother's hand was curled around his almost before he realized that the slender, flexible hose running into his nostril was attached to a little glass funnel suspended from a hook above the bed.

'Don't touch it, Remus; we'll have them take it out at once,' she said. 'It can't possibly be comfortable. It's barbaric.'

'The Trainee said they do it in Muggle hospitals all the time,' Father protested miserably. 'Only of course they can't guide them in with magic, so it's worse there, really…'

'Just go and fetch the Healer, then,' Mother said coolly. 'Tell her that our son is awake and he is lucid and he doesn't need that apparatus anymore.'

'It isn't so dreadful,' Remus croaked. He swallowed, and this time he understood that he was feeling the tube shifting in the back of his throat as he did so. His father cast him one more doleful look and then vanished from the ward. 'What did I do, Mother?' he asked. 'Was it my leg again?'

She shook her head. 'It was your left side,' she said; 'right at the crest of your hip. You were lucky, really, Remus: you didn't injure anything… vital. But it was a deep wound: you bit into something called your transversalis fascia, and the Healer told your father that's easily fatal.'

'He did the right thing, then,' Remus said softly. 'In bringing me here, I mean. You mustn't scold him.'

'He might have brought you here at once if that was what was needed, and he might have _told_ me so that I could have come along!' The words came out very quickly, tinted heavily with hysteria. 'I've been so patient with him, with his insecurities and his ineptitudes and his indecision, but _this_…' She choked back a sound suspiciously like a sob and pressed her fingers tightly to her lips. She shook her head, struggling to compose her features. 'He was trying to prove that he could take care of you, Remus, and he picked the wrong time to try to do it alone.'

Remus wanted to say something, either to comfort her or to defend his father, but he could not think of anything to say. He was weary and he was sore, and sleep seemed very tempting indeed. But before he could make up his mind to ask if he might try it, the ward door swung open and Father came back, leading a curly-haired young witch in bright lime-green robes.

'You see? He's awake,' said Father. 'Can't you take out the tube?'

'He doesn't need it,' Mother said. 'He's never needed one before. Why on earth didn't you try to get him to swallow on his own?'

'Healer Selwyn did try, Mrs Lupin,' the Trainee said timidly. She seemed torn between evading Mother's sharp gaze and steeling terrified glances at Remus. 'He spat it right out; we were afraid he might choke. As I understand it—' Here she looked sidelong at Father, an almost disapproving expression flitting across her nervous face. '—that was what gave rise to the need for hospital admission in the first place.'

'I was greedy,' Remus said. 'I tried to drink too fast; that's all. I was thirsty. I'm always thirsty… afterwards.' For the sake of his father's peace of mind he wanted to add that he was not ordinarily speaking lucidly so soon after a rough moon, but he held his tongue. As soon as he had spoken the young woman had startled terribly, and she was now very pale indeed. Her eyes kept darting between him and the door as if she wanted very much to flee but was afraid he might pounce if she tried. Remus's stomach lurched uneasily and he swallowed against the tube.

'This isn't your fault, Remus,' his mother said raggedly. She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked at the Healer. 'Can you please remove it now?' she asked.

'I don't… I don't think it would be wise,' the girl stammered. She couldn't have been more than three or four years older than Dorcas Meadowes, and she had none of the Gryffindor Prefect's self-assurance. Her whole body was rigid with tension: obviously she would have rather been anywhere but here at the moment. 'He'll need the Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour tonight, and the ones to fight fever and infection and pain every four hours. If we leave the tube in overnight I shan't have to wake him every time he needs a dose. He… it… he… that is, I mean, Thorpe's_ Practical Lycanthropy_ recommends uninterrupted rest on the night after a full moon, if at all possible. I did look it up.'

'It's all right,' ventured Remus. 'Uninterrupted rest does sound lovely.'

This time the young Healer actually did skitter back a pace and a half, her hand closing jerkily on a fistful of robe.

His mother was watching the young witch strangely. 'You looked it up,' she said. 'Do you mean to tell me that you've never treated a werewolf before?'

Father's jaw went slack and the Healer made a tiny, terrified sound deep in her throat, casting another anxious glance at Remus. She shook her head. 'I haven't… that is… I mean to say that I was only just assigned to this ward. I'm still in training, you see, and I'm not a fully qualified Healer yet. Madam Selwyn has extensive experience…'

'Yes, we've had experience with Healer Selwyn's experience,' said Mother. She was wearing a look of stony determination that Remus had only seen on her once before – when an American huckster had tried to convince her that a plot device popular in Muggle films might make a successful cure. 'Is there anyone else who can see to our son?'

'I don't… I mean to say… I… I…'

Mother's jaw was tight, but her voice was perfectly calm and reasonable. 'When we were here last, in January of last year, there was a Trainee Healer on this ward who seemed to have a little common sense and some compassion,' she said. 'I would like to have him take a look at my son.'

The girl seemed to shrivel in abject misery. 'I'm newly matriculated,' she said piteously. 'I don't know who would have been on this ward last year, but if you knew who it was you wanted perhaps the welcomewitch could fetch him for you…'

'His name was Foxworthy,' Father said. 'Or Fortescue… Fotheringay?'

'Ferrinby,' Remus whispered. Now the tightness in his throat had very little to do with the gavage tube. 'He can't come.'

'Why not?' Mother demanded, addressing the question to the Trainee. 'If he is in another department, surely it isn't that difficult for him to stop in here. If he's in private practice we'll pay.'

'Dorothy,' Father said in an eerie, empty voice. The implication was clear: pay with what?

Remus shook his head, hardly feeling the ache in his neck. 'He can't, Mother,' he breathed. 'He's dead.'

He wished he had not spoken. Mother turned to stare at him. Father cast his eyes down into his lap. The young Healer swayed on her feet and had to catch hold of the bedrail to steady herself. The silence was terrible. The questions in his mother's eyes rose and warred with one another; her perplexity was tangible. Then she blinked very slowly and managed a smooth, serene nod.

'Then there must be someone else,' she said calmly. 'Someone who has seen this sort of thing before, someone who is going to treat him like a patient instead of an inconvenience. Someone other than Healer Selwyn.'

'I haven't the authority to fetch anyone else,' the Trainee said miserably. 'Only the senior House Healer, and I'm not sure whether he's had any experience…'

'Go and fetch him, then, and I will ask,' Mother said. Her expression softened a little. 'I understand that you have to learn,' she added; 'but if you are going to learn on my son then there is going to be someone overseeing every decision you make. Isn't that how it is meant to work?'

'Yes,' the girl whispered. 'Only Healer Selwyn doesn't like to be bothered with…' Her eyes flickered tellingly in Remus's direction. He would not have needed the memory of his previous stay on Healer Selwyn's ward to finish the sentence. She did not like to be bothered with part-humans.

'I didn't ask you to bother Healer Selwyn,' Mother said. 'I'm afraid I do not much like her approach to treatment, and I would rather have another Healer. So go on and bring…'

'Healer Robins,' she chirped.

'Healer Robins,' Mother echoed firmly.

The Trainee could not have fled the room more swiftly if it had been on fire. While Mother busied herself in straightening the bedclothes and smoothing Remus's matted hair, Father paced agitatedly down the length of the ward. The other beds were empty, and the stern-looking wizard in the portrait on the far wall glowered disapprovingly down. Remus closed his eyes, thinking how happy he had been five days ago and wondering what his friends were doing now. James and Peter were surely enjoying their summer, but Sirius… He wanted to believe that Sirius was in better straights than he was, but that seemed like a great deal to hope for.

_discidium_

Healer Robins was a youngish wizard with an elaborately curled ginger moustache and beady brown eyes that seemed to look at everything at once. He inspected the dressings on Remus's abdomen, and checked several ugly but not critical bites on his arms and legs. He assessed his pupillary response and felt the tip of each finger and ran the vanes of a quill up the sole of each foot. With his wand he measured Remus's temperature and sealed a couple of the worst scratches very neatly indeed. All the while he carried on a long, methodical monologue full of medical jargon that was clearly meant for the benefit of the Trainee Healer: she listened raptly, nodding at intervals and gnawing on her lip as if to better fix the words in her memory. Finally he tugged the sheet back up over Remus's stomach and pocketed his wand, clicking his tongue thoughtfully.

'About what one would expect after that sort of injury, Mr Lupin,' he said, as if Mother were invisible. 'Bite like that, loss of blood, I don't need to tell you: you'll have been through all this before. Lucky he didn't gnaw on any organs, really: a transformed werewolf isn't too particular about what it's mauling. I understand that Healer Selwyn has him on a regimen for the blood loss, and we'll keep him on regular doses for pain at least tonight. He's going to need more work on the primary wound, but too much magic at one time isn't good for a body: the strain, you know. I expect he'll need another two or three days' care, but that's at Healer Selwyn's discretion, of course.'

'What about the tube?' Mother said.

'Quite necessary, I'm afraid, when a patient can't or won't take their potions,' Robins said. 'You wouldn't want us using a hypodermic, would you? Sticking patients full of needles like a pincushion: it's barbaric! I don't know how Muggles get away with that sort of thing.'

'He can take his potions now,' Mother said. 'Why can't you remove it?'

'Oh, well, we can if you'd prefer,' the Healer said. 'He'll need to be awake for cognitive assessment every hour anyhow: routine in cases of severe blood loss. If he's well enough to swallow he doesn't need the tube.'

'Then please remove it,' said Mother firmly.

'Go ahead, Latimer: remove it, then,' said Robins.

The young Trainee looked nervously at Remus, and then at the House Healer. 'Just… I'll need to fetch some gloves…' she said quietly.

'Don't be silly: you won't need gloves for this! Just a quick flick and it's over.' Robins stepped back to allow her closer access to the bed.

With a hand that shook as if with advanced palsy, the girl reached for the tube. Remus meant to hold perfectly still, but his head shifted a little towards her and she drew back her arm with a gasp. Steeling her courage, she reached out again. The senior House Healer was watching her with his arms crossed, frowning disapprovingly.

'Just what are you doing?' he asked.

'I'm going to r-remove it,' Latimer said stoutly, as if trying to convince herself. She quailed under his sceptical stare and clarified; 'I'm going to pull it out.'

He clicked his tongue against his teeth again, this time reproachfully. 'That's horrifying,' he said dispassionately. 'Just Vanish it, Latimer. Honestly. Haven't you any sense at all?'

'Oh. Vanish it. Of course. Of course.' She fumbled with her wand and took a deep breath before casting the spell. There was a cool burst of energy in Remus's nostril and sinus, and the tube was gone – leaving only the funnel on its hook above the bed.

Mother exhaled audibly and reached to touch Remus's cheek. 'That's much better, thank you,' she sighed.

'Right, then,' said Robins, consulting his pocketwatch. 'Might as well give him his midnight doses now,' he said. 'Five minutes either way won't make much difference. Then you really ought to get yourself a hot cup of tea: you look like a ghost.'

'But I… it.. he…' the Trainee stammered. The wizard did not seem interested in the least. He strode out of the ward.

Healer Latimer brought Remus's potions, and Mother helped him sit up enough that he might drink them. His throat was raw, from howling and from the gavage tube, and his jaw threatened to cramp, but he managed to drink everything he was given. Although Mother had to ask for water the young witch brought it unquestioningly, halting several paces from the bed so that she was well-positioned for a hasty retreat. As soon as Remus finished with the glass she hurried away, leaving the Lupins alone on the deserted ward.

'Try and sleep, love,' Mother murmured unnecessarily. Remus's eyelids were already leaden, and he let his cheek slip onto the pillow. He could not curl up, of course, but he found that he did not need to. He was drifting on the cusp of dreams when he thought he heard his father speak.

'You ought to go home and try to sleep, Dorothy. I'll stay.'

He hoped it was a dream when his mother replied coldly; 'I am not going anywhere, Ross.'

_discidium_

After a restless night punctuated with doses of Blood-Replenishing potion and repetitive questions about his age, his location, the name of the current Minister for Magic, and the six-times tables, Remus slipped into a heavy slumber just before dawn. When he awoke the morning sun was filtering through the small window and his father was sitting beside the bed. He was grey with exhaustion and he seemed to be grappling with dark thoughts, for he was staring unseeing at the drab hospital blanket and the fingers of his right hand kept shifting uneasily.

'Did she go home?' Remus croaked. He was thirsty, and there was an unpleasant taste in his mouth. His body felt very heavy beneath the bedclothes, and he supposed that he ought to be grateful that he was not in much pain.

'Hmm-what?' Father grunted. His head jerked up and he rubbed his unshaven chin with the butt of his hand. 'Remus. Did she go home. No. No, she went to find a phone box so she could tell them she won't be in to work today.'

Remus felt suddenly ill. 'I didn't want that,' he murmured.

The wizard sighed. 'Perhaps it's best this way,' he said. 'Someone ought to be here to speak up for you, and it seems I'm not equal to the task.'

'You mustn't say that,' Remus begged. 'You did what was best; Mother knows that. She was only frightened yesterday.'

Despair and failure haunted his father's eyes for a moment, fading to a profound weariness. 'I might have brought you in sooner,' he said. 'I thought if I could spare you all of this…' He gestured vaguely at the ward.

'Of course you did,' Remus said with all the conviction he had the strength to muster. 'You always try, and you're usually successful.'

'Not this time. Not when it was most needed,' muttered Father dourly. His fingers picked absently at a worn place on the opposite sleeve. 'You would think that after all these years I'd be able to accept my limitations.'

Remus was not certain how to respond to this, and he was frightened of saying the wrong thing. Instead he ran his tongue along his coarse lips and said, 'Do you think perhaps I might have some water?'

He had hoped to give his father something productive to do; something tangibly helpful. Instead the wizard blanched.

'Yes, yes, of course,' he stammered, clambering to his feet. 'Let me just… I'll go and fetch the Healer.'

Before Remus could protest that he was quite able to drink without the supervision of a Healer, his father was gone. He returned less than two minutes later with young Miss Latimer in tow. She managed to get Remus propped up in bed without too much trouble, but when she went to pour him a glass of water from the chilled pitcher by the bed her hands shook so dreadfully that she spilled down the front of her robes. She fumbled with her wand and dried them, then tried again. This time she managed to fill the cup, and she tried to hold it out for Remus to drink. It wobbled precariously and he instinctively lifted his right hand to help steady it.

The touch of his fingers against hers made the young woman flinch. Her eyes were flashing nervously about, looking everywhere but at her patient. Remus lifted his left arm painfully and cupped his bandaged hand clumsily beneath the bottom of the cup. 'I have it,' he said quietly. 'You needn't hold on.'

She pulled back her hand so quickly that she almost wrenched the glass away, and scrubbed it reflexively against her robes. Remus tipped the rim against his lips and sipped carefully, watching her and trying very hard to ignore the hurt in his chest. Over the years he had met with many reactions from those who did not take well to dealing with a werewolf. Revulsion was humiliating, and disdain was miserable, and mere indifference seemed like a blessing, but this was the worst by far. It horrified and saddened him to know that he was frightening her so badly: that his very existence was causing an innocent young woman so much distress. He wished desperately that there was something he could do to put her at ease.

'I won't hurt you,' he said softly, looking up at her with his steadiest eyes. 'I promise.'

Her mouth leapt and twitched and her cheeks bloomed with scarlet. 'I know that,' she stuttered. 'I know, I know that.' But she did not look at all convinced.

The ward door swung open and Mother came in. Her weary face softened a little when she saw that Remus was sitting up. She did not even glance at her husband, but he turned to her immediately.

'What did you tell them?' he asked hoarsely.

Mother shot him an unreadable look. 'The truth,' she said primly. 'That my son is injured and in hospital, and that I am going to stay with him today.'

Father exhaled heavily and scrubbed at his brow. 'Dorothy, you can't just tell people that…' he mumbled.

'Why not?' Mother demanded. 'As you keep pointing out, Muggles don't understand this sort of thing. They're actually human enough to _trust_ that it might be true, and to show a little compassion at a time like this.' Realizing how sharply her voice had risen she smoothed her skirt and her expression as one and said gently; 'It's all right, Ross. They'll not give me the sack for missing one day.'

Remus wondered miserably whether she could afford to miss a day's pay, and his father must have been thinking the same thing. His mouth opened partway and then snapped closed, and he sat heavily down again.

'A-As you're up I'll check your dressings,' Healer Latimer said. She was still not meeting Remus's eyes, but at least she was speaking to him. She twitched her wand and an assortment of bandages appeared at the foot of the bed. She reached for the dragonhide gloves on her belt and glanced at his parents. 'You might want to step outside,' she said. 'The wounds aren't closed yet and it might be distressing.'

'We're staying, thank you,' Mother said curtly. She slipped past her husband and took up a defensive post at Remus's side. She placed one hand on the crown of his head and laid the other on his shoulder, determined to bear with him through the unpleasantness.

_discidium_

Healer Selwyn came in once that afternoon, filled with detachment and disdain. She did some precise and very swift spellwork on Remus's abdomen, and then put right all but the most superficial of the other bites. Remus sat quietly, studying his new scars, while the Healer and his parents debated whether to keep him in hospital for another night. In the end his mother prevailed, and the awkward process of discharge began. In the moment of panic Father had not thought to bring Remus anything to wear home, so he had to Disapparate to fetch a set of school robes. Mother helped Remus to wash his face and his hands while they waited. When at last he was dressed they made the slow pilgrimage down to the Floo fireplaces and the safe Apparation point. Neither mode of travel was particularly gentle, but Remus managed the Floo, stumbling out into the little sitting room in Falmouth and hastening to the couch before he could faint. His mother emerged straight after him, and presently there was a noise in the garden as Father Apparated home. He was grey from the effort and as he helped Remus up the stairs to his room his knees trembled.

Tucked into his own bed at last, Remus would have slept, had he not been so anxious to hear what his parents would say to one another once they thought he could not hear them. As he had expected, his father eased the bedroom door closed and spoke almost at once.

'Dorothy, I'm sorry,' he said. 'I was only trying…'

'Don't apologize to me: apologize to your son,' Mother said. She sighed and there was a rustle of cotton as her skirt brushed against something. 'I know that you did what you thought best, Ross, and it isn't your fault that he was so badly hurt, but you should have called me. In fact, you shouldn't have insisted that it was all right for me to go to work on Monday.'

'I thought that it was,' Father protested.

'Well, it wasn't!' Mother cleared her throat and made a small penitent sound. 'Even if all this hadn't happened… I spent the whole day fretting. It's an awful thing to expect life to go on as usual, knowing your child is lying at home with his insides on the outside, and…'

She inhaled sharply, a startled sound that made Remus's heart jump in his sore chest. There was a rush of feet and Mother's voice came muffled. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't think. All those years, all those times you went off on the morning after; I didn't realize how hard it must have been for you.'

Father said nothing, but Remus could hear the hitch in his breath that meant he was trying to retain some semblance of control. There was a creak of a floorboard as his parents moved away from his door, and when next one of them spoke it was a distant, indistinct murmur that barely penetrated the veil of his fatigue.


	102. Up and About

_**Note: **__Did any of you ever watch 'Heartbeat'? There's a scene in one of the Mike seasons where a lady author who came to town to escape her writer's block (and who later turns out to be kinda psychotic) telephones her publisher at two o'clock in the morning, gleefully proclaiming; 'I don't care what time it is! I'm writing. I'M WRITING!' as she holds the receiver to her typewriter and punches the keys as noisily as possible. That's how I'm feeling right about now._

_In other news, my health still isn't what it should be, but I can't thank you all enough for your encouragement and support. Rest assured that AtM is NOT abandoned, and I'll continue to update when I can. _

**Chapter One Hundred Two: Up and About**

On his first day out of hospital, Remus's mother scarcely left his side for a moment. The following morning, however, he was strong enough to be propped up in bed and she reluctantly went back to work. Remus spent most of the morning engrossed in the chess book that Professor Meyrigg had given him, interrupted periodically by anxious visits from his father. It was peculiar to be alone with him at a time like this. His efforts at nursing were well-intentioned but clumsy. He checked the dressings on Remus's stomach with hands that quivered almost imperceptibly and every time he came upstairs he brought another cup of water, so that the bedside table was soon covered in full tumblers. At eleven o'clock he brought in toast and tea, and sat quietly by the bed while Remus tested his uneasy stomach.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

Remus glanced down at the bread he had been nibbling. 'It's done perfectly,' he said, bewildered.

His father's face crumpled wretchedly. 'Not about the toast,' he exhaled. 'I'm sorry about… about _this_. About all of it.'

He nodded somberly. 'I know that,' he said; 'but you needn't be. You did what was best, and after all I'm the one who put you in that position in the first place.'

'No,' Father breathed. 'No, you're not.'

There was a terrible look in his eyes now, horror and regret and a blinding despair mingling together. His lips, suddenly very white, moved soundlessly. His left hand shot out to grip Remus's wrist. 'I'm sorry,' he choked out again. 'I'm so sorry. I was foolish. I was… I was young and I'd had too much to drink and I didn't ever imagine…'

His fingers clenched tighter, digging unintentionally into a bruise that Remus had not even realized was there. Involuntarily he stiffened, and his father drew back his hand as if he had been scalded. 'I'm sorry,' he whimpered, rising swiftly and hurrying from the room. He fled down the stairs, and a moment later Remus heard the back door slam. He strained his ears towards the window, ajar so that he might have some fresh air in the heat of the day, but he heard neither the click of the gate nor the sound of someone Disapparating.

He finished his tea and managed half of the toast, then with much ginger twisting managed to get himself down off of the pillows so that he could lie flat. He had neither the will nor the fortitude to puzzle out his father's miserable words; instead he slept.

_discidium_

Friday was the day he ought to have left for the Pettigrews' home, but as he was only just strong enough to hobble down to the kitchen he was unable to go. Mother took it upon herself to speak to Mrs Pettigrew via Floo, since Father seemed to find it an almost unattainable effort even to converse with his family. She came from the sitting room with a gentle smile on her face, and bent to kiss Remus on the temple before sitting beside him at the table.

'She says you're welcome to come just as soon as you're feeling better, love,' she told him. 'James is expected this afternoon, and he and Peter will be able to keep themselves entertained.'

Remus's stomach fluttered uncomfortably. 'What did you say is wrong with me?' he asked.

Mother sighed softly. 'I only told her you were feeling a bit off-colour,' she said. 'I do wish you wouldn't fret so. You and your father, both so convinced that the whole world is going to work out the truth on the strength of a couple of unrelated illnesses.'

'They're not unrelated,' Remus mumbled, reaching for his water to wash down the mouthful of egg.

'If your friends haven't worked it out in two years of living with you, why should a woman who's never even seen you before?' Mother asked reasonably.

'My friends…' Remus glanced in the direction of the stairs. His father was still up in his bedroom, doubtless worrying himself sick over the very matter at hand. He shook his head. 'I'm sure it will be all right,' he said. 'I just wish that…'

'You'll be stronger tomorrow,' Mother said. 'Perhaps then you'll be able to go.'

'It isn't that,' Remus said. 'I wish that _Sirius_ might have been able to go. It isn't so hard for me; I'm used to being on my own, and it's really quite pleasant here, but he's shut up in that big old house with his mother and his dreadful grandparents. It isn't right.'

Mother folded her hands and watched him pensively. 'I've been meaning to ask you about that,' she said. 'Has Sirius ever led you to believe that there's anything untoward going on in his home?'

Remus nodded. 'He doesn't like to talk about it. I don't think he likes to think about it. But… sometimes people come to see his parents or his grandfather. Pure-bloods. People who are mixed up in the things that are going on in London; in Croydon. I don't think they're the people who are actually responsible for the attacks,' he said hastily. 'They're just… they're the sort who have the same philosophy regarding Muggle-borns and… and mixed marriages.'

It was clearly not the answer that his mother was expecting. She blinked twice, very quickly, and seemed at a loss as to what she might say.

'Please don't tell Father,' Remus said hastily. 'He already thinks the worst about Sirius's family, and he wouldn't understand how ashamed Sirius is. He gets so angry even thinking about it – that's the only reason I know, because when Sirius is angry he doesn't pay any mind to what he's saying and it all just comes tumbling out.'

'Of course,' said Mother. 'That wasn't quite what I meant, though. Are his parents… that is to say, how do they discipline him when he's done something of which they disapprove?'

'I don't know,' Remus admitted. 'He'll never say. His mother's very strict, and something happens upstairs, but that's all that I can say for certain. And she pinches him,' he added after a moment. 'But it isn't only that. He's so miserable at home. They're always quarrelling, and now they know he's been in contact with Andromeda they're bound to be furious. You saw her. She was _furious_.'

'Hmm. Don't think I've forgotten how she turned you out into the street, either,' Mother muttered. She shook her head. 'Your father seems to think it would be dangerous even to question the way they're raising their son, but if—'

There was a heavy footfall at the top of the stairs and Mother stiffened. By the time her husband entered the room she had mustered a gentle smile.

'Good morning,' she said, getting up to fill a plate for him. When he attempted to wave her off she cleared her throat pointedly and fixed him with an imperious eye. Wordlessly he took the dish and sat down heavily in his accustomed place, forcing down two mouthfuls in rapid succession.

'I've been thinking about ways to help Remus improve his classwork in Potions,' Mother said, bringing her own breakfast to the table and refreshing her son's tea. 'Have you any ideas, Ross?'

He shrugged heavily. 'I'm not much use in that respect either,' he said grimly. 'I was only mediocre at best: I was in fourth year before I could keep clockwise and anticlockwise straight.' With that he lapsed back into morose silence, having abandoned eating his eggs for mashing them around the margin of his plate.

Mother shot him an arch look that Remus could not read. It seemed lost on his father as well, for he spent the rest of the meal toying absently with his food and taking the occasional grimacing slug of tea. It was a tremendous relief when Remus was able to get up, leveraging his body with both hands firmly planted on the table, and shuffle into the vacant peace of the sitting room. He settled on the sofa with his knees tucked up as far as his healing wounds would allow, and stared out at the robin who was hunting on the front lawn.

_discidium_

On Sunday Father did not even come down for breakfast. He appeared just before noon, taking a piece of bread and butter but eschewing Mother's rich chicken stew, and went out to clean the upstairs windows. Though stronger that day Remus was laden with a cloud of exhaustion, and at about two o'clock he trudged up to his bedroom and curled up atop his coverlet. The sun was setting when he awoke, and he roused himself only long enough to eat a little and see to his evening toilette before retiring again.

Monday morning found him refreshed – almost transformed from his sickly self into an ordinary boy again. He awakened to the first stirrings in his parents' bedroom and was downstairs, washed and dressed, in time to help his mother with breakfast. His father did not appear until after she had departed for work, and he only paused to ask how Remus was feeling before slipping out the back door and Disapparating away.

Restless now that he was feeling well again, Remus found that the day dragged interminably on. He went out into the garden for a while, weeding the vegetable garden until his side began to ache again. He tried to work on his Transfiguration assignment, but his mind kept wandering. He dusted the shelves in the sitting room, and was certain that he had managed to pass the whole morning only to find that it was not even half past ten. He changed into the least disreputable of his Muggle clothes and walked down to the little playground at the end of the street, but without the raucous laughter of his friends it seemed a forlorn and dismal place. Back at home he undressed and gave his hair a proper wash, which it hadn't had since before the full moon, and then at last it was lunchtime. He fixed himself a sandwich and ate it at the empty table, then washed his plate and cup with twice the necessary care.

It was not until three o'clock, when he had brushed down the picture frames in the front corridor, washed and dried three loads of laundry, and fiddled with his chess set and the book from Professor Meyrigg for an hour and a half, that he finally made up his mind. He marched upstairs – that act in itself proof of how much he had recovered – and began to gather his clothing.

At supper that evening he announced that he would like to depart for the Pettigrew home the following morning.

Mother's expression of pensive placidity dissolved into a radiant smile. 'Oh, darling, I hoped you might be feeling well enough,' she said. 'You look ever so much better today. I shall just go and Floo to Mrs Pettigrew and let her know to expect you—'

She was in the process of rising when Father, who had returned home less than fifteen minutes before and had been silent all the while, reached out to grip her arm. 'I don't think it wise, Dorothy,' he said leadenly.

She exhaled sharply through her nose and looked down at her husband. 'And why not?' she asked mildly, but Remus thought he caught a spark flashing in the corner of her eye.

'He may look better than he did two days ago,' Father muttered; 'but he's a far sight away from looking _well_. And after the blood that he lost, and the injuries he took, do you really think it wise to have him gallivanting off with a bunch of wild boys who can't be expected to make allowances for things they know nothing about?'

A determined knot formed at the base of Mother's jaw and she moved her free hand to pry his fingers loose. She pressed her other palm to his, entwining her fingers around each other as if to reassure him of her affection even as she fixed him with a steely unshakable gaze. 'First you don't want him to see them because they might work out the truth,' she said slowly; 'and now you don't want him to see them because they don't know it. I'm inclined to think that you might not want him to have friends at all.'

Remus shifted awkwardly in his seat. He hated it when people spoke about him as if he were invisible – hated, in fact, when they spoke about him even when he _was _invisible. Usually his parents were careful to avoid doing so, at least when they knew he was awake and aware.

His father let out a harsh huff of air, wrenching his hand free and running both through his hair in a gesture that seemed more than half deranged. 'It isn't that, damn it,' he exclaimed. 'It's only that it's so sodding dangerous, and no matter how I try to explain it you _refuse_ to understand that—'

'I'm well aware it's dangerous!' Mother exclaimed, and there was a sharp click as she stamped one foot in an uncharacteristically defiant gesture. 'What _you_ don't seem to realize is that there are other things a good deal more dangerous than Remus having friends.'

He turned desolate eyes upward, fingers creeping down over his cheekbones but not quite falling from his face. 'Such as?' he asked hoarsely.

'Such as _not_ having friends,' she said fiercely. 'Such as being alone when he's home and lonely among hundreds in school. Such as feeling that he can't have a life worth living just because of an unfortunate accident when he was scarcely more than a baby. Such as being frightened and suspicious and anxious all the time. Such as thinking that somehow he doesn't deserve what other boys have, just because he's a little different.' There was a stormy pause, a hollow portentous moment when her words seemed to hang heavy in the air. Then her shoulders slumped a little and she said, far more softly and with a touch of the Irish in her voice; 'I know how difficult it is to be different, Ross,' she said. 'And sometimes the best cure for the loneliness of it is to let yourself forget, just for a short while, that you are.'

Suddenly Remus felt as if he were intruding on a deeply private moment between his parents. An entire conversation passed between them in silence, his father's upturned eyes glazed with pain and turmoil and his mother's steady and determined, yet piteous. Though he knew that he ought to look away from them he found he could not. It was his father who first broke off contact, letting his lids droop closed as if he lacked the strength to keep them open any longer. His hands slipped down at last, folding almost of their own accord on the tabletop.

'And as for running about when he's only just healed,' Mother said, as composed as if they had been calmly discussing the matter all along; 'I think we can trust to Remus's good sense not to strain himself just to keep pace. Can't we, Remus?'

He nodded almost hypnotically, and heard himself say; 'It's not as though I'm going to visit James. I understand that Peter's family is the quiet sort, and there's not much mischief to be getting into in a little village like that. I expect it will be quite restful, really.'

'And better for your wellbeing than sitting at home alone all day with nothing but schoolwork to keep you occupied,' said Mother assuredly. She smoothed her skirt and sat again. 'I do think it might be more polite to wait until after the supper-hour before calling Mrs Pettigrew, don't you, darling?'

Father stared at her, momentarily dumbstruck, then nodded. 'Yes,' he said, at once resigned and oddly bemused. 'Yes, I do think that might be best.'

_*discidium*_

Later, while Remus was finishing the last of the washing-up and Father was sitting at the table, bent over the 'Situations Available' section of a day-old edition of the _Prophet_ that looked as if it had been put through a mangle, Mother's low voice drifted in from the sitting room. There, Remus knew, she was kneeling on the hearthrug with her head and shoulders thrust into the fire as she conversed with Peter's mother, making arrangements. He reached for the last plate and was wiping it carefully when he heard her call his name.

'Yes, Mother?' he said politely as he peered around the door. She was sitting back on her heels, serenely brushing ash from her hair and shoulders. She smiled softly, not quite able to hide the weariness in her eyes.

'I wonder, dear heart, how quickly you and I could gather your things together,' she said. 'Mrs Pettigrew says that both James and Peter are most anxious to see you, and I thought that if you felt well enough you might go tonight after all, and—'

'I've packed my things already,' Remus said hastily. All the discomfiture of the past hour was melting away, replaced by eager excitement. 'I just need to know what sort of bedding to bring. Did Mrs Pettigrew say—'

'They've a camp cot ready for you,' Mother said. 'Just go and fetch your bag and your pillow; I'm sure you'd be more comfortable with your own pillow. And I'll just… dear, but it's so wonderful that you've made friends at school, and you mustn't let your father frighten you.'

'I know,' said Remus. 'I'm not frightened in the least, I promise. May I…'

'Yes, go;' Mother said. 'Go on: Mrs Pettigrew said the ginger biscuits are just coming out of the oven, and they'll be delicious when hot.'

Such exertions would have been impossible the previous evening. Remus was not even certain whether his feet touched the stairs as he sped up to his room. He snatched his satchel, burgeoning with Muggle clothes, his other set of robes, and assorted undergarments. His nightshirt was under his pillow, and he stuffed it into the slip. He had to do an abrupt about-face at the top of the stairs when he realized that he had not packed his toothbrush on the assumption that he would be needing it at home tonight. He doubled back, shoved it into the little pocket that usually held his penknife, and thundered downstairs and into the kitchen.

His parents had been speaking in low voices, Mother bent over Father's shoulder where he still sat with the newspaper. Both looked up and smiled, hers a sincerely blissful grin and his an unsteady but determined grimace. Father got to his feet and came around the table to hug Remus's shoulders with one arm.

'Be careful,' he whispered as his mouth passed near his son's ear. Aloud he said. 'Have a good time, and please do try not to run yourself too hard.'

Mother clicked her tongue fondly and ushered Remus back into the sitting room. She took a pinch of Floo Powder and tilted her head down a little to kiss him. 'I want you to have fun,' she said; 'and not to fret. It isn't healthy, and really it's more suspicious than anything else, don't you think?'

'Yes, Mother,' said Remus. Again the truth hovered just behind his teeth, but he swallowed it resolutely. Even if he had dared to tell, the explanations would have taken hours and all that he wanted now was to be out of the house and back amongst his friends. 'Take care,' he said.

Then the powder was in the fire and Remus stepped into the tickling green flames, clutching his baggage tightly to his body. Clearly and carefully he said; 'Reath Cottage, Titchmarsh, Northhamptonshire.' With a swirl of cinder his mother's smiling face wavered and vanished.

_*discidium*_

There was no doubt whatsoever that he had stumbled out of the right fireplace. Remus found himself standing, rather sooty and breathless, in the midst of a tiny sitting room filled right to the rafters with lace. There were lace curtains on the windows with lace valances above them, lace antimacassars on the backs of the overstuffed couch and chairs, lace cloths on the spindly little tables, lace drapings on the edges of shelves cluttered with china figurines and assorted bric-a-brac, and even pieces of cobwebby bobbin lace in frames on the walls. It was precisely the sort of room that Remus imagined Peter's protective mother doting upon.

Had there been any room for uncertainty it would have been allayed three seconds later when a familiar whoop of delight sounded somewhere near at hand. Before he could even turn to find the door Remus was attacked by a jubilant James Potter who clapped him on the back and ruffled his hair in a most undignified fashion, all the while exclaiming aloud.

'You've come! You made it! At last, we outnumber the women! Peter! He's here! Remus is here! He made it at last!'

'I can see that,' Peter said, and Remus managed to twist around despite the good-natured pummeling that was still coming from James's hands. The podgy little boy was leaning against the door-post, a mug of milk in one hand and a still-steaming biscuit in the other. He grinned enormously. ''Lo, Remus,' he said. 'I'm so glad you could come.'

'Don't keep him standing there!' a shrilly cheerful voice commanded. 'Come and get a bit of something to eat, love, and let me have a look at you.'

'She means you,' James said, backing off at last and enthusiastically relieving Remus of his baggage. He slung the satchel over his shoulder and tucked the pillow under one arm. 'Peter's mother seems to labour under the mistaken impression that no one on earth has ever eaten properly until he's dined at her table.'

'The biscuits are fresh,' Peter said happily. 'They're delicious, Remus, truly.'

'He's not just saying that because she'd burst into tears if she suspected her darling boy might not fancy her cooking,' James assured the newcomer. He nudged Remus towards the door with one shoulder. 'She may be high-strung, but the lady can certainly bake.'

The Pettigrews' kitchen was large and homey. A great stone fireplace dominated one wall, and a vast assortment of copper cookware hung from the heavy beams overhead. There was a large oaken table, sturdily built and obviously well-used, and old-fashioned joined cupboards jostled for space between a heavy dish-dresser and the granite workspace still littered with the remains of biscuit-making. Mrs Pettigrew herself was bent over the stone oven next to the fire, drawing out another pan of dark fragrant wafers cut in the shape of stars and comets and, strangely enough, spoons.

She was a plump lady, short and rosy-cheeked. She wore an enormous pink apron over her robes, the sleeves of which were rolled up to the elbows to reveal capable flour-dusted forearms that tapered down to incongruously dainty hands. Her hair was thin and whispy, the fine pale hair of a young child, and she had most of it knotted up under a little lace cap fixed in place with a pearl-headed pin. As she turned Remus could see that she shared Peter's small bright eyes, but not his thin nose: her own was wide and rather squashed but strangely charming. Her smile was warm and welcoming and positively enormous.

'Remus at last!' she said happily, bustling over to the surface and offloading the biscuits onto a plate with practiced efficiency. She dusted her hands off on her apron and trundled over to enfold him in an enormous hug. She smelled strongly of ginger and an inexpensive floral perfume. 'How wonderful, simply wonderful to meet you at last! Peter's said how you helped him with his schoolwork, and how sweet you've been ever since he first met you. I can't tell you how happy we all are to have you to stay with us!'

'Best let him go before you smother him,' James said around a mouthful of biscuit. 'Remus has what you might call a _delicate constitution_.'

Mrs Pettigrew withdrew, still fluttering happily as she sat Remus down at the table with his friends and placed a frothy glass of milk and a plate filled with baking before him. 'Now you boys sit and enjoy yourselves,' she said, patting both Peter and James on the head simultaneously. Peter beamed happily and James squirmed. 'I'll be just down the hall if you need me, but I don't want to be a bother. Just down the hall, dear,' she said again, squeezing Remus's shoulder affectionately as she squeezed past his chair and swept out of the room.

'Try one!' Peter urged, nodding at the plate before Remus even as he picked up another biscuit from his own. 'They're ever so good. Better even than the house-elves make them at school.'

'Everyone thinks that about his own mother's cooking,' James said patiently. His head was tilted a little to the left, as if he were scenting the air. 'Now, I'll have you know that good as these are they can't hold a candle to the ones _my_ mum bakes…'

Some distance away a door hinge squeaked and James set down his biscuit sharply, sitting up and leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

'Are you all right?' he whispered anxiously. 'When your mum Flooed to say you were off-colour we thought perhaps…'

'You do look awfully pale, Remus,' Peter added, brow suddenly furrowed with concern. 'And those great dark circles…'

James cleared his throat reproachfully. 'That's not the kind of thing you say to a mate, Peter,' he said. Earnestly he added; 'But you do look a little… a little…' He gestured helplessly.

Remus felt a hot flush creeping up from under his collar. 'I'm all right,' he demurred. 'I had… that is… it was…' He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if by doing so he could rid himself of the mounting shame of having to discuss this – of having his friends know, or even suspect, what he had done to himself. 'It wasn't the very best of transformations,' he said finally.

'But you're all right now, aren't you?' Peter asked worriedly. 'I mean, you're not hurt anymore? You're not…'

'Not going to start bleeding,' James breathed, rather too huskily. He scrubbed a hand across his face and grinned. 'Of course you're not, or your parents wouldn't have let you come, right?'

'That's right,' Remus said. 'I'm perfectly all right now, Peter; I promise. I can't help being a little pale even at the best of times, you know.'

Peter looked tremendously relieved, and returned happily to his munching. Remus took a biscuit himself and bit into its warm and richly flavoured middle. It was indeed delicious and he tried to savour it, but it seemed that James was still looking at him a little too intently, studying the sharpened contours of his face and the bruise-like hollows beneath his eyes.

'Have you heard from Sirius?' Remus asked, broaching an uncomfortable subject in the hope of relieving the still more uncomfortable silence.

James shook his head. 'Not directly,' he said. 'I've sent Ronan out a couple of times. The first two he returned with no reply, and the last time he came back with my letter still in tow. Mum went up to London to make inquiries at the house and she was told Sirius was in bed with a nasty cold and unable to receive visitors, but that he'd certainly be coming to visit in August.' He wrinkled his nose in distaste. 'I'd like to know what gives that old hag the right to spoil our summer.'

Remus's stomach tightened and his mouth went dry. 'You don't suppose that maybe she was just saying that?' he asked. 'About the cold, I mean. To put your mother off?'

'Nah,' said James, taking a long quaff of milk. 'Mum's not easily put off. She charmingly insinuated that it's not unsuitable for the matron of an old, pure-blooded house to pop in to see an invalid, embargo on visitors or not, just to be sure she can't offer some manner of help. She got up to see him and he's in bed all right: right snotty with the sniffles from what she said; nose like a dripping sugarplum and ears steaming from the Pepper-Up Potion.'

'Ugh,' said Peter.

'I suppose it's for the best that his mum won't let him come,' James said grudgingly. 'From the look of you, a good summer cold would carry you straight away.'

Remus smiled wanly, trying to let rationality beat back his unease. Of course he trusted Mrs Potter's judgement and did not question that Sirius was ill with a summer cold – which could be dreadful things, he knew. Still the idea of his friend shut up in that grand, dark bedroom in the cheerless old house made him profoundly unhappy. It seemed dreadfully unfair that Sirius should have the misfortune to fall ill during the holidays. Had it happened at school they would have all had a great deal of fun fetching him his potions and purloining treats from the kitchens and keeping him entertained while he sat propped up in bed with a heap of handkerchiefs close at hand. They would have laughed over missed lessons and regaled him with stories of their adventures and on the whole had a jolly old time. As it was he was immured in London while they had to shift without him here, and Remus very much doubted that Mrs Black was the sort of mother to brew up homemade beef tea, or sit for hours at Sirius's bedside reading from his favourite books and rubbing camphor ointment into his rattling chest.

'Don't be so glum!' James declared, slapping the tabletop and grinning determinedly. 'He'll be up again in no time, and we'll all have a brilliant visit at my place. It's more exciting there than here, anyhow.'

Somewhat shocked at the tactlessness of that remark, Remus could not think what to say. Happily Peter appeared to have missed it, for he reached out a consoling hand to pat Remus's arm. 'Have another biscuit,' he said soothingly. 'They're _very_ delicious.'

_*discidium*_

Peter's house did not have an upstairs: the bedrooms were down a short corridor that led off of the kitchen. Peter's was an untidy but amiable jumble of schoolbooks and discarded clothing and assorted toys. The room was larger than Remus's, but just as simply furnished with a bed and a wardrobe and a squat chest of drawers. His school trunk was pushed up under the window to serve as a seat, and there were two camp cots set up for his guests. They were so new that they still had oil on the springs, and Remus suspected that they had been purchased exclusively for this occasion. The thought made him rather sad. He didn't suppose that Peter had ever had friends before, either.

The three boys changed into their nightclothes and climbed between their sheets. James babbled happily for a while and then abruptly fell silent, fast asleep. Remus, who was drifting on the edge of a dreamy doze, was just awake enough to notice Peter watching him thoughtfully.

'What is it?' he whispered, the syllables feeling round and full in his drowsy mouth.

'I'm glad you're here,' Peter confessed, looking rather guilty. 'I think James was getting bored with just me.'

Remus smiled. 'The same thing happened when he stayed with me last summer,' he confided. 'He's just too busy for one of us to occupy all his energy.'

'Sirius could do it,' Peter said, almost sourly.

'Yes,' mumbled Remus just before he slipped away. 'Yes, Sirius could do it.'

Despite the warm camaraderie of the room and the familiar presence of his own pillow, Remus dreamed uneasily that night.


	103. The Mystery of Mr Pettigrew

_Note: Thank you all so much for your overwhelming support and encouragement! I'm awed and humbled, to say nothing of delighted. Thank you, thank you!_

_And a huge shout-out to PhilosopherStone909, without whom I would never have learned about Remus's biography on Pottermore! I have since read it, and very lovely it is, too! I won't be changing anything that has already been written. Nevertheless it will be absolutely invaluable as I proceed._

**Chapter One Hundred Three: The Mystery of Mr Pettigrew**

The tinkling of a bicycle bell woke Remus from his foggy dreams. He might have slipped back at once, but the bed above him shuddered and squeaked as Peter sat hurriedly up and then scrambled to stand on the protesting mattress. Remus scrubbed at his eyes and got himself up onto one elbow in time to see his friend, one arm holding aside the curtain lace while the other waved eagerly at someone outdoors. The bell sounded again and Peter grinned enormously. Nose pressed against the glass, he watched intently for another minute and a half. Then he jumped a little and sat back on his bed with a crash that awoke James with a start.

'Merlin's pants, what's wrong?' he hollered. 'Are we being invaded?'

'It's only me,' Peter said, looking rather abashed. 'I was saying goodbye to Mary.'

'By jumping on the bloody bed?' James grumbled.

'No, I was… that is… I…' Peter gestured back and forth between his pillow and the window.

'Where has she gone?' Remus asked, anxious to rescue Peter from his awkward gesticulating.

'Only the next village over,' James said, rolling over and tugging his sleeping bag over his head. 'And she'll be back for tea, too. You'd think she sets off every morning for Leningrad, to hear him saying goodbye.'

'She's my sister,' Peter said indignantly; 'and I only get to see her at the holidays, and as we've overslept and missed her at breakfast I wanted to—'

'I think it's very thoughtful of you, Peter, and I'm sure she appreciates it,' Remus said firmly. 'And if you had an older sister, James, I'm sure you'd feel the same.'

'But I don't, do I?' groused James from somewhere within the depths of his bedding. 'And it's all very well for _her _to be abroad at this hour: she went off to bed forty minutes before you even arrived. Even if Peter might have forgotten that _I_ might need my sleep he ought to be more considerate of _you_, especially this time of the month.'

Peter went white and stared at Remus in horror. 'Oh, dear, I never thought…' he gasped.

'No,' Remus said hastily. 'No, please don't feel badly on my account. I'm quite rested, I promise.' He sat up properly, fiddling instinctively with the too-short cuffs of his nightshirt. 'What does she do in the next village?'

'It's not a village, it's Thrapston,' Peter said. 'She works there, in a solicitor's office. Mary doesn't… she can't… she's… well…' He was beginning to turn quite pink, but this time it was James who cut short his agony.

'She's a Squib,' he said, flinging off his covers and sitting up at last. 'There's no use mincing words, you know. Certainly it's a mite embarrassing but at least she's not a Death Eater.'

'Oh, no, Mary would never do that,' Peter said. 'She's ever so sweet. And she's quite clever, really. Much cleverer than me. It's just she can't do magic.'

'Neither can my mother,' Remus said; 'and she's one of the cleverest people I know.'

Peter gave him a wide, grateful smile. 'You'll get to meet her at teatime,' he said, sliding off the edge of the bed and picking his way to the door. 'I know she'll like you.'

Remus smiled in return, and Peter left the room. Moments later they heard the door to the lavatory closing behind him.

'Silly goose,' James said, not unkindly. 'Wouldn't even admit it the first night: kept making up stories about her being privately educated abroad, or not fancying Hogwarts after her first year, or catching the Dragonpox or something. It's one of those things that can't be helped, Squibs. They will crop up even in the best families, and it's not as if she's stupid or wicked or even that bad looking. It could be a lot worse.'

'You mustn't tease him about it, James,' Remus said earnestly. 'He's trusted us both with an important secret.'

'And we haven't trusted him?' countered James. 'Is his secret even half as important as yours? We're friends. It's what friends do: they share secrets, and they tease each other about them now and then, and they don't ever, ever tell anyone else. Simple as that. Besides, when Sirius finds out that Peter's sister has her very own Thing That Goes Ping we'll not be able to keep him away from here.'

Remus could not help but laugh at the thought of Sirius with another typewriter to play with. As he sobered down again he rested his chin on one knee. 'I wish he were here,' he said.

'Oh, don't worry,' James said. 'The lot of us will be together at my place, and in the meantime we ought to be able to find _something_ to do. Peter's been wanting to take us down to the village, but for some reason he seems to think it takes three of us to buy a few sweets and poke 'round the war memorial. Anyhow the food's first-rate. Small wonder our little mate's a bit on the stout side.'

This didn't seem the kindest of observations, but Remus merely smiled wanly. He wasn't certain how James would take to being scolded, however gently, twice in one conversation. He didn't feel able to risk it.

_*discidium*_

Mrs Pettigrew laid out an enormous breakfast for the boys: bacon and sausage, scones, toast and waffles, eggs both poached and scrambled, berries and peaches and coddled cream, and even a plate of the ginger biscuits. They all ate heartily, and then James and Peter sat back to enjoy tall glasses of home-squeezed pumpkin juice while Mrs Pettigrew set about clearing the table, Levitating the waffle platter ahead of her into the kitchen.

Remus got up and started to gather the plates into a neat little pile, silverware on top. The dishes were of charming, homey china with a pattern of dainty yellow daisies. He carried them carefully into the kitchen and set them next to the sink.

'What do you think you're doing, lovey?' Peter's mother asked in some surprise.

Remus looked down anxiously, wondering how he had erred. 'I only… I meant to help…' he stammered apologetically.

Before he knew what was happening, Mrs Pettigrew had a hand on each of his shoulders as she planted a kiss on his forehead. 'Aren't you a dear boy,' she said. 'But you must go and sit down with your friends and _enjoy_ your holiday. I'll see to this lot.'

Remus's quiet protest that he really felt more comfortable helping when he could was drowned out in the witch's cheery bustling as she led him back to the table and sat him down in front of his own pumpkin juice. James had clearly come to the end of some sort of amusing anecdote, for he was grinning and Peter was giggling. Remus settled next to them, slipping into the comfortable camaraderie of the moment almost without realizing it.

_*discidium*_

Peter's home was set on a tidy little parcel of land about half a mile from the village of Titchmarsh. There was a henhouse, occupied, and a venerable stone barn, vacant, and two broad fields that had long ago been overtaken by wildflowers. Peter proudly led a tour over the property, while James bemoaned the fact that it was ringed by a low stone wall instead of a proper windbreak of oak or elm that might have provided enough cover for a game of pick-up Quidditch. He was decidedly more enthusiastic about the barn, where there was a knotted rope dangling from one of the rafters so that the boys could swing down from the hayloft into a sweet-smelling heap of straw on the floor below.

They spent most of the morning thus engaged, scrambling up the ladder only to fling themselves down again. Remus wanted very much to join in the fun, but he had promised his father to take care and so restrained himself. He sat in the loft, feet dangling over the edge, and cheered James and Peter on until Mrs Pettigrew called them in for lunch at half past twelve.'

By the time they were finished eating dark clouds were hanging low over the land, and they had not even finished changing into their Muggle things when a heavy rain began to fall. The excursion into the village was called off in favour of an Exploding Snap tournament in front of the parlour fire. James's mind did not appear to be on the game and after losing the third match running he got up and began to wander the room, studying the contents of the shells.

'How many china hogs does one woman need?' he asked absentmindedly, just as Remus took the pile again.

'Mary's collected them ever since she was a little girl,' Peter said. 'I bought her that one wearing the bowler hat with my pocket money last Christmas. She says it's her favourite.'

His chest puffed out a little as he said this, but James merely shrugged and meandered on towards the next shelf. He leaned in to examine a photograph of Mrs Pettigrew with a curly-haired blonde child beside her and a tremendously plump baby squirming in her arms. 'Who's Max?' he asked.

Peter stiffened and the cards beneath his hands exploded. He hardly even seemed to notice: both small, wary eyes were fixed on James. 'Who?' he said.

'The bottom of the picture's signed _Max_,' said James. 'So who's Max, and why's he signing family snaps?'

Peter's face contorted miserably as he appeared to weigh his options. At last he sighed, deflating into an unhappy slouch. 'It's my dad,' he mumbled with the resigned air of one long prepared for a catastrophe that had finally arrived. 'Maximillian, really, though Mum calls him Max. He fancied himself a bit of a photographer. Ought to have kept with it, too, instead of… well…'

James appeared not to hear the way Peter's voice trailed off uneasily. He was poking the picture to see if he could get the little girl to move. 'Is she really standing that still, or do Squibs not turn up moving in photographs?'

'She's blinking,' Remus pointed out quietly. He leaned forward towards his other friend. 'Are you all right, Peter?' he asked gently.

'I'm fine,' Peter said sharply. His eyes were very bright and his lower lip trembled as he spoke. 'I'm just fine. It's only… it's only… I don't want to talk about it!'

He sprung to his feet, moving in that peculiarly graceful way that he sometimes could when he wasn't trying, and scurried out of the room. On the far side of the house his bedroom door closed with a _bang_.

'What d'you suppose got into him?' James asked, standing perplexedly with one knee on the seat of an armchair.

'I don't quite know,' Remus confessed, staring at the doorway.

'Well, go after him, would you?' demanded the bespectacled boy. 'I'll only make a mess of it if I do, and somebody's got to. Can't have a bloke in a state like that while his mother's about.'

Remus nodded and got to his feet. His lately-healed wounds scarcely even twinged, and he might have been glad of it had not his concern for Peter overwhelmed all other considerations. James gave him a small, encouraging smile as he left the room.

He hesitated at Peter's door, torn between his reluctance to intrude on another's pain and his duty to a friend who stood by him in his own. Finally he rapped quietly just above the latch. When there was no reply he knocked again.

'Peter?' he said softly. 'Peter, it's Remus. I'm… I'm going to come in.'

Taking the silence that followed as assent, he opened the door just wide enough to slip inside, closing it at one behind him. Peter was lying on his bed, having apparently flung himself upon it and frozen where he landed. His face was buried against the pillow and his fists were clenched. Remus approached timidly.

'James is worried that he said something to hurt you,' he said. 'He didn't mean to; he's just a little… he doesn't always know what he's saying.'

Peter did not move, and had it not been for the sharp, shallow breaths that heaved his back Remus might have thought him asleep. He drew nearer, wanting to put a comforting hand on the other boy's shoulder but not quite daring to do it.

'I know it's your father you're upset about,' he went on gently. 'I know that you said you didn't want to talk about him. If he's run away or he's dead you only have to say, and James will understand why he's got to keep his mouth sh—'

'He's not dead,' Peter said, his voice harsh and sharp. 'He's not dead. Be better if he was, though; that's what all the uncles and aunties say when they think I'm not listening.'

He lifted his head a little and shifted his arms, crossing them so that he could hide his face within. Before he realized what he was doing Remus was sitting on the edge of the bed, twisted at the waist so that he could rest his palm between Peter's shoulder blades. They were quivering with the effort of reigning in tremendous emotion.

'It's all right,' Remus whispered, not knowing what else he could possibly say. 'It's all right: you needn't talk about it if you don't want to.'

'They d-don't understand,' Peter said. 'None of 'em understand, none of 'em but Mary. H-he's my dad. I love him. It doesn't matter what else… it doesn't matter about _anything_ else; he's my dad and I love him and I want him to come home.'

Remus's mouth went dry. He remembered the terror he had felt last summer when he had feared his own father might leave the family. He could not imagine the brokenhearted hurt his friend was feeling; his friend who had surely never done anything to deserve such a crippling lose.

'Of course you do,' he murmured, running his hand in a soothing circle. 'That's only natural.'

'Why don't they understand, then?' sobbed Peter. 'Why don't they let him come home?'

This did not quite make sense. 'He wants to come home, but they won't let him?' he asked. 'Your aunts and uncles?'

'No! N-n-no…' Peter's whole chest shuddered and he began to cry in earnest. 'I don't want to talk about it,' he choked out between paroxysms of pain. 'I d-don't want to talk about it!'

'It's all right,' Remus said again, helpless to do anything but sit there, rubbing Peter's back as if he could draw away some of his torment. 'You don't need to talk about it. You don't need to say a word, not one word.'

'Y-you're a good friend to me,' Peter blubbered, scrubbing at his eyes with his forearm. 'You… you'd probably understand. But James… J-J-James would think… he'd think…'

Whatever it was that he feared James might think was drowned in a fresh flood of tears. Remus stayed stalwartly where he was, tracing loops across Peter's spine with his palm while his other hand settled gently on the crown of his head. Slowly the sobs died away and Peter's breath levelled, then deepened. At last he was asleep, exhausted by his exertions.

When he was certain that Peter was too far gone in slumber to know the difference Remus withdrew his hands and retreated to the corner of the room. He would have liked to run away, but he stayed, cross-legged on the floor, and watched over Peter while he slept.

He woke up a little after four, just as the clouds were breaking amid the now lightly falling rain, yawning enormously and scrubbing at tearstained cheeks. He seemed startled and yet comforted to see Remus sitting in the corner, and he managed a shaky smile.

'You stayed,' he said in a small voice.

Remus nodded. 'I thought you might need somebody,' he said. He got to his feet, gripping the wall for support. He was stiff from sitting on the stones for so long and he felt a bit lightheaded. He took care that neither should show as he smiled. 'I'm your friend, after all.'

'My friend,' Peter echoed in that softly wondering tone that spoke of a habit of loneliness only lately broken. Then he looked up, suddenly worried. 'You won't tell James I was crying, will you?'

'Of course not,' Remus promised. 'You go and wash your face and I'll find him and we can all go outdoors and look for a rainbow.'

_*discidium*_

James was in the parlour, whether still or again Remus could not tell.

'You took your time,' he said as the pale boy entered. 'Is he all right?'

'I think so,' said Remus. 'But you mustn't ask any more awkward questions, James: he doesn't want to talk about it.'

'About Squibs and photographs?' asked James, clearly put off.

'No, about—'

Remus had to bite down on his tongue as Peter came into the room, smiling cheerfully and full of good-natured suggestions about going out to tramp through the puddles.

_*discidium*_

They were still in the yard with the rain quite forgotten, when Mary Pettigrew's bicycle appeared at the end of the lane. Peter went running to greet her as she rolled on towards home. Mary was a curvaceous girl of about seven or eighteen, her blonde hair still as curly as it was in the controversial photograph in the sitting room. She wore a blue tartan skirt and a cream-coloured blouse, white socks rolled low over carefully-polished Oxford shoes. She pulled her bike up near the gate and planted one foot in the gravel so that she could hug her brother. James sniggered softly and Remus shot him a small reproving look.

'Come and meet him!' Peter was saying, tugging at Mary's hand so that she was obliged to make a hurried dismount and to leave her vehicle leaning up against the gatepost. 'Remus! Remus, this is my sister Mary.'

'Good afternoon,' Remus said politely, offering his hand to the young lady. 'How do you do?'

Mary laughed delightedly. She had her mother's round and rosy cheeks, and Peter's small eyes – though the latter was well disguised by careful application of blue makeup that seemed to make them sparkle. 'How do you do,' she said with merrily affected gravity. 'I'm Mary.'

'Remus,' he said, then remembered his manners. 'Remus Lupin, at your service, Miss.'

She clapped her hands. 'Isn't he polite?' she exclaimed happily. '_Much_ more polite than you are, anyroad,' she added with a playful toss of the head in James's direction.

'Ah,' he said, with a devilish grin that he could only have learned from Sirius; 'but he's not as charming, is he?'

Mary laughed and wrapped her right arm around Peter's shoulder, coming forward to curl the left around James. She wiggled her fingers at Remus. 'Grab hold,' she said. 'It isn't every day I have three handsome young men to see me home!'

They strolled rather awkwardly across the dooryard, and as Mary was saying something laughingly effervescent to her brother James leaned over to address Remus out of the side of his mouth.

'You say a word to Sirius about this and I'll hex your underpants,' he muttered. Remus nodded solemnly and winked, sending James into a fit of laughter.

_*discidium*_

Tea with Mary Pettigrew could not help but be a cheerful affair. She kept the conversation constantly alight, and regaled them all with a story about a farmer who had come in to see her employer that morning about a case of suspected sheep worrying.

'And Mr Balmoral says, "But Mr Needham, you don't own any sheep!". And what does Mr Needham say? "No, but if I'd come about rooster worrying you'd never 'ave let me through the door!",' she concluded, causing Peter to snort a quantity of milk out of his nostrils and into his mashed potatoes.

While Mary and her mother cleared the table and saw to the washing-up, the boys went out to resume their romping in the puddles. Peter was sidetracked briefly when he went to fetch Mary's bicycle in safely off the lane, tucking it behind the house where it would be ready for her morning ride. They played hard for an hour or more, until the sun began to set and Remus began to run out of energy. Then he sat on a stile about three hundred yards from the house and watched as Peter chased James around the lower field. The stars were just beginning to show when a rectangle of golden firelight broke through the dusk and Mary came strolling out from the house.

At first Remus thought she was going to run after the other boys: she certainly had the energy and a sufficiently playful nature. But presently she veered a little to the left and he realized that she was coming after him.

'Don't get up,' she said as he shifted to greet her properly. 'Mind if I join you, then?'

'Not at all,' said Remus politely. He was never much use around girls his own age, much less those old enough to be out working. He slid a little to the side, expecting her to sit next to him. Instead she planted her foot on the stile and perched on the wall. There was a clicking sound and a flame appeared between finger and thumb. For a moment startled by the thought that she might not be a Squib after all, Remus realized that she had a Muggle lighter in her hand. There was a flare from the flame and an orange glow of embers was accompanied by a whiff of tobacco smoke as she puffed delicately at a slender cigarette.

'You don't mind, do you?' she asked. 'I've been told time and again that wizards smoke _pipes_, but that's considered quite unladylike among Muggles, you know. And as I work among Muggles, and all my friends are Muggles, and generally wizards haven't got much use for me so I expect I'm bound to _marry_ a Muggle, I think I'd best stick with Muggle habits, don't you?'

'It seems sensible,' Remus said. James's silhouette, lanky and swift against the fading indigo of the sky, vanished among the tall grasses with a gleeful yelp as he tripped over something. Peter charged forward, catching his quarry at last.

'Remus,' Mary said, rolling the name around her tongue with a fresh puff of smoke. 'You're the one who helps Peter with his schoolwork, aren't you?'

'Sometimes,' answered Remus. He did not want to exaggerate his own importance, nor to make Peter look like he might be lacking in his studies. 'He knows more than he thinks he does. More than other people think he does too, really.'

'Do you know, I always thought the same thing,' Mary mused. 'I used to help him with maths and spelling now and again, when he was going to the village school. They thought he was like me at first, you know. Mum and Dad, I mean. He was nine when he finally made a whole custard tart fly clear across the kitchen. Never seen them so happy.'

Remus squinted up into the gathering dark, trying to read her expression. He wondered whether it would be ill-mannered to ask her whether _she_ had been happy to learn that her brother was a wizard instead of a Squib just like her. He decided that he did not know her well enough to broach such a delicate subject. After all, if she suddenly asked him whether he liked being a werewolf…

'Is it any better this year?' Mary asked. Apparently bored of her cigarette she stubbed it out carefully on the stone beside her and tucked it back into its packet.

'Beg pardon?' Remus asked.

'Is it any better this year?' she repeated. 'Last year it seemed like every other letter Peter was writing how you looked ill again, or you'd gone off home for a few days, or your mother wasn't well. This year it seemed he hadn't one word to say on the matter. Is life any better this year?'

The question came as a shock, and with it the disturbing realization that of course his friends must have written home in first year, noting his frequent unexplained absences. Yet Remus realized that he could give a truthful answer and at the same time make the first-year letters seem transient and unimportant.

'Oh, yes,' he said earnestly, even as the delighted laughter of his loyal friends came shimmering through the night. 'Oh, yes, life is much better for me this year.'

'I'm glad,' said Mary gracefully. 'Life's hard enough when you're older without having troubles and worries when you're just a little boy.' She clapped her fingers to her lips and laughed softly. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I mean "just a young gentleman". Peter _hates_ to be called a little boy. You'll have to forgive me, but I remember when he was just a wee baby, you know. Have you any brothers or sisters? You might know what I mean then.'

'I haven't,' said Remus, unable to quite keep the regret from his voice. He was haunted again with wondering about the baby that had died when he was not yet five. He supposed if she had lived he'd feel the same way about her that Mary felt about Peter.

'That's a pity,' Mary said. 'I want to have lots of babies: a whole cottageful. Who knows: maybe one or two of them will be witches. They say sometimes Squibs can have magical babies. Dad always said he'd like to have a dozen, but after Peter he and Mum never had much luck.'

There was a silence during which the stars danced above. The waning moon peered out from behind a cloud, taunting: _three weeks, three weeks, three fleeting weeks… _Remus shivered. Desperate to think about something else, anything else, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

'Your father,' he said. 'Peter's dad… why did he go off?'

'Go off?' Mary parroted. 'Is that what Peter told you, that he "went off"?'

A hot flush crept up from Remus's collar. He had not meant to say a word about the matter. Peter had a right to his secrets. He had said that he didn't need to talk about it, had promised…

'N-not precisely,' he said; 'but…'

Mary didn't seem to hear him. She sighed heavily. 'I suppose maybe it's easier for him to say that, maybe even to think that.' One hand chafed against her forehead. 'Poor Peter. It's wizarding business, so I'm not meant to understand it. Perhaps I _don't_ understand it, not really. I mean, a five stretch isn't easy, of course, but we've had clients sent down for plenty more than that. What's hardest on Mum is that he never writes, not a single letter.'

She shook her curls and hopped down from the stile.

'I'd let Peter be about it, if you're really his friend,' she said. 'He doesn't like to talk about it and I can't really blame him. I think he lives in terror of those other boys at school finding out: the slithery ones.'

'Of… of course,' Remus said helplessly. He wished fervently that he had not even let the question slip to her. Certainly her answers had done little to slake his curiosity, and Peter had a right to his secrets…

'Ta,' Mary said, squeezing his arm briefly. She began to walk away, then clapped her hands and let out a playful whoop. 'Can't catch _me_, Master Potter!' she cried, tearing into a run before James could turn from his pursuit of Peter to come bounding fleetly after her.

_*discidium*_

In the end they did not manage to find time to visit the village of Titchmarsh. It rained again on Wednesday, and on Thursday the visit came to its predetermined end. Mrs Potter came to fetch James and to present her thanks for the hospitality shown her son in person. Remus was not expected home until suppertime, so he and Peter went out to watch the chickens poking around their little yard. Peter tossed out a handful of corn and the birds went pecking after it, but something seemed to be weighing heavily on his mind. After about half an hour of this he finally seemed to screw his courage to the sticking place, as Mrs Lupin would have said. Feet planted firmly apart and hands on his hips he looked at Remus.

'Go to the barn,' he said. 'I'll meet you there in a few minutes: I just need to fetch something.'

Remus obeyed unquestioningly, but the six minutes he spent sitting on the fourth rung of the hayloft ladder were the longest six minutes he had endured in months. Finally the barn door shifted a little and Peter came in, carrying a leather-bound scrapbook in his arms.

'Up there,' he said, nodding at the loft. Remus scaled the ladder quickly and Peter followed, hampered somewhat by the volume he carried.

'Mary told me,' he said. 'She told me she let it slip the other night but you'd promised not to tell anyone.'

'I promised,' Remus admitted, unable to meet his friend's eyes. 'But I didn't understand what she was saying, exactly. Something about five stretches…'

'A five stretch,' Peter said hoarsely. Remus dared a glance at the other boy. His face was very pale, save for two brilliant carmine spots, one on each cheekbone. The knuckles gripping the book were white with the strain. 'It means five years… five years in p-prison.'

Shock overcame shame and Remus stared at his friend. Peter's blue eyes were hard, making them seem even tinier in his round face. He held the book before him like a buckler, as if he could shield himself from hurt or rejection or ridicule. 'Prison,' Remus whispered. 'Your father's in prison.'

'Yes,' Peter said, almost defiantly. Then suddenly he crumpled, sinking to his knees in the straw and letting the book fall open on his lap as he bowed over it. He turned a page plastered with a birth announcement from _The Daily Prophet_, and then past two or three articles that seemed to be about knitting competitions. Finally he found the page he wanted and smoothed the newsprint clipping pasted to it.

_Market Clairvoyant Bound Over For Trial_, the headline read. It was difficult to make out the smaller print upside-down, but Remus could see the photograph: a pair of grim and official-looking wizards flanking a portly, bookish man wearing a top hat and a pince-nez.

'What's a Market Clairvoyant?' Remus asked.

Peter closed his eyes tightly, though his hand still rested resolutely on the bottom of the newspaper photograph. 'He advised people on investments,' he said. 'Stocks and shares and things. He… he would do up a table of numbers for them, find the auspicious stocks, tell people what they should buy,' he said. He turned the page over, revealing a series of shorter articles, cut from various editions of the _Prophet_ over the course of several months and detailing the trial.

'He'd tell them he could see the future, which ones would do well and which ones wouldn't. Then people would give him money to invest for them. They said, at his trial they said that he stole the money: gave people the names of stocks that he could foresee were going to fail, not the ones that were going to do well. Then he'd only pretend to invest the money and when the stocks failed he'd pay back Knuts on the Galleon and tell them the rest had been lost.'

Peter drew in a long, shuddering breath. 'When Uncle Norbert explained, I thought it was a mistake: that he was just bad at Arithmancy and didn't know the difference, and he picked the bad stocks accidentally. That was what his barrister said at the trial, that it was just a mistake. I thought… I though he was maybe a bit slow, like me. But then…'

His next breath hitched, suspiciously like a sob, and all at once Remus understood.

'Then you saw his plaque when we were searching the trophy room for Meyrigg's Quidditch Cup,' he said. 'His award for top mark in the Arithmancy NEWT.'

Peter nodded, and a fat tear squeezed out of his eye and tumbled down his cheek. 'He was _good_ at Arithmancy. He was the best in his year. He knew which stocks were going to fail. He did what they said he did: he stole all that money. Nearly two hundred thousand Galleons, they said, in twenty-five years. They sent him to… to Azkaban.'

The thought of that much money made Remus feel ill, but the word _Azkaban_ chilled his very blood. He had heard less than many wizarding children of the Ministry's prison island in the North Sea, but he did not need whispered rumours to fill him with dread. The cold truths he had read were terrifying enough. Azkaban, guarded by Dementors – soulless creatures of darkness that preyed upon every happy thought, every treasured memory, until all that was left was misery and despair. Azkaban, the fortress of living nightmares.

Peter turned the page again; this time the headline proclaimed M. Pettigrew's conviction. 'Mary says a Muggle judge would've given him twice that, maybe even twelve or fifteen years, for that sort of a crime,' Peter said. 'So p'raps he's l-lucky…'

Remus could not bear it any longer. He shuffled on his knees to sit next to his friend, and he put an arm around Peter's shoulder. The other boy stiffened, and then leaned into the embrace. 'I'm sorry,' Remus said. 'How long ago?'

'November,' mumbled Peter. 'November the year before I started school. He'll be locked away 'til I'm studying for my OWLs. I'm not going to see him again until I'm f-fifteen!'

He was weeping now, quietly and wretchedly. 'Everyone says he won't be the same, that I won't even recognize him when he comes back. But I will recognize him. I _will_.'

'Of course you will,' Remus said. 'He's your father: of course you will. Whatever anyone says, whatever he might have done, of course you love him, and he loves you.'

'Then why did he do it?' Peter asked despairingly.

For that, Remus had no answer.

_*discidium*_

The shadows were growing long outside, and Remus and Peter sat shoulder to shoulder. The album of clippings lay closed and forgotten in the straw.

'You mustn't tell anyone,' Peter said, breaking a long silence that had passed almost unnoticed between the two friends. 'Not Sirius, not James, not anyone.'

'I won't. I promise I won't,' Remus said.

'He… he did a terrible thing,' murmured Peter; 'but he's braver than I am. I couldn't bear to go to prison. I'd rather… I'd rather die than go to prison. I couldn't face it. I'd do anything, _anything_ to keep from going to prison.'

'There's no worry about that,' said Remus, a small smile surprising its way across his lips. 'All you need to do is keep from breaking any laws.'

Peter laughed a little, a tiny and tremulous laugh. 'You're right,' he said. 'I suppose you're right. But you won't tell anyone. You promise?'

'I promise,' said Remus.

A last quiet moment of understanding, of trusting conspiracy, passed between them before Mary's bell sounded at the top of the lane.


	104. Out of the Fire

_Note: Stoplight Delight is now on Twitter! Follow me AgainstTheMoon for writing process updates, snarky fun times, and Remus Lupin goodness._

_And for those of you who have me on Author Alert yes, I have posted another story in a different fandom. It's a much smaller fandom, tiny in fact – at least on this site – but I hope maybe there will be some crossover readership. If not, oh well, but don't resent the new story. Thank it! It got me writing again and is consequently directly responsible for the posting of this chapter._

**Chapter One Hundred Four: Out of the Fire**

On Saturday morning Remus came downstairs to find that his mother had cleared the surface next to the cooker of its ordinary assortment of canisters and tins. In their place she was laying out little piles of vegetables, frequently consulting a book propped up next to her recipe album. After a moment's scrutiny Remus realized that it was his copy of _Guide to the Cauldron_.

'What's this?' he asked warily as she laid out half a dozen carrots in a neat row.

Mother looked over her shoulder to smile at him. 'We're going to work on your potions-making skills,' she said. 'As I'm not at all sure that either of us are meant to be working with wizarding ingredients, at least not at home, I thought this would be a nice compromise. Help yourself to some porridge, love: I'll be ready for you shortly.'

Remus ate, but more out of habit than any deliberate action. He could not keep his eyes off of his mother as she filled a little dish with flour and sprinkled small heaps of spices onto a china saucer. By the time she was finished the countertop looked uncannily like his workspace in Professor Slughorn's classroom, but with parsnips instead of nightshade and parsley in place of dragonswort. He emptied his bowl and got up to wash it, then tucked it away in the cupboard where it belonged and stood several pace back from his mother, feeling rather apprehensive.

'All right, then,' she said, stepping back and surveying her work. The potions text came with her, but the recipe book stayed where it was. 'There's your ingredients and your instructions.' She bent down and fished out her large stock pot, setting it atop the stove with a dull clatter. 'And this is your cauldron. I've added a few little details to the recipe, and I'll be watching to see that you follow it precisely. Oh!' She turned around and picked out something that gleamed in the morning sunlight. As she passed it to him Remus recognized his brass scales. 'Don't worry,' she said, smiling at his look of sceptical discomfiture. 'I've cleaned them _very_ thoroughly: we shan't be getting any traces of your last project from them.'

'Thanks,' Remus whispered, not quite sincerely. He had been unsure about his mother's ability to help him with this problematic subject, but now that the moment was upon him he realized that his real fear was looking a fool in front of her. He didn't want her to see how useless he was at this subject, but there was no backing away now – not when she had clearly put so much time and effort into the matter.

He measured out water, pouring it carefully into the stand-in cauldron without spilling even a drop. He measured out powdered beef stock on the scales, standing back when prompted so that his mother could check the weights. The order in the recipe for _two large potatoes, peeled and sliced_, had been overwritten with his mother's elegant hand: _two large potatoes, thinly pared and diced into half-inch cubes._ This was precisely the sort of instruction that he found so challenging in class, and he picked up the paring knife with no small trepidation.

Mother watched quietly until he began to try to whittle out the cubes.

'Now, then,' she said, cheerful and factual. 'You don't want to do it like that: they'll come out every shape but the one you want. First you'll want to use the other knife: a good long, straight blade. Then cut across the length of the potato into half-inch strips.'

Remus obeyed.

'Now turn each strip on its side and cut it into half-inch sections the other way. Good.' When he had finished producing a stack of half-inch square potato sticks, she nodded approvingly. 'Now all you need to do is lop off the uneven bits at the end and then cut off half-inch bits. Isn't that easier?'

'Much,' Remus said wonderingly, rocking the knife back and forth and producing a heap of almost-perfect cubes.

She helped him through the carrots in much the same way, and he managed to produce reasonably uniform strips. The onions he shredded, the garlic he crushed carefully with the side of a knife. Various spices had to be weighed out precisely, then worked to a fine powder in the little marble kitchen mortar. All the while he had to keep a sharp look-out on the simmering stock, stopping every ten minutes to give it two dozen full stirs with the long wooden spoon: thirteen clockwise and eleven anticlockwise. If he missed a step or set about doing something sloppily his mother corrected him, gently but firmly. It was an absurd amount of care to be taking over soup, of course, but he recognized all too well the precision and detail that was expected in Potions.

In the end the ingredients were all in the pot, and Mother put on the lid so that it could sit for a few hours. Remus cleaned up his workspace, and then turned away from the sink, waiting to see what she would say.

'You'll have to tell me, love, whether it was anything like what you do at school,' she said; 'but I think that all you really need to do is slow down a bit, and focus, and be careful.'

'Yes…' Remus said hesitantly, glancing over his shoulder at the pot sitting placidly above the blue gas flames.

'The trouble is you've learned all my shortcuts in cooking, and they aren't serving you well in Potions at all,' said Mother fondly. 'We'll try it again tomorrow, and I'm sure you'll manage without so much as a peep out of me.'

They did try the next day, and again on Tuesday evening, laying up a large quantity of soup to be frozen in meal-sized portions in glass jars that Mother had picked up at the greengrocer's. By the following Saturday's attempt – mutton broth from the bone this time, with much more stirring and worrying than the recipe had originally called for – Remus was indeed proceeding almost entirely without commentary from his mother. He could gauge the size of a slice with his eye, and his knife moved quickly and precisely. His mother was delighted, and Remus could not help but feel the tiniest bit pleased with himself, but he knew it wouldn't help at all when he was back at school.

It was all very well to focus and to take his time here, in the comfortable warmth of his mother's kitchen. It would be another matter entirely in Slughorn's damp dungeon, where he spent half of his lessons either drawing up achingly towards a transformation or retreating painfully from it; where he had to be constantly on the lookout for James or Sirius slipping a firecracker into a neighbouring cauldron; where the tormenting scent of wolfsbane hung heavy in the air, choking off his lungs and making his head ache. But he couldn't say any of these things to his mother, who was so happy and proud and so certain that she had helped him. So he chopped and diced and sliced with care, tared his scales with an apothecary's precision, and counted anticlockwise stirs soundlessly under his breath.

An evening came when he nicked his finger chopping a parsnip and hurled the taproot against the backsplash in tearful frustration. His mother, who had been reading serenely from her perch on the kitchen stool, tossed _Sense and Sensibility_ aside and hopped down to come up behind him.

'There, now, dear heart, it's only a scratch,' she said, reaching around Remus's shoulder to press a clean cloth to the little wound. She raised a comforting hand to his cheek, but turned it almost at once from palm to back, frowning worriedly. 'You're running a fever,' Mother murmured. 'Oh, darling, I didn't think. Go and lie down on the couch and I'll bring you a cool cloth and a cup of tea.'

'I can finish what I started,' Remus argued crossly, trying and failing to shrug her off. He wrenched his hand away from hers and reached for the errant vegetable, thumping the butt of the knife against the countertop. 'There'll be days when I'm feeling ill at school, too, and I'll just have to keep on.'

His mother took a step backward, startled hurt on her face. 'Remus,' she said, a world of gentle reproach in the name.

He was chopping the parsnip again, far more viciously than was necessary. Over his shoulder the golden light that had bathed the back garden only a few minutes before was giving way to the violet of dusk. Soon the moon would appear above the tops of the houses, round and menacing and just a single day's sliver from the full. Half-blinded with helpless anger that he did not quite understand, Remus worked with almost inhuman fervour until the offending root was thoroughly demolished. Then he looked down.

What ought to have been neat quarter-inch coins was a random mess of shrapnel, some pieces as long as his thumb, others almost thin enough to have been shaved. None of them were even throughout their width, and several were spotted with blood from his still-suppurating finger. Shame and despair flooded Remus's chest, driving away the inexplicable rage.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, hanging his head but not daring to turn to see the hurt in his mother's eyes. 'I oughtn't to take it out on you.'

She stepped up behind him and squeezed his shoulders gently. 'If you can't take it out on me, what will you do with yourself?' she asked, brushing her nose against his hair. 'Go and lie down: I should never have had you standing for an hour and a half, not tonight.'

_Not tonight_. The words followed Remus into the sitting room and hovered in the air above the fading but still mercifully comfortable sofa. _Not tonight_, on his last night as a human boy before the wolf came out to savage him again. Not tonight, when he was irritable and distracted and… and so very _angry_. That he did not quite understand. He was always choked with unhappy emotions when the full moon drew near: shame and fear and sorrow and even despair. But to be angry like this, angry enough to throw something, angry enough to snap at his mother when she was only trying to comfort him – this was something new and terrible.

Mother came into the room, bearing as promised a cool cloth for his brow and a steaming mug of fragrant tea. She did not linger, hurrying back to the kitchen to finish putting on the soup. Remus reflected bitterly that _she_ wouldn't be making perfect quarter-inch coins of the parsnips, and then had to scold himself. Of course she wouldn't: that was only an exercise to help him with his potions-work. He lay back against the arm of the couch, closing his eyes against this strange and frightening belligerence.

_*discidium*_

The following day, Father laid aside the endless job-hunting to stay at home with his son. Remus almost wished he hadn't. The wizard went about the business of bringing him water, coaxing him to eat a little (soup, of course), helping him shift from his bed to the sitting room, and so forth, with an awkward earnestness that was almost offensive. Whatever the source of his unwonted irritability, it obviously had not abated with a night's sleep, and Remus found himself constantly biting back angry protestations against his father's well-intentioned fussing. It was almost a relief when the time came at last to thunder down the cellar stairs, strip off his robe and fling it after the retreating wizard. It was almost comforting to know that soon the wrath of the wolf would replace this newer and somehow far more terrifying rage.

Yet when the first anguished pull of the transformation tore through the long bones, Remus crumpled into a ball on the cold cellar floor, whimpering softly into the darkness. He didn't want this, didn't want to suffer through this, didn't want to lose control of his mind and his body and his soul, not again, not again, not again.

But of course it didn't matter what he wanted.

_*discidium*_

Mother had her left arm curled firmly and yet so very gently under Remus's neck and shoulders, raising his head up so that he could sip at the cool water with cracked and bleeding lips. Every muscle in his body, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, ached with a deep and knotted fire, and he knew that he must have fought the transformation. He knew better than to do that; he was certain that he did. Yet just as he had been fighting his parents' efforts to make him comfortable during the last twenty-four hours before the moon he had obviously struggled against the pull of the wolf itself. Stupid, he thought dimly as he managed a small and tortured swallow. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

At least his wounds were not so much worse than average, or so he understood from his mother's soft murmurings. Certainly he was safe in his own bed instead of languishing in a St Mungo's corridor waiting for a Healer willing or forced to spare a few minutes for a tattered part-human. There was a tremendous, throbbing lump over his left eye, which was swollen so thickly that he could see nothing through it but a drab blur, and he thought perhaps that his right wrist was broken. Both legs were bandaged snugly enough that he could feel his ravaged muscles pulsing against them, but not so thickly that he could not make out where the old sheet rippled over them. There was blood in his hair: it tugged uncomfortably every time his mother breathed.

'That's my brave boy,' she murmured, easing him back against the pillow and stroking his cheek with the back of her finger.

He wanted to confess to her, to explain that it was all his fault and that she shouldn't trouble herself. He wanted to tell her about the anger, the irrational and all-consuming anger that had seized him, but he could not speak. He ran his tongue along his lip, snagging against a parched tear. The room was dark, the lamp dimmed with a table napkin out of deference to his stinging eyes. He knew that he had slept through most of the day, and he supposed he ought to be grateful for that.

His mother was petting his head, still whispering that he was a good boy, a brave boy, her beautiful boy, and that he might have his medicine the very minute his father got back. He wished again that he felt able to speak. He would have told her that he was in fact a stupid boy, a stubborn boy, and that he feared that he was losing control of the wolf.

Yes, that was it. He was terrified that the anger that had preceded the transformation was a sign that he was losing control. He had always wondered how the wolf could lurk inside him, silent and invisible if never forgotten, all through the month, when it reigned so fully on the night of the full moon. What if he wasn't strong enough to keep it inside anymore? What if it was starting to come out at other times, too? What if the reason he had been so cross and rude and difficult was that the wolf was starting to control his human mind?

A shudder of revulsion ran up Remus's back, and his mother gripped his hand. She was still muttering tender reassurances; obviously she thought he was shaking in pain. He screwed his eyes tightly closed so that she could not read the terror in them.

If the wolf was getting stronger, he would have to learn to be stronger too. He would have to learn how to watch for these fits of temper, and to beat them down. He would have to learn how to smile politely even when he was seething, because he would not, could not give in to the wolf.

Except when the full moon rose, he reflected ruefully as a cramp rippled through his ribs. He had to have the sense not to try to fight it then. Healer Ferrinby had said that agitation made the transformations worse. Madam Pomfrey said he needed to try to stay calm and relaxed. The change was easier when he didn't fight it.

A muzzy sleep of exhaustion was tugging at him through the pain, and Remus decided it was best not to fight that, either.

_*discidium*_

He woke again in sunlight, when Father came into the room carrying a glass of water, a medicine cup, and a cold compress for Remus's eye. He was wearing an anxious and apologetic expression, but he didn't speak until Remus had taken the drink and the potion and was settled beneath the cool cloth.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'It isn't so bad,' Remus whispered. His throat was raw and his voice hoarse even by the standards of the day after, but the concoction was taking effect and his aches were lessening tangibly. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'That's the last dose of the pain potion,' Father confessed, looking as guilty as if he had drunk it himself out of sheer spite. 'I'll have to go into London to have more made up. I… that is… it only lasts about four hours, doesn't it? You'll be in pain again before your mother comes home.'

There was always _some_ pain, even with the potion, but Remus did not feel this was the time to point that out. He remained silent instead, not quite able to lie about it either.

'Would you be all right for an hour or so?' asked Father. 'I could go and be back—'

Remus nodded, a brief and uncomfortable gesture. 'I'll be fine,' he promised. 'I shall probably go straight back to sleep. You needn't hurry. Only…' He cast his eyes away and fumbled with the coverlet. 'Only are you certain we can afford it? I could manage without.'

'I want some on hand regardless,' said Father firmly. He gripped his son's unscathed wrist and tried to smile. 'I'll be back in an hour, perhaps a bit longer if the apothecary is busy. Certainly no more than two.'

'I'll be all right,' said Remus. 'Don't worry.'

He smiled, a lopsided effort that made his swollen eye tighten. It was enough to reassure his father, however, for the wizard nodded and retreated from the room. Settling back into the indentation in his pillow Remus listened for the noise of Disapparation, but it did not come. Father must have gone by Floo, he thought drowsily. He was glad. It was a long trip to London, and a tiring one to Apparate. His one eye drifted closed and the other relaxed. He could feel sleep washing over him in comforting potion-soothed waves.

He thought he must have fallen asleep because he was startled into wariness by a crash and the clatter of fire tools in the sitting room. He frowned as he ran his tongue over his teeth. He could still taste the residue of the potion and his mouth was moist: he had only just had water. Father could not have been gone ten minutes and he was back already? His pulse quickened. Something was amiss. Perhaps there had been another attack in London; in Diagon Alley. Perhaps even now the Death Eaters were terrorizing and killing innocent people. It was even possible that Father had been hurt in the crossfire: he had never tripped over the fire tools before.

As his terror was mounting he was startled by a puzzled call from below. 'Hallo, is anyone home? Mrs. Lupin? Mr. Lupin?'

The steps creaked and then shuddered as someone with long legs came bounding up them two at a time. Again the voice called out for Mother and Father, and this time there was absolutely no mistaking it. Torn between jubilation and utter bewilderment, Remus called out.

'In here!' he cried.

The door opened like a Christmas cracker, bouncing off the wall and very nearly rebounding straight into the visitor's face. Dark hair and mischievous eyes and a broad companionable grin.

'Yoo haloo!' cried Sirius Black. 'Dear me, what _have_ you done to your face?'


	105. Black by Nature

_Note: First November. On this day in 1981, a band of Hit Wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement apprehended one Sirius Black, suspect in the fatal attack on James and Lily Potter in Godrick's Hollow. Black was discovered standing on the brink of a crater in the street, laughing manically over the remains of Peter Pettigrew, longtime friend and confidante of the Potters. All that was left of Pettigrew was a lone finger…_

_Also, thank you to all my lovely, patient readers! I'm sure many of you have seen how prolific I've been with "Mudded", and those of you who are writers will understand: when the story just writes itself, you have no choice but to follow. I've been told that "Mudded" has merits as a stand-alone historical novel, if that's of any interest: knowledge of "Hell on Wheels" canon is not required._

_A gentle reminder: I cannot reply to anonymous reviews, though I am always happy to answer questions in signed reviews and PMs._

**Chapter 105: Black by Nature**

A year ago, such a question would have sent Remus into a fit of cold terror, shrinking into himself and groping frantically for some excuse, any excuse at all, to explain his appearance. Now he was too astonished even to feel a flutter of embarrassment at this revelation of the wolf's savagery. He dug his left elbow into the mattress and tried to push himself up a little. The effort sent out tentacles of pain, but he hardly felt them. 'Where did you come from?' he asked breathlessly. 'What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here!'

Sirius sauntered into the room, swinging the door closed. 'How do you_ do_, Sirius?' he drawled, curling one hand onto his hip and flapping the other one like an overanxious debutante. 'A pleasure to _see _you, Sirius! How kind of you to call! How's the weather in London? Read any good books lately?'

Remus was abashed. 'I'm sorry. It _is_ kind of you to call, but—'

'All I wanted to hear!' Sirius said blithely. He twisted his hip and made an abortive hopping motion towards the bed, halting himself mid-spring with an uncharacteristic wobble. 'Oh, blimey, can't do that!' he exclaimed. He looked around the little room and seized the kitchen chair that stood next to the bed. He dragged it around to face Remus and flopped down onto it. '_Never_ jump onto a bed full of werewolf," he scolded himself. 'Particularly not if said werewolf looks like he's been put through a mangle.'

'It isn't that bad, really,' Remus demurred, surprised to find that he did not flinch at his friend's use of that abhorrent word. 'It only looks unpleasant.'

Sirius raised a skeptical eyebrow. 'Have you actually looked at yourself, mate?' He cast his eyes over the clutter of nursing sundries on the bedside table and seized the glass of water. 'Something to drink?'

'Thanks,' Remus said, taking the cup with his unsteady left hand. The right one was fixed in a conjured splint, no doubt awaiting further attention when his body could bear it. He sipped cautiously, felt his stomach roil and then settle, and balanced the tumbler on his hip. 'How did you get here?'

'Came by Floo,' Sirius said, brushing soot from his shoulders as if to say this should be obvious. He ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to look shaggy and untrimmed. Somehow it still seemed artful in the way it tumbled about his aristocratic face. 'Did you think I took an omnibus?'

'No, I mean how did you get permission?' said Remus. 'I didn't think your mother would ever let you come here again, not after what happened last time, and when you didn't turn up at Peter's I supposed…'

Sirius wafted an airy hand. 'Oh, Mum's out of the country,' he said. 'It's their annual hen weekend, so she and Grandmother and Aunt Druella took Bellatrix and Cissy to Paris. They'll be shopping for silk robes and sapphire earrings, and hexing Muggle fashion models on the Rue de la Paix and eating tiny snails off of wheat crisps and things. Bet they don't even make time to visit the Citroën autoworks.'

'The what?' Remus said weakly, not quite comfortable with the idea of Sirius being here without his mother's consent, even with the English Channel between her and them.

'You know, where they make the GS!' said Sirius. 'It's not much to look at: family car, not flashy at all. But it's one of the most advanced models in the world. It was voted European Car of the Year the year before last, and the hydropneumatics are amazing! The new model's going to have two rotors, and—' He paused, mouth already open around the next word, and then shut it and shook his head. 'I don't half bang on,' he said. 'How do you _feel_? You look ruddy awful, you know. I had a feeling it was a bad one. Hermes and I were watching the moon last night, and it just looked… how bad is it, Remus? Really.'

'It's… I've had worse,' Remus mumbled miserably, casting his eyes away from his friend's earnest gaze.

'Well, I know _that_,' said Sirius exasperatedly. Then he sighed and reached to pat Remus's elbow, gingerly. 'Why hasn't somebody put that wrist right?' he demanded. 'We should send for Madam Pomfrey! I can pop back and send Hermes—'

'No, don't!' Remus said hurriedly , before Sirius could launch to his feet and tear out of the room. 'It's not worth troubling her over. She'll only say the same thing: it's got to wait until tomorrow or the next day. Too much magic all at once is a strain on a body, you know, and besides I'm not sure if Father… well, it doesn't hurt anyhow, bound up like this.'

'Hmm.' Sirius gave him an appraising glare through narrowed eyes, sitting back on the chair and crossing his arms and legs. 'If you say so. I, for one, don't like the look of it. And I mean, your _face_! I can't work out how you'd do that. You know, as a wolf. How'd it happen?'

'I don't know,' Remus said earnestly. His gaze faltered and fell back down onto the coverlet as he whispered; 'I don't remember.'

'That's just not good enough, mate,' Sirius muttered darkly, but he did not seem to be speaking to Remus. He shook his head as if throwing off some unseen burden, and sat up straight again, letting his foot slip down onto the floor and clapping a hand onto each knee. 'Now, then, what can I do to help?' he asked. 'I could fix you something nice to eat. Well, toast. I reckon I could manage some toast. Where's your mum anyhow? I'd have thought she'd want to look after you the day after.'

'She had to go to work,' said Remus. 'Father's looking after me, but he had to go to the apothecary for more – oh, no!'

He tried to sit bolt upright as the thought struck him, but his body was in no condition for sudden contractures of the abdominal muscles. As they tensed, they spasmed violently and he fell back, gasping hollowly as the pain tore through his viscera. His bandaged legs flared with anguish and began to throb, and he felt something wet trickling along the outside of his right knee. His broken wrist sent out a bright flare of torment, and the broad muscles of his back shuddered. Sirius cried out and leapt to his feet, clutching Remus's left hand and putting a palm to his right cheek. He said something that Remus could not hear over the roar of his pulse in his ears, and Remus shook his head frantically.

'No, no, you have to go,' he gasped, forcing the words out through the pain. 'Father… he could be back at any minute and he mustn't see you. He mustn't… he doesn't… he can't… he wouldn't, he wouldn't understand. He'd think…'

'Hold on, take a breath,' Sirius said. 'Just take a breath, and don't do anything so bloody foolish as trying to sit up!' There was abject relief on his face, and his eyes were very bright. 'Sodding Slytherins, you scared me! Just catch your breath, now. Did you tear anything open?'

The wet patch on the bandage was spreading, and Remus was certain he had opened one of the wounds on his leg, but the bedclothes hid that and he was not about to admit to it. 'I'm fine,' he puffed. 'I'm all right. But Sirius, you can't be here when Father gets home.'

'You think he might rat me out to Mum?' asked Sirius. ' 'Cause I'm sure if I reasoned with him… we crossword puzzle types, we listen to reason. It's those ones who like tangrams you _really_ need to watch. Now, Regulus, he's a tangram monster. Make a rabbit out of an elephant in no time at all.' He frowned. 'I wonder if Potter likes tangrams.'

Remus was not entirely certain what he was talking about, and he did not much care. The issue at hand was far too pressing. If Father came home and discovered Sirius here, he would be terrified. He would never believe that Sirius had known the truth for months and had accepted it unconditionally. He would assume that Remus was in danger, and in his present frame of mind he might even do something rash and unforgivable.

'You need to go home,' he said hoarsely, twisting his hand in Sirius's so that he could clutch it. He fixed his eyes on the other boy's face, his blurred left one smearing the right ear and shoulder. 'You need to go home before Father comes back. Please, Sirius.'

Now the other boy looked genuinely puzzled. 'Why?' he asked. 'What's he going to care? Aren't you allowed to have visitors? Your mum would understand.'

'Yes. Yes, I think she would,' Remus sighed, thinking of his mother's fondness for Sirius and her innocent insistence that Remus and his father were both too paranoid about the need for secrecy. 'But my father won't. Please, Sirius. He's been under such a lot of strain with the search for work and everything else. He mustn't find you here.'

'But why not?' asked Sirius. 'I'm not doing anything dangerous or rambunctious. _You're_ the one who tried to sit up all of a sudden and hurt yourself. I didn't even jump on the bed!'

Remus closed his eyes – or rather, his right eye. The left one more sort of oozed shut of its own accord and stuck there. His post-transformation exhaustion was flooding high again, threatening to breach the dam of his resolve and send him straight back to sleep. He didn't want to cope with this and, for a single, horrible, ungrateful moment, he wished that Sirius had not come at all.

'He doesn't…' he began, but just at that moment he heard it. From outside the window propped ajar to catch the breeze off the ocean, came the sharp _crack_ of an incoming Apparation. Remus's heart sprung into his throat, and for a moment he could not speak. His lips moved, contorting oddly against the bruising on the left side of his face, but no sound came out. Then somehow he managed to overcome his muteness. 'Go!' he croaked. 'Oh, please, _please_ go…'

But it was too late. Below he heard the click of the back door's latch, and a moment later the heavy, tired tread of his father's feet on the steps. Sirius, still bewildered, offered what he no doubt considered a reassuring grin. 'It's all right, Remus,' he said. 'Your dad and I get along famously.'

Piteously Remus stared at him, wishing there was some way he could explain and knowing there was not. Sirius would be so hurt when he learned that Remus had not told his parents of his friend's cleverness in making the discovery, of their acceptance and their bounteous support throughout the year. And Father would be indignant, protective, no doubt terrified. In just another moment it would happen, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The footsteps reached the top of the stairs, changing pitch as they moved onto level flooring. Remus held his breath, braced against the inevitable. And the footfalls moved past his bedroom door and on into the bathroom. He heard the hinges of that door creak, and then the crackling flick of the light switch.

Unable to believe his luck, Remus exhaled and sent anxious eyes flying to Sirius. There was no time to waste. 'Go now!' he whispered. 'You've got time to sneak downstairs and be off before he even knows you were here!'

Sirius squared his shoulders and scowled indignantly. 'Marauders,' he pronounced firmly; 'don't sneak.'

'Marauder's _frequently_ sneak!' Remus snapped, his patience breaking. Sirius wasn't listening to him. Once again, he was just assuming that Remus had overreacted, and that all this worry was unnecessary, and this time the consequences would be disastrous. 'Go on, quickly! He'll never know—'

There was a muffled roar of water as the toilet was flushed, and the sound of the sink coming on. Suddenly Remus felt the urge to weep with frustration. 'Please, Sirius,' he begged. 'Please go now.'

'After I've come all this way? Not a chance,' Sirius said. He pushed back the chair and stood up, straightening his robes and grinning impishly. 'Besides, maybe he'll ask me to stay to supper. Your mum's cooking is worth any risk.'

And before Remus could say anything he heard the bathroom door open, and there was a gentle rap upon the door. 'Remus? Are you sleeping?' Father asked in a low, gentle voice that would not have wakened a sleeping werewolf. The handle turned and the door crept smoothly open, and with one hand on the knob and the other holding a stoppered vial, Ross Lupin came into the room.

He stopped dead, eyes widening as his jaw lost its muscle tone and his mouth fell open. Sirius was standing by the bed, but the ramrod rigidity that had been in his spine a moment before was gone. He almost seemed to be lounging, though he was firmly on both feet, and his right hand was resting loosely on his hip.

'Afternoon, Mister Lupin,' he said pleasantly. 'How are you today?'

_*discidium*_

For an indeterminate eternity, no one moved. Sirius stood there languidly, grinning as cheerfully as if he were standing in front of McGonagall with perfect plausible deniability and an airtight alibi. Remus was almost supine upon the bed, head and shoulders bolstered only a few degrees by the pillows. And Father was frozen in mute astonishment. His tongue moved, probing the roof of his mouth and then bucking against his lower teeth. Slowly, hypnotically, he shook his head first to the left and then to the right.

'Black!' he yelped, and then; 'Sirius!' His eyes flicked to his son, and Remus's innards did a slow flop as he read the panic in them. Then he looked at Sirius again, and his lips twisted into a ghastly rictus that was surely supposed to be a casual smile. 'I'm sorry, Sirius: Remus isn't well enough for visitors. He's… he's had a fall.'

It sounded feeble even to Remus, who had used dozens of such excuses in his first year and those ghastly early months of his second. To his relief, Sirius did not laugh aloud. He only nodded sagely.

'A fall, was it?' he said. 'He told me it was a motorcar crash.'

'A—a motorcar crash!' Father stammered. 'That's… of course, yes; yes, that's just what I meant. When the motorcar crashed, he… uh… that is, he fell off the seat and… and struck his head on the stick gadget. I mean the gear contraption. The… uh… that thing with the knob. It caught him right in the eye.'

'I expect he broke his wrist on the handbrake, then,' said Sirius. 'And he's all bandaged up because of the rug-burn from sliding onto the floor mats. Or perhaps it was a random Hippogriff attack. Or he was used as a Quaffle by some Swedish giants. Or he ran afoul of a band of extremely fit pixies.'

Father's mouth flapped helplessly, grasping at the air like a flounder puffs water. The hand on the doorknob shook, and the other reached out, very slowly, to set the bottle of pain potion on the foot of the bed, propped almost upright by a fold of the counterpane. 'It was a car crash,' he said in a low voice, surprisingly steady. 'Just as Remus said.'

'Right,' said Sirius. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto his left, letting his right eyebrow creep almost to his hairline in a sharp arc of sheer disbelief. 'See, now, I'm thinking maybe you don't have any idea _what_ Remus said.'

Father's eyes flicked to him again, swift as a cat's, and Remus wished that the mattress would open up and swallow him whole. He would sooner have been back down in the bloodied cellar than lying here, with his father shooting him imploring glances – begging him to help to keep a secret that had been given up months ago.

'It was a car crash, wasn't it, Remus?' Father said slowly. His hand was at his side now, and the one upon the door handle had stopped quaking. Instead, the knuckles were white with the force of his grip. 'There was a mad driver up on the cliffs, and your mother couldn't keep clear.'

'I thought it happened in town,' said Sirius. 'An old lady rolled through a stoplight without braking.'

All of the color was gone from Father's face now. 'Yes, of course,' he hissed. 'Just as Remus said.'

'Just as Remus said,' echoed Sirius. He spread his lips over his teeth with relish. 'And what _I_ was just saying was it's _remarkable_ how quickly the garage managed to fix up Mrs. Lupin's Morris Minor, seeing as it's parked just out front in fine nick, while Remus's bruises aren't more than… oh, nine and a half hours old.'

Remus waited, unable to speak or move or even breathe, for his father to attempt one more weak lie. For nine long years Father had been lying for him, and often lying very well, but all that was at an end. Sirius knew the truth, and in a moment Father would realize that he knew it, and then…

Quick as a duelist drawing to the call of a referee, Father whipped out his wand and levelled it at the gleefully grinning boy. Now it was Sirius's turn to stiffen, his smile faltering and his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He did a good job of hiding his alarm, and in that first fleeting instant when his own surprise was raw Remus thought that this could not be the first time that Sirius had had a fully-qualified wizard – or witch – fix a wand so combatively upon him.

'Get away from my son.'

The words were hard and very cold, brooking no argument and leaving no quarter for defiance. Father's eyes were darker than Remus had ever seen them, and his gaunt face drawn into lines of unshakable determination. He did not seem to care that he had his wand pointed at a thirteen-year-old boy, nor that Sirius was unarmed, nor that Remus was lying not two feet to his left. In his eyes Remus saw a terrible resolve that he had only ever seen once before: on the face of Dorcas Meadowes on the night the Prefects had patrolled the corridors in Professor Dumbledore's absence. On the night that Owen Meyrigg was murdered.

'Get away from my son, you little pure-blooded monster,' Father repeated, this time spitting out the epithet with a chilled vitriol that made Remus's blood run thin. 'If you touch him, if you hurt him, if you tell your hateful parents and they expose him—'

Sirius's lips parted, but only a hoarse little yip came out. He was petrified now, reading the unmistakable message in those flint-hard eyes. His head quivered from side to side, hardly deviating an inch off centre in either direction. And the wand did not shift at all.

'No!'

The single syllable cut the air, and both sets of eyes whipped to Remus, breaking their perilous contact. Only then did Remus realize the voice that had spoken so firmly was his own. And then he realized he had to say something more, if he was ever going to clear up this awful misunderstanding he had created.

'It isn't like that,' he said. 'Please put the wand down, Father. Sirius isn't going to hurt me.'

'He's a Black,' Father said, but now the hardness in his voice was somehow too fierce, too bright: as if he were putting forward a shining decoy to hide his uncertainty. 'You've seen the stock he comes from, Remus. I've said it all along: blood will out.'

'It won't,' said Remus. 'It hasn't. Sirius… he came to look in on me because he knew I'd be ill and hurting today. He… I think he snuck off on his father, just to look in on me. I… you did, didn't you, Sirius?' He dared to look away from the wrathful wizard to the startled student beside him. 'You snuck off.'

Sirius shrugged. 'Well, I suppose _technically_ I might have done a _little _sneaking,' he hedged playfully. 'But then as I've been reminded, Marauders _frequently_ sneak…'

'He did it for me,' said Remus. 'Because… because he's my friend.'

The wand drooped a little, no longer pointed at Sirius's throat but at his breastbone. Father's eyes softened sorrowfully. 'Remus, I tried to warn you,' he murmured. 'Once he worked out the truth…'

'But he _did_ work out the truth!' Remus protested. Setting his teeth in determination he drove his elbows deep into the mattress and managed to lift head and shoulders off of the pillow. Pain flared in his wrist and rippled through his neck and spine, and he ignored it. It was nothing to the pain of the transformation, nothing to the pain of the wound in his abdomen after the full moon in October, and nothing to the pain of loneliness and terror that he had known before that life-changing night. 'He worked it out months ago, him and James and Peter. They've known since before Christmas. They've known all this time. They… they've stood by me, Father. All of them. And… and Sirius was first.'

Again the wand sank lower. Now its tip had a perfect trajectory for Sirius's left kneecap. Father was staring at Remus, dumbfounded. His tongue slipped over his lips before he could speak. 'What do you mean?' he breathed. 'You _told_ them? After everything I've… in spite of all that we… and Dumbledore… the secret…'

'No,' breathed Remus, almost sobbing the word. He pressed his lips together and steeled his resolve. He would not weep, not now. He was drowning in guilt and self-loathing and penitence, regretting the lies he had told his parents and wishing so bitterly that he had just given them the _truth_ – the truth that he owed them, after all they had done for him. He owed more to Sirius, too, than to conceal so carefully this proof of his goodness, his nobility, and his utter disregard for his family's bigotry. But it was too late to change any of that now: all he could do was keep his composure and explain.

'They worked it out on their own,' he said, letting his right eyelid flutter low so that he did not need to look at his father as he spoke. He inhaled through his nostrils, feeling the unpleasant grinding of sharp clots of blood in the draft of air. 'They're very clever, Father; James and Sirius. And they were determined. It… it isn't really a difficult pattern to follow, especially not when we started studying the moon in Astronomy, and…'

He was rambling, and he tried to steady himself. Again he took a deep breath, even though his ribs were still sore from the contortions of the transformation that broke them, stretched them, reformed them and then twisted them back again. And he felt something hot and firm upon his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Sirius's hand.

'They d-didn't abandon me,' he said, his voice breaking. He swallowed firmly and cleared his throat, raw with last night's howling. 'Sirius, he was the first… straight away he said it didn't matter. James needed time to think about it, and… and Peter was frightened. But not Sirius.'

He opened his eyes, the good one firmly and the left as far as he was able. Father was staring at him now, his face twisted into a mask of agony and disbelief and dawning wonder. Now his arm hung at his side, the wand dangling loosely from his fingers.

'He's my friend,' Remus whispered. 'He… he may be a Black by blood, b-but I'm a werewolf by blood, and it didn't matter to him. He's… he's not… he's not…' He groped for the right word, but it eluded him. His chest was tight and his eyes were stinging, and if not for Sirius's bracing hold upon his shoulder he might have sunk right back into the cushions again and dissolved into exhausted tears. There was nothing he could say to express what he was feeling, to lay out the truth about his friend in a way that his father could understand. And yet feebly he kept trying. 'He's _not,_' he said again. 'Sirius isn't a… a…'

'A Black by nature.'

Remus looked up at his friend, surprised that Sirius had known just what to say. Then he realized it was not Sirius who had said it after all. Wide-eyed, he looked back at Father, who was watching the upright boy with mingled anguish and admiration. Hypnotically, Father slipped his wand into his belt and held out his hand.

'I… I'm sorry,' he breathed.

'Aw, sure,' said Sirius with another indolent shrug, stepping forward to shake hands while still maintaining his hold upon Remus's shoulder. 'If you can't object irrationally to your son's friends now and then, what's the use of being a parent?'

To Remus's astonishment, Father laughed.

_*discidium*_

So it was that when Mother came home at half past four she found Remus propped up on pillows in his bed, with Sirius sitting cross legged by his feet and Father in the chair by the bed. The story had been told, the impossible questions asked and answered, and Father had retreated from the room for about an hour – during which Sirius had talked animatedly about his summer homework, his attempts at decorating his room with Gryffindor paraphernalia and a Permanent Sticking Charm, and everything else except the aftermath of his abrupt departure from the Lupin home some weeks before. Then Father had come back, face freshly scrubbed and eyes unmistakably bloodshot, and had settled down to talk to the boys. It had been Sirius who had done most of the talking, moving from Quidditch to automobiles to _The Daily Prophet_'s recent crossword conundrums, for by this time Remus was almost too exhausted to keep his good eye open. But he had not wanted to sacrifice even a minute of his friend's company, and had not even considered suggesting that they take the conversation downstairs.

So Mother stopped on the threshold, just as Father had done, but instead of moving from astonishment to hostility she smiled. 'Why, Sirius!' she said, coming into the room almost as if she wanted to hug him. 'What's brought you down from London. Oh, I do hope you haven't run off on your mother!'

'She's in Paris,' said Sirius brightly. 'How's the Muggle Post, Mrs. Lupin? Did you sell a great many stamps today?'

'Oh, yes, dozens and dozens,' Mother said offhandedly. Her eyes narrowed a little as she looked at her son with his bandaged limbs and his gloriously bruised face. 'Sirius,' she said cautiously. 'Just what are you doing here today?'

'I came out to see how Remus was getting on after the full moon,' Sirius said frankly. 'I had a sort of a gut feeling it might be a rough one for him; you know how it is. So when I saw the opportunity I… ehrm… _seized it_.'

For a moment Mother was silent, looking at Sirius with eyes filled with a storm of unreadable thoughts and feelings. Then she turned warily to her husband, who feinted a tiny half-smile in her direction. 'Well,' she said with an air of breezy finality that seemed to freshen the very air of the room. She gazed at Remus for a moment and then turned back to Sirius.

'I did wonder,' she said softly. She reached out and lifted a stray lock of Sirius's hair, moving to hook it around his ear. Her hand stopped to cup the back of his head in an intimately motherly gesture that Remus would have expected Sirius to shake off with a ruffle of manly indignation. He did not. His eyes closed for a moment, and then he looked up at her again, silent and steady. Mother withdrew her hand and reached to unpin her hat. 'Well,' she repeated. Her smile broadened. 'Will you stay to supper, Sirius? There's soup, and I was going to mix up a batch of scones.'

'Yes, please!' Sirius said eagerly, bouncing just a little – not enough to jar Remus in the least. Then he grinned impishly at his friend. 'I told you I could wrangle an invite!"

Remus nodded, laughing a tired but earnest little laugh. His mother was looking at his father with eyes that said _I told you, Ross. I told you._


End file.
